RELEASING RESENTMENT

February 24, 2019

Luke 6: 27-38

For many people, this may be one of the most difficult passages in the Gospel. It seems to

express an idealism that is totally unrealistic and unattainable. "Love your enemies, do good to

those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who abuse you." Wait a minute.

We live in a world of mass shootings, #MeToo, child detention centers, ongoing racial violence,

and the sexual abuse scandals that even now are rocking the Catholic Church and the Southern

Baptist Convention. Vicious vendettas often stirred up in the tabloid press and other media, the

horror of terrorist attacks on the innocent, are these things not to be avenged?

Then Jesus says, "If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone

who takes away your coat, do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you,

and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again." Come on, Lord. Let's be realistic.

If someone takes away all my goods, then I surely won't be able to give to everyone who begs

from me. This is nonsense. It doesn't make sense. I wonder how many people here today will hear

this scripture text, politely sit through the message, and then pack it all safely away.

It may be worth noting that the passage begins, “I say this to you who are listening.” In

order to understand what Jesus is really saying to us, we need to put aside our assumptions and

prejudices and really listen, for this passage in particular is one where we are likely to react from

the gut. And so, perhaps we should begin by pointing out what Jesus is not saying. Jesus is not

saying that we should act as if an offense doesn’t matter, a wound doesn’t hurt, and things don't

have to change. Jesus is not recommending that we allow ourselves to be abused or mistreated

because “God wants us to forgive and forget” (which, by the way, is not a biblical saying). Jesus

is not calling victims to keep quiet and keep taking it. There is nothing godly about responding to

systemic evil with passive acceptance or unexamined complicity.

Jesus’ followers and many in the audience of today’s text were people who suffered

dehumanizing treatment meted out to them by the hierarchical system of caste and class, race and

gender, age and status, as well as a result of imperial occupation. They were subjected to routine

indignities and forced to stifle their inner outrage. Why would Jesus tell them to bless those who

oppress them? New Testament scholar, Walter Wink, offers a new perspective on the situation.

Although he works primarily with Matthew's version of this story, some of the same insights can

be applied to Jesus' words in Luke.

Wink sees Jesus' instruction to turn the other cheek as a form of non-violent resistance to

oppression. To get our heads around this, we need to know something about the culture in which

Jesus lived. You see, in first-century Palestine, the use of a person's left hand was restricted to

unclean functions. This meant that you would never strike a person with your left hand. If you

were superior to the other person, you would strike them on the cheek with the back of your right

hand, never with the fist or palm of your hand for that would mean they were your equal. A

backhanded slap was the normal way of admonishing inferiors. Masters backhanded slaves;

husbands, wives; parents, children; Romans, Jews. Jesus told the oppressed peasant audience to

follow the initial strike by offering the other cheek, which would be impossible or at least very

clumsy to strike with the back of the right hand. You see, this simple act would effectively strip

the oppressor of his power to dehumanize the peasant. Since the whole point of the backhanded

slap was to reinforce societal inequality, turning the other cheek was far from an act of passivity

and acceptance, it was a dangerous act of defiance.

The same resistance came in giving up one’s shirt when asked for the coat. You see,

indebtedness was a plague in first-century Palestine. It was the direct consequence of Roman

imperial policy which created large estates owned by absentee landlords, managed by stewards,

and worked by tenant farmers, day laborers, and slaves. The peasants had been humiliated by the

imperial stripping of their lands, their goods, and finally even their outer garments. You see, in a

court of law, a creditor could take as collateral for a loan a poor person’s long outer robe, but it

had to be returned each evening so they would have something in which to sleep. Jesus was telling

impoverished debtors, who had nothing left but the clothes on their backs to use the system against

itself, to strip off their clothing in order to transcend the attempt to humiliate them and rise above

the shame while registering a stunning protest against the system that created the debt.

Few, if any, of us have experienced such unjust humiliation. I suspect that very few of us

carry around an “enemies list” of the people we mark for vengeance. Taking offense, collecting

grudges, amassing enemies is usually not a formal process. Most people don’t wake up every day

with resentment in mind. But somehow it happens. That’s because its roots run deep, driven by

our demanding egos, right through our very thin skins to the heart of our easily activated pride.

So, who are these people who bedevil us? Consider who Jesus is calling you to love.

The first way to love your enemies is not to have any; to overlook slights before they fester;

by being quick to forgive; by forthrightly containing and expunging the damage before it infects

you; by keeping your neighbors as neighbors, not seeing them as adversaries. Better yet, by seeing

them for what they are as beloved children of God. But, despite our best defenses, we are flawed

vessels. Life is complicated. Misunderstanding abounds. Accidents and mistakes happen. Hatred

can suddenly loom-up and take possession of us. It is a danger we live with all the time. It lies in

wait when we feel sorry for ourselves, when we are frightened or angry, when we view ourselves

as victims, when we obsess on settling a score for offenses, real or imagined.

My friends, one of the basics of Jesus’ teaching this morning is that we can’t control other

people’s actions towards us, but we can control our own response. The ability to control ourselves,

the refusal of letting someone else dictate our emotional response, allows us to enter deeper into

the heart of a God who acts in all people. Lutheran minister, Nadia Bolz-Weber, describes

mistreatment as a chain that binds us and writes powerfully about the power of forgiveness. She

writes, “Maybe retaliation or holding onto anger about the harm done to me doesn’t actually

combat evil. Maybe it feeds it. Because in the end, if we’re not careful, we can actually absorb

the worst of our enemy, and at some level, start to become them. So what if forgiveness, rather

than being a pansy way to say, ‘It’s okay,’ is actually a way of wielding bolt-cutters, and snapping

the chains that link us? What if it’s saying, ‘What you did was so not okay, I refuse to be connected

to it anymore.’? Forgiveness is about being a freedom fighter. And free people are dangerous

people. Free people aren’t controlled by the past. Free people laugh more than others. Free people

see beauty where others do not. Free people are not easily offended. Free people are unafraid to

speak truth to stupid. Free people are not chained to resentments. And that’s worth fighting for.”

These are the lessons Jesus leaves with us in this gospel text. These are the beliefs we cling

to in the turmoil of our time. Remembering that we exist in the moment, but knowing that we

don’t live for the moment. In the context of eternity, who did what to whom and whose fault it

was, all fade into insignificance. God has a bigger plan and invites us to be co-creators of a beloved

community where no one is backhanded and all people are mutually respected and valued. As

C.S. Lewis wrote, “In praying for people we dislike, I find it helpful to remember that we are

joining in God’s prayers for them.”

My friends, the choice is ours. You can forgive the ingratitude. Absolve the affront. Acquit

the deceit. Pardon the betrayal. Take out those bolt-cutters and snap the chains that link you to

your pain and your past. Or you can ignore Christ’s instruction; feed your bitterness and starve

your soul. Can the choice be any clearer? Choose life. Choose Christ.

Forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you. A good measure,

pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give

will be the measure you get back.

RELEASING RESENTMENT

February 24, 2019

Luke 6: 27-38

For many people, this may be one of the most difficult passages in the Gospel. It seems to

express an idealism that is totally unrealistic and unattainable. "Love your enemies, do good to

those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who abuse you." Wait a minute.

We live in a world of mass shootings, #MeToo, child detention centers, ongoing racial violence,

and the sexual abuse scandals that even now are rocking the Catholic Church and the Southern

Baptist Convention. Vicious vendettas often stirred up in the tabloid press and other media, the

horror of terrorist attacks on the innocent, are these things not to be avenged?

Then Jesus says, "If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone

who takes away your coat, do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you,

and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again." Come on, Lord. Let's be realistic.

If someone takes away all my goods, then I surely won't be able to give to everyone who begs

from me. This is nonsense. It doesn't make sense. I wonder how many people here today will hear

this scripture text, politely sit through the message, and then pack it all safely away.

It may be worth noting that the passage begins, “I say this to you who are listening.” In

order to understand what Jesus is really saying to us, we need to put aside our assumptions and

prejudices and really listen, for this passage in particular is one where we are likely to react from

the gut. And so, perhaps we should begin by pointing out what Jesus is not saying. Jesus is not

saying that we should act as if an offense doesn’t matter, a wound doesn’t hurt, and things don't

have to change. Jesus is not recommending that we allow ourselves to be abused or mistreated

because “God wants us to forgive and forget” (which, by the way, is not a biblical saying). Jesus

is not calling victims to keep quiet and keep taking it. There is nothing godly about responding to

systemic evil with passive acceptance or unexamined complicity.

Jesus’ followers and many in the audience of today’s text were people who suffered

dehumanizing treatment meted out to them by the hierarchical system of caste and class, race and

gender, age and status, as well as a result of imperial occupation. They were subjected to routine

indignities and forced to stifle their inner outrage. Why would Jesus tell them to bless those who

oppress them? New Testament scholar, Walter Wink, offers a new perspective on the situation.

Although he works primarily with Matthew's version of this story, some of the same insights can

be applied to Jesus' words in Luke.

Wink sees Jesus' instruction to turn the other cheek as a form of non-violent resistance to

oppression. To get our heads around this, we need to know something about the culture in which

Jesus lived. You see, in first-century Palestine, the use of a person's left hand was restricted to

unclean functions. This meant that you would never strike a person with your left hand. If you

were superior to the other person, you would strike them on the cheek with the back of your right

hand, never with the fist or palm of your hand for that would mean they were your equal. A

backhanded slap was the normal way of admonishing inferiors. Masters backhanded slaves;

husbands, wives; parents, children; Romans, Jews. Jesus told the oppressed peasant audience to

follow the initial strike by offering the other cheek, which would be impossible or at least very

clumsy to strike with the back of the right hand. You see, this simple act would effectively strip

the oppressor of his power to dehumanize the peasant. Since the whole point of the backhanded

slap was to reinforce societal inequality, turning the other cheek was far from an act of passivity

and acceptance, it was a dangerous act of defiance.

The same resistance came in giving up one’s shirt when asked for the coat. You see,

indebtedness was a plague in first-century Palestine. It was the direct consequence of Roman

imperial policy which created large estates owned by absentee landlords, managed by stewards,

and worked by tenant farmers, day laborers, and slaves. The peasants had been humiliated by the

imperial stripping of their lands, their goods, and finally even their outer garments. You see, in a

court of law, a creditor could take as collateral for a loan a poor person’s long outer robe, but it

had to be returned each evening so they would have something in which to sleep. Jesus was telling

impoverished debtors, who had nothing left but the clothes on their backs to use the system against

itself, to strip off their clothing in order to transcend the attempt to humiliate them and rise above

the shame while registering a stunning protest against the system that created the debt.

Few, if any, of us have experienced such unjust humiliation. I suspect that very few of us

carry around an “enemies list” of the people we mark for vengeance. Taking offense, collecting

grudges, amassing enemies is usually not a formal process. Most people don’t wake up every day

with resentment in mind. But somehow it happens. That’s because its roots run deep, driven by

our demanding egos, right through our very thin skins to the heart of our easily activated pride.

So, who are these people who bedevil us? Consider who Jesus is calling you to love.

The first way to love your enemies is not to have any; to overlook slights before they fester;

by being quick to forgive; by forthrightly containing and expunging the damage before it infects

you; by keeping your neighbors as neighbors, not seeing them as adversaries. Better yet, by seeing

them for what they are as beloved children of God. But, despite our best defenses, we are flawed

vessels. Life is complicated. Misunderstanding abounds. Accidents and mistakes happen. Hatred

can suddenly loom-up and take possession of us. It is a danger we live with all the time. It lies in

wait when we feel sorry for ourselves, when we are frightened or angry, when we view ourselves

as victims, when we obsess on settling a score for offenses, real or imagined.

My friends, one of the basics of Jesus’ teaching this morning is that we can’t control other

people’s actions towards us, but we can control our own response. The ability to control ourselves,

the refusal of letting someone else dictate our emotional response, allows us to enter deeper into

the heart of a God who acts in all people. Lutheran minister, Nadia Bolz-Weber, describes

mistreatment as a chain that binds us and writes powerfully about the power of forgiveness. She

writes, “Maybe retaliation or holding onto anger about the harm done to me doesn’t actually

combat evil. Maybe it feeds it. Because in the end, if we’re not careful, we can actually absorb

the worst of our enemy, and at some level, start to become them. So what if forgiveness, rather

than being a pansy way to say, ‘It’s okay,’ is actually a way of wielding bolt-cutters, and snapping

the chains that link us? What if it’s saying, ‘What you did was so not okay, I refuse to be connected

to it anymore.’? Forgiveness is about being a freedom fighter. And free people are dangerous

people. Free people aren’t controlled by the past. Free people laugh more than others. Free people

see beauty where others do not. Free people are not easily offended. Free people are unafraid to

speak truth to stupid. Free people are not chained to resentments. And that’s worth fighting for.”

These are the lessons Jesus leaves with us in this gospel text. These are the beliefs we cling

to in the turmoil of our time. Remembering that we exist in the moment, but knowing that we

don’t live for the moment. In the context of eternity, who did what to whom and whose fault it

was, all fade into insignificance. God has a bigger plan and invites us to be co-creators of a beloved

community where no one is backhanded and all people are mutually respected and valued. As

C.S. Lewis wrote, “In praying for people we dislike, I find it helpful to remember that we are

joining in God’s prayers for them.”

My friends, the choice is ours. You can forgive the ingratitude. Absolve the affront. Acquit

the deceit. Pardon the betrayal. Take out those bolt-cutters and snap the chains that link you to

your pain and your past. Or you can ignore Christ’s instruction; feed your bitterness and starve

your soul. Can the choice be any clearer? Choose life. Choose Christ.

Forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you. A good measure,

pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give

will be the measure you get back.

RELEASING RESENTMENT

February 24, 2019

Luke 6: 27-38

For many people, this may be one of the most difficult passages in the Gospel. It seems to

express an idealism that is totally unrealistic and unattainable. "Love your enemies, do good to

those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who abuse you." Wait a minute.

We live in a world of mass shootings, #MeToo, child detention centers, ongoing racial violence,

and the sexual abuse scandals that even now are rocking the Catholic Church and the Southern

Baptist Convention. Vicious vendettas often stirred up in the tabloid press and other media, the

horror of terrorist attacks on the innocent, are these things not to be avenged?

Then Jesus says, "If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone

who takes away your coat, do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you,

and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again." Come on, Lord. Let's be realistic.

If someone takes away all my goods, then I surely won't be able to give to everyone who begs

from me. This is nonsense. It doesn't make sense. I wonder how many people here today will hear

this scripture text, politely sit through the message, and then pack it all safely away.

It may be worth noting that the passage begins, “I say this to you who are listening.” In

order to understand what Jesus is really saying to us, we need to put aside our assumptions and

prejudices and really listen, for this passage in particular is one where we are likely to react from

the gut. And so, perhaps we should begin by pointing out what Jesus is not saying. Jesus is not

saying that we should act as if an offense doesn’t matter, a wound doesn’t hurt, and things don't

have to change. Jesus is not recommending that we allow ourselves to be abused or mistreated

because “God wants us to forgive and forget” (which, by the way, is not a biblical saying). Jesus

is not calling victims to keep quiet and keep taking it. There is nothing godly about responding to

systemic evil with passive acceptance or unexamined complicity.

Jesus’ followers and many in the audience of today’s text were people who suffered

dehumanizing treatment meted out to them by the hierarchical system of caste and class, race and

gender, age and status, as well as a result of imperial occupation. They were subjected to routine

indignities and forced to stifle their inner outrage. Why would Jesus tell them to bless those who

oppress them? New Testament scholar, Walter Wink, offers a new perspective on the situation.

Although he works primarily with Matthew's version of this story, some of the same insights can

be applied to Jesus' words in Luke.

Wink sees Jesus' instruction to turn the other cheek as a form of non-violent resistance to

oppression. To get our heads around this, we need to know something about the culture in which

Jesus lived. You see, in first-century Palestine, the use of a person's left hand was restricted to

unclean functions. This meant that you would never strike a person with your left hand. If you

were superior to the other person, you would strike them on the cheek with the back of your right

hand, never with the fist or palm of your hand for that would mean they were your equal. A

backhanded slap was the normal way of admonishing inferiors. Masters backhanded slaves;

husbands, wives; parents, children; Romans, Jews. Jesus told the oppressed peasant audience to

follow the initial strike by offering the other cheek, which would be impossible or at least very

clumsy to strike with the back of the right hand. You see, this simple act would effectively strip

the oppressor of his power to dehumanize the peasant. Since the whole point of the backhanded

slap was to reinforce societal inequality, turning the other cheek was far from an act of passivity

and acceptance, it was a dangerous act of defiance.

The same resistance came in giving up one’s shirt when asked for the coat. You see,

indebtedness was a plague in first-century Palestine. It was the direct consequence of Roman

imperial policy which created large estates owned by absentee landlords, managed by stewards,

and worked by tenant farmers, day laborers, and slaves. The peasants had been humiliated by the

imperial stripping of their lands, their goods, and finally even their outer garments. You see, in a

court of law, a creditor could take as collateral for a loan a poor person’s long outer robe, but it

had to be returned each evening so they would have something in which to sleep. Jesus was telling

impoverished debtors, who had nothing left but the clothes on their backs to use the system against

itself, to strip off their clothing in order to transcend the attempt to humiliate them and rise above

the shame while registering a stunning protest against the system that created the debt.

Few, if any, of us have experienced such unjust humiliation. I suspect that very few of us

carry around an “enemies list” of the people we mark for vengeance. Taking offense, collecting

grudges, amassing enemies is usually not a formal process. Most people don’t wake up every day

with resentment in mind. But somehow it happens. That’s because its roots run deep, driven by

our demanding egos, right through our very thin skins to the heart of our easily activated pride.

So, who are these people who bedevil us? Consider who Jesus is calling you to love.

The first way to love your enemies is not to have any; to overlook slights before they fester;

by being quick to forgive; by forthrightly containing and expunging the damage before it infects

you; by keeping your neighbors as neighbors, not seeing them as adversaries. Better yet, by seeing

them for what they are as beloved children of God. But, despite our best defenses, we are flawed

vessels. Life is complicated. Misunderstanding abounds. Accidents and mistakes happen. Hatred

can suddenly loom-up and take possession of us. It is a danger we live with all the time. It lies in

wait when we feel sorry for ourselves, when we are frightened or angry, when we view ourselves

as victims, when we obsess on settling a score for offenses, real or imagined.

My friends, one of the basics of Jesus’ teaching this morning is that we can’t control other

people’s actions towards us, but we can control our own response. The ability to control ourselves,

the refusal of letting someone else dictate our emotional response, allows us to enter deeper into

the heart of a God who acts in all people. Lutheran minister, Nadia Bolz-Weber, describes

mistreatment as a chain that binds us and writes powerfully about the power of forgiveness. She

writes, “Maybe retaliation or holding onto anger about the harm done to me doesn’t actually

combat evil. Maybe it feeds it. Because in the end, if we’re not careful, we can actually absorb

the worst of our enemy, and at some level, start to become them. So what if forgiveness, rather

than being a pansy way to say, ‘It’s okay,’ is actually a way of wielding bolt-cutters, and snapping

the chains that link us? What if it’s saying, ‘What you did was so not okay, I refuse to be connected

to it anymore.’? Forgiveness is about being a freedom fighter. And free people are dangerous

people. Free people aren’t controlled by the past. Free people laugh more than others. Free people

see beauty where others do not. Free people are not easily offended. Free people are unafraid to

speak truth to stupid. Free people are not chained to resentments. And that’s worth fighting for.”

These are the lessons Jesus leaves with us in this gospel text. These are the beliefs we cling

to in the turmoil of our time. Remembering that we exist in the moment, but knowing that we

don’t live for the moment. In the context of eternity, who did what to whom and whose fault it

was, all fade into insignificance. God has a bigger plan and invites us to be co-creators of a beloved

community where no one is backhanded and all people are mutually respected and valued. As

C.S. Lewis wrote, “In praying for people we dislike, I find it helpful to remember that we are

joining in God’s prayers for them.”

My friends, the choice is ours. You can forgive the ingratitude. Absolve the affront. Acquit

the deceit. Pardon the betrayal. Take out those bolt-cutters and snap the chains that link you to

your pain and your past. Or you can ignore Christ’s instruction; feed your bitterness and starve

your soul. Can the choice be any clearer? Choose life. Choose Christ.

Forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you. A good measure,

pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give

will be the measure you get back.

RELEASING RESENTMENT

February 24, 2019

Luke 6: 27-38

For many people, this may be one of the most difficult passages in the Gospel. It seems to

express an idealism that is totally unrealistic and unattainable. "Love your enemies, do good to

those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who abuse you." Wait a minute.

We live in a world of mass shootings, #MeToo, child detention centers, ongoing racial violence,

and the sexual abuse scandals that even now are rocking the Catholic Church and the Southern

Baptist Convention. Vicious vendettas often stirred up in the tabloid press and other media, the

horror of terrorist attacks on the innocent, are these things not to be avenged?

Then Jesus says, "If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone

who takes away your coat, do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you,

and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again." Come on, Lord. Let's be realistic.

If someone takes away all my goods, then I surely won't be able to give to everyone who begs

from me. This is nonsense. It doesn't make sense. I wonder how many people here today will hear

this scripture text, politely sit through the message, and then pack it all safely away.

It may be worth noting that the passage begins, “I say this to you who are listening.” In

order to understand what Jesus is really saying to us, we need to put aside our assumptions and

prejudices and really listen, for this passage in particular is one where we are likely to react from

the gut. And so, perhaps we should begin by pointing out what Jesus is not saying. Jesus is not

saying that we should act as if an offense doesn’t matter, a wound doesn’t hurt, and things don't

have to change. Jesus is not recommending that we allow ourselves to be abused or mistreated

because “God wants us to forgive and forget” (which, by the way, is not a biblical saying). Jesus

is not calling victims to keep quiet and keep taking it. There is nothing godly about responding to

systemic evil with passive acceptance or unexamined complicity.

Jesus’ followers and many in the audience of today’s text were people who suffered

dehumanizing treatment meted out to them by the hierarchical system of caste and class, race and

gender, age and status, as well as a result of imperial occupation. They were subjected to routine

indignities and forced to stifle their inner outrage. Why would Jesus tell them to bless those who

oppress them? New Testament scholar, Walter Wink, offers a new perspective on the situation.

Although he works primarily with Matthew's version of this story, some of the same insights can

be applied to Jesus' words in Luke.

Wink sees Jesus' instruction to turn the other cheek as a form of non-violent resistance to

oppression. To get our heads around this, we need to know something about the culture in which

Jesus lived. You see, in first-century Palestine, the use of a person's left hand was restricted to

unclean functions. This meant that you would never strike a person with your left hand. If you

were superior to the other person, you would strike them on the cheek with the back of your right

hand, never with the fist or palm of your hand for that would mean they were your equal. A

backhanded slap was the normal way of admonishing inferiors. Masters backhanded slaves;

husbands, wives; parents, children; Romans, Jews. Jesus told the oppressed peasant audience to

follow the initial strike by offering the other cheek, which would be impossible or at least very

clumsy to strike with the back of the right hand. You see, this simple act would effectively strip

the oppressor of his power to dehumanize the peasant. Since the whole point of the backhanded

slap was to reinforce societal inequality, turning the other cheek was far from an act of passivity

and acceptance, it was a dangerous act of defiance.

The same resistance came in giving up one’s shirt when asked for the coat. You see,

indebtedness was a plague in first-century Palestine. It was the direct consequence of Roman

imperial policy which created large estates owned by absentee landlords, managed by stewards,

and worked by tenant farmers, day laborers, and slaves. The peasants had been humiliated by the

imperial stripping of their lands, their goods, and finally even their outer garments. You see, in a

court of law, a creditor could take as collateral for a loan a poor person’s long outer robe, but it

had to be returned each evening so they would have something in which to sleep. Jesus was telling

impoverished debtors, who had nothing left but the clothes on their backs to use the system against

itself, to strip off their clothing in order to transcend the attempt to humiliate them and rise above

the shame while registering a stunning protest against the system that created the debt.

Few, if any, of us have experienced such unjust humiliation. I suspect that very few of us

carry around an “enemies list” of the people we mark for vengeance. Taking offense, collecting

grudges, amassing enemies is usually not a formal process. Most people don’t wake up every day

with resentment in mind. But somehow it happens. That’s because its roots run deep, driven by

our demanding egos, right through our very thin skins to the heart of our easily activated pride.

So, who are these people who bedevil us? Consider who Jesus is calling you to love.

The first way to love your enemies is not to have any; to overlook slights before they fester;

by being quick to forgive; by forthrightly containing and expunging the damage before it infects

you; by keeping your neighbors as neighbors, not seeing them as adversaries. Better yet, by seeing

them for what they are as beloved children of God. But, despite our best defenses, we are flawed

vessels. Life is complicated. Misunderstanding abounds. Accidents and mistakes happen. Hatred

can suddenly loom-up and take possession of us. It is a danger we live with all the time. It lies in

wait when we feel sorry for ourselves, when we are frightened or angry, when we view ourselves

as victims, when we obsess on settling a score for offenses, real or imagined.

My friends, one of the basics of Jesus’ teaching this morning is that we can’t control other

people’s actions towards us, but we can control our own response. The ability to control ourselves,

the refusal of letting someone else dictate our emotional response, allows us to enter deeper into

the heart of a God who acts in all people. Lutheran minister, Nadia Bolz-Weber, describes

mistreatment as a chain that binds us and writes powerfully about the power of forgiveness. She

writes, “Maybe retaliation or holding onto anger about the harm done to me doesn’t actually

combat evil. Maybe it feeds it. Because in the end, if we’re not careful, we can actually absorb

the worst of our enemy, and at some level, start to become them. So what if forgiveness, rather

than being a pansy way to say, ‘It’s okay,’ is actually a way of wielding bolt-cutters, and snapping

the chains that link us? What if it’s saying, ‘What you did was so not okay, I refuse to be connected

to it anymore.’? Forgiveness is about being a freedom fighter. And free people are dangerous

people. Free people aren’t controlled by the past. Free people laugh more than others. Free people

see beauty where others do not. Free people are not easily offended. Free people are unafraid to

speak truth to stupid. Free people are not chained to resentments. And that’s worth fighting for.”

These are the lessons Jesus leaves with us in this gospel text. These are the beliefs we cling

to in the turmoil of our time. Remembering that we exist in the moment, but knowing that we

don’t live for the moment. In the context of eternity, who did what to whom and whose fault it

was, all fade into insignificance. God has a bigger plan and invites us to be co-creators of a beloved

community where no one is backhanded and all people are mutually respected and valued. As

C.S. Lewis wrote, “In praying for people we dislike, I find it helpful to remember that we are

joining in God’s prayers for them.”

My friends, the choice is ours. You can forgive the ingratitude. Absolve the affront. Acquit

the deceit. Pardon the betrayal. Take out those bolt-cutters and snap the chains that link you to

your pain and your past. Or you can ignore Christ’s instruction; feed your bitterness and starve

your soul. Can the choice be any clearer? Choose life. Choose Christ.

Forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you. A good measure,

pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give

will be the measure you get back.

RELEASING RESENTMENT

February 24, 2019

Luke 6: 27-38

For many people, this may be one of the most difficult passages in the Gospel. It seems to

express an idealism that is totally unrealistic and unattainable. "Love your enemies, do good to

those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who abuse you." Wait a minute.

We live in a world of mass shootings, #MeToo, child detention centers, ongoing racial violence,

and the sexual abuse scandals that even now are rocking the Catholic Church and the Southern

Baptist Convention. Vicious vendettas often stirred up in the tabloid press and other media, the

horror of terrorist attacks on the innocent, are these things not to be avenged?

Then Jesus says, "If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone

who takes away your coat, do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you,

and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again." Come on, Lord. Let's be realistic.

If someone takes away all my goods, then I surely won't be able to give to everyone who begs

from me. This is nonsense. It doesn't make sense. I wonder how many people here today will hear

this scripture text, politely sit through the message, and then pack it all safely away.

It may be worth noting that the passage begins, “I say this to you who are listening.” In

order to understand what Jesus is really saying to us, we need to put aside our assumptions and

prejudices and really listen, for this passage in particular is one where we are likely to react from

the gut. And so, perhaps we should begin by pointing out what Jesus is not saying. Jesus is not

saying that we should act as if an offense doesn’t matter, a wound doesn’t hurt, and things don't

have to change. Jesus is not recommending that we allow ourselves to be abused or mistreated

because “God wants us to forgive and forget” (which, by the way, is not a biblical saying). Jesus

is not calling victims to keep quiet and keep taking it. There is nothing godly about responding to

systemic evil with passive acceptance or unexamined complicity.

Jesus’ followers and many in the audience of today’s text were people who suffered

dehumanizing treatment meted out to them by the hierarchical system of caste and class, race and

gender, age and status, as well as a result of imperial occupation. They were subjected to routine

indignities and forced to stifle their inner outrage. Why would Jesus tell them to bless those who

oppress them? New Testament scholar, Walter Wink, offers a new perspective on the situation.

Although he works primarily with Matthew's version of this story, some of the same insights can

be applied to Jesus' words in Luke.

Wink sees Jesus' instruction to turn the other cheek as a form of non-violent resistance to

oppression. To get our heads around this, we need to know something about the culture in which

Jesus lived. You see, in first-century Palestine, the use of a person's left hand was restricted to

unclean functions. This meant that you would never strike a person with your left hand. If you

were superior to the other person, you would strike them on the cheek with the back of your right

hand, never with the fist or palm of your hand for that would mean they were your equal. A

backhanded slap was the normal way of admonishing inferiors. Masters backhanded slaves;

husbands, wives; parents, children; Romans, Jews. Jesus told the oppressed peasant audience to

follow the initial strike by offering the other cheek, which would be impossible or at least very

clumsy to strike with the back of the right hand. You see, this simple act would effectively strip

the oppressor of his power to dehumanize the peasant. Since the whole point of the backhanded

slap was to reinforce societal inequality, turning the other cheek was far from an act of passivity

and acceptance, it was a dangerous act of defiance.

The same resistance came in giving up one’s shirt when asked for the coat. You see,

indebtedness was a plague in first-century Palestine. It was the direct consequence of Roman

imperial policy which created large estates owned by absentee landlords, managed by stewards,

and worked by tenant farmers, day laborers, and slaves. The peasants had been humiliated by the

imperial stripping of their lands, their goods, and finally even their outer garments. You see, in a

court of law, a creditor could take as collateral for a loan a poor person’s long outer robe, but it

had to be returned each evening so they would have something in which to sleep. Jesus was telling

impoverished debtors, who had nothing left but the clothes on their backs to use the system against

itself, to strip off their clothing in order to transcend the attempt to humiliate them and rise above

the shame while registering a stunning protest against the system that created the debt.

Few, if any, of us have experienced such unjust humiliation. I suspect that very few of us

carry around an “enemies list” of the people we mark for vengeance. Taking offense, collecting

grudges, amassing enemies is usually not a formal process. Most people don’t wake up every day

with resentment in mind. But somehow it happens. That’s because its roots run deep, driven by

our demanding egos, right through our very thin skins to the heart of our easily activated pride.

So, who are these people who bedevil us? Consider who Jesus is calling you to love.

The first way to love your enemies is not to have any; to overlook slights before they fester;

by being quick to forgive; by forthrightly containing and expunging the damage before it infects

you; by keeping your neighbors as neighbors, not seeing them as adversaries. Better yet, by seeing

them for what they are as beloved children of God. But, despite our best defenses, we are flawed

vessels. Life is complicated. Misunderstanding abounds. Accidents and mistakes happen. Hatred

can suddenly loom-up and take possession of us. It is a danger we live with all the time. It lies in

wait when we feel sorry for ourselves, when we are frightened or angry, when we view ourselves

as victims, when we obsess on settling a score for offenses, real or imagined.

My friends, one of the basics of Jesus’ teaching this morning is that we can’t control other

people’s actions towards us, but we can control our own response. The ability to control ourselves,

the refusal of letting someone else dictate our emotional response, allows us to enter deeper into

the heart of a God who acts in all people. Lutheran minister, Nadia Bolz-Weber, describes

mistreatment as a chain that binds us and writes powerfully about the power of forgiveness. She

writes, “Maybe retaliation or holding onto anger about the harm done to me doesn’t actually

combat evil. Maybe it feeds it. Because in the end, if we’re not careful, we can actually absorb

the worst of our enemy, and at some level, start to become them. So what if forgiveness, rather

than being a pansy way to say, ‘It’s okay,’ is actually a way of wielding bolt-cutters, and snapping

the chains that link us? What if it’s saying, ‘What you did was so not okay, I refuse to be connected

to it anymore.’? Forgiveness is about being a freedom fighter. And free people are dangerous

people. Free people aren’t controlled by the past. Free people laugh more than others. Free people

see beauty where others do not. Free people are not easily offended. Free people are unafraid to

speak truth to stupid. Free people are not chained to resentments. And that’s worth fighting for.”

These are the lessons Jesus leaves with us in this gospel text. These are the beliefs we cling

to in the turmoil of our time. Remembering that we exist in the moment, but knowing that we

don’t live for the moment. In the context of eternity, who did what to whom and whose fault it

was, all fade into insignificance. God has a bigger plan and invites us to be co-creators of a beloved

community where no one is backhanded and all people are mutually respected and valued. As

C.S. Lewis wrote, “In praying for people we dislike, I find it helpful to remember that we are

joining in God’s prayers for them.”

My friends, the choice is ours. You can forgive the ingratitude. Absolve the affront. Acquit

the deceit. Pardon the betrayal. Take out those bolt-cutters and snap the chains that link you to

your pain and your past. Or you can ignore Christ’s instruction; feed your bitterness and starve

your soul. Can the choice be any clearer? Choose life. Choose Christ.

Forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you. A good measure,

pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give

will be the measure you get back.

RELEASING RESENTMENT

February 24, 2019

Luke 6: 27-38

For many people, this may be one of the most difficult passages in the Gospel. It seems to

express an idealism that is totally unrealistic and unattainable. "Love your enemies, do good to

those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who abuse you." Wait a minute.

We live in a world of mass shootings, #MeToo, child detention centers, ongoing racial violence,

and the sexual abuse scandals that even now are rocking the Catholic Church and the Southern

Baptist Convention. Vicious vendettas often stirred up in the tabloid press and other media, the

horror of terrorist attacks on the innocent, are these things not to be avenged?

Then Jesus says, "If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone

who takes away your coat, do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you,

and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again." Come on, Lord. Let's be realistic.

If someone takes away all my goods, then I surely won't be able to give to everyone who begs

from me. This is nonsense. It doesn't make sense. I wonder how many people here today will hear

this scripture text, politely sit through the message, and then pack it all safely away.

It may be worth noting that the passage begins, “I say this to you who are listening.” In

order to understand what Jesus is really saying to us, we need to put aside our assumptions and

prejudices and really listen, for this passage in particular is one where we are likely to react from

the gut. And so, perhaps we should begin by pointing out what Jesus is not saying. Jesus is not

saying that we should act as if an offense doesn’t matter, a wound doesn’t hurt, and things don't

have to change. Jesus is not recommending that we allow ourselves to be abused or mistreated

because “God wants us to forgive and forget” (which, by the way, is not a biblical saying). Jesus

is not calling victims to keep quiet and keep taking it. There is nothing godly about responding to

systemic evil with passive acceptance or unexamined complicity.

Jesus’ followers and many in the audience of today’s text were people who suffered

dehumanizing treatment meted out to them by the hierarchical system of caste and class, race and

gender, age and status, as well as a result of imperial occupation. They were subjected to routine

indignities and forced to stifle their inner outrage. Why would Jesus tell them to bless those who

oppress them? New Testament scholar, Walter Wink, offers a new perspective on the situation.

Although he works primarily with Matthew's version of this story, some of the same insights can

be applied to Jesus' words in Luke.

Wink sees Jesus' instruction to turn the other cheek as a form of non-violent resistance to

oppression. To get our heads around this, we need to know something about the culture in which

Jesus lived. You see, in first-century Palestine, the use of a person's left hand was restricted to

unclean functions. This meant that you would never strike a person with your left hand. If you

were superior to the other person, you would strike them on the cheek with the back of your right

hand, never with the fist or palm of your hand for that would mean they were your equal. A

backhanded slap was the normal way of admonishing inferiors. Masters backhanded slaves;

husbands, wives; parents, children; Romans, Jews. Jesus told the oppressed peasant audience to

follow the initial strike by offering the other cheek, which would be impossible or at least very

clumsy to strike with the back of the right hand. You see, this simple act would effectively strip

the oppressor of his power to dehumanize the peasant. Since the whole point of the backhanded

slap was to reinforce societal inequality, turning the other cheek was far from an act of passivity

and acceptance, it was a dangerous act of defiance.

The same resistance came in giving up one’s shirt when asked for the coat. You see,

indebtedness was a plague in first-century Palestine. It was the direct consequence of Roman

imperial policy which created large estates owned by absentee landlords, managed by stewards,

and worked by tenant farmers, day laborers, and slaves. The peasants had been humiliated by the

imperial stripping of their lands, their goods, and finally even their outer garments. You see, in a

court of law, a creditor could take as collateral for a loan a poor person’s long outer robe, but it

had to be returned each evening so they would have something in which to sleep. Jesus was telling

impoverished debtors, who had nothing left but the clothes on their backs to use the system against

itself, to strip off their clothing in order to transcend the attempt to humiliate them and rise above

the shame while registering a stunning protest against the system that created the debt.

Few, if any, of us have experienced such unjust humiliation. I suspect that very few of us

carry around an “enemies list” of the people we mark for vengeance. Taking offense, collecting

grudges, amassing enemies is usually not a formal process. Most people don’t wake up every day

with resentment in mind. But somehow it happens. That’s because its roots run deep, driven by

our demanding egos, right through our very thin skins to the heart of our easily activated pride.

So, who are these people who bedevil us? Consider who Jesus is calling you to love.

The first way to love your enemies is not to have any; to overlook slights before they fester;

by being quick to forgive; by forthrightly containing and expunging the damage before it infects

you; by keeping your neighbors as neighbors, not seeing them as adversaries. Better yet, by seeing

them for what they are as beloved children of God. But, despite our best defenses, we are flawed

vessels. Life is complicated. Misunderstanding abounds. Accidents and mistakes happen. Hatred

can suddenly loom-up and take possession of us. It is a danger we live with all the time. It lies in

wait when we feel sorry for ourselves, when we are frightened or angry, when we view ourselves

as victims, when we obsess on settling a score for offenses, real or imagined.

My friends, one of the basics of Jesus’ teaching this morning is that we can’t control other

people’s actions towards us, but we can control our own response. The ability to control ourselves,

the refusal of letting someone else dictate our emotional response, allows us to enter deeper into

the heart of a God who acts in all people. Lutheran minister, Nadia Bolz-Weber, describes

mistreatment as a chain that binds us and writes powerfully about the power of forgiveness. She

writes, “Maybe retaliation or holding onto anger about the harm done to me doesn’t actually

combat evil. Maybe it feeds it. Because in the end, if we’re not careful, we can actually absorb

the worst of our enemy, and at some level, start to become them. So what if forgiveness, rather

than being a pansy way to say, ‘It’s okay,’ is actually a way of wielding bolt-cutters, and snapping

the chains that link us? What if it’s saying, ‘What you did was so not okay, I refuse to be connected

to it anymore.’? Forgiveness is about being a freedom fighter. And free people are dangerous

people. Free people aren’t controlled by the past. Free people laugh more than others. Free people

see beauty where others do not. Free people are not easily offended. Free people are unafraid to

speak truth to stupid. Free people are not chained to resentments. And that’s worth fighting for.”

These are the lessons Jesus leaves with us in this gospel text. These are the beliefs we cling

to in the turmoil of our time. Remembering that we exist in the moment, but knowing that we

don’t live for the moment. In the context of eternity, who did what to whom and whose fault it

was, all fade into insignificance. God has a bigger plan and invites us to be co-creators of a beloved

community where no one is backhanded and all people are mutually respected and valued. As

C.S. Lewis wrote, “In praying for people we dislike, I find it helpful to remember that we are

joining in God’s prayers for them.”

My friends, the choice is ours. You can forgive the ingratitude. Absolve the affront. Acquit

the deceit. Pardon the betrayal. Take out those bolt-cutters and snap the chains that link you to

your pain and your past. Or you can ignore Christ’s instruction; feed your bitterness and starve

your soul. Can the choice be any clearer? Choose life. Choose Christ.

Forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you. A good measure,

pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give

will be the measure you get back.

RELEASING RESENTMENT

February 24, 2019

Luke 6: 27-38

For many people, this may be one of the most difficult passages in the Gospel. It seems to

express an idealism that is totally unrealistic and unattainable. "Love your enemies, do good to

those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who abuse you." Wait a minute.

We live in a world of mass shootings, #MeToo, child detention centers, ongoing racial violence,

and the sexual abuse scandals that even now are rocking the Catholic Church and the Southern

Baptist Convention. Vicious vendettas often stirred up in the tabloid press and other media, the

horror of terrorist attacks on the innocent, are these things not to be avenged?

Then Jesus says, "If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone

who takes away your coat, do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you,

and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again." Come on, Lord. Let's be realistic.

If someone takes away all my goods, then I surely won't be able to give to everyone who begs

from me. This is nonsense. It doesn't make sense. I wonder how many people here today will hear

this scripture text, politely sit through the message, and then pack it all safely away.

It may be worth noting that the passage begins, “I say this to you who are listening.” In

order to understand what Jesus is really saying to us, we need to put aside our assumptions and

prejudices and really listen, for this passage in particular is one where we are likely to react from

the gut. And so, perhaps we should begin by pointing out what Jesus is not saying. Jesus is not

saying that we should act as if an offense doesn’t matter, a wound doesn’t hurt, and things don't

have to change. Jesus is not recommending that we allow ourselves to be abused or mistreated

because “God wants us to forgive and forget” (which, by the way, is not a biblical saying). Jesus

is not calling victims to keep quiet and keep taking it. There is nothing godly about responding to

systemic evil with passive acceptance or unexamined complicity.

Jesus’ followers and many in the audience of today’s text were people who suffered

dehumanizing treatment meted out to them by the hierarchical system of caste and class, race and

gender, age and status, as well as a result of imperial occupation. They were subjected to routine

indignities and forced to stifle their inner outrage. Why would Jesus tell them to bless those who

oppress them? New Testament scholar, Walter Wink, offers a new perspective on the situation.

Although he works primarily with Matthew's version of this story, some of the same insights can

be applied to Jesus' words in Luke.

Wink sees Jesus' instruction to turn the other cheek as a form of non-violent resistance to

oppression. To get our heads around this, we need to know something about the culture in which

Jesus lived. You see, in first-century Palestine, the use of a person's left hand was restricted to

unclean functions. This meant that you would never strike a person with your left hand. If you

were superior to the other person, you would strike them on the cheek with the back of your right

hand, never with the fist or palm of your hand for that would mean they were your equal. A

backhanded slap was the normal way of admonishing inferiors. Masters backhanded slaves;

husbands, wives; parents, children; Romans, Jews. Jesus told the oppressed peasant audience to

follow the initial strike by offering the other cheek, which would be impossible or at least very

clumsy to strike with the back of the right hand. You see, this simple act would effectively strip

the oppressor of his power to dehumanize the peasant. Since the whole point of the backhanded

slap was to reinforce societal inequality, turning the other cheek was far from an act of passivity

and acceptance, it was a dangerous act of defiance.

The same resistance came in giving up one’s shirt when asked for the coat. You see,

indebtedness was a plague in first-century Palestine. It was the direct consequence of Roman

imperial policy which created large estates owned by absentee landlords, managed by stewards,

and worked by tenant farmers, day laborers, and slaves. The peasants had been humiliated by the

imperial stripping of their lands, their goods, and finally even their outer garments. You see, in a

court of law, a creditor could take as collateral for a loan a poor person’s long outer robe, but it

had to be returned each evening so they would have something in which to sleep. Jesus was telling

impoverished debtors, who had nothing left but the clothes on their backs to use the system against

itself, to strip off their clothing in order to transcend the attempt to humiliate them and rise above

the shame while registering a stunning protest against the system that created the debt.

Few, if any, of us have experienced such unjust humiliation. I suspect that very few of us

carry around an “enemies list” of the people we mark for vengeance. Taking offense, collecting

grudges, amassing enemies is usually not a formal process. Most people don’t wake up every day

with resentment in mind. But somehow it happens. That’s because its roots run deep, driven by

our demanding egos, right through our very thin skins to the heart of our easily activated pride.

So, who are these people who bedevil us? Consider who Jesus is calling you to love.

The first way to love your enemies is not to have any; to overlook slights before they fester;

by being quick to forgive; by forthrightly containing and expunging the damage before it infects

you; by keeping your neighbors as neighbors, not seeing them as adversaries. Better yet, by seeing

them for what they are as beloved children of God. But, despite our best defenses, we are flawed

vessels. Life is complicated. Misunderstanding abounds. Accidents and mistakes happen. Hatred

can suddenly loom-up and take possession of us. It is a danger we live with all the time. It lies in

wait when we feel sorry for ourselves, when we are frightened or angry, when we view ourselves

as victims, when we obsess on settling a score for offenses, real or imagined.

My friends, one of the basics of Jesus’ teaching this morning is that we can’t control other

people’s actions towards us, but we can control our own response. The ability to control ourselves,

the refusal of letting someone else dictate our emotional response, allows us to enter deeper into

the heart of a God who acts in all people. Lutheran minister, Nadia Bolz-Weber, describes

mistreatment as a chain that binds us and writes powerfully about the power of forgiveness. She

writes, “Maybe retaliation or holding onto anger about the harm done to me doesn’t actually

combat evil. Maybe it feeds it. Because in the end, if we’re not careful, we can actually absorb

the worst of our enemy, and at some level, start to become them. So what if forgiveness, rather

than being a pansy way to say, ‘It’s okay,’ is actually a way of wielding bolt-cutters, and snapping

the chains that link us? What if it’s saying, ‘What you did was so not okay, I refuse to be connected

to it anymore.’? Forgiveness is about being a freedom fighter. And free people are dangerous

people. Free people aren’t controlled by the past. Free people laugh more than others. Free people

see beauty where others do not. Free people are not easily offended. Free people are unafraid to

speak truth to stupid. Free people are not chained to resentments. And that’s worth fighting for.”

These are the lessons Jesus leaves with us in this gospel text. These are the beliefs we cling

to in the turmoil of our time. Remembering that we exist in the moment, but knowing that we

don’t live for the moment. In the context of eternity, who did what to whom and whose fault it

was, all fade into insignificance. God has a bigger plan and invites us to be co-creators of a beloved

community where no one is backhanded and all people are mutually respected and valued. As

C.S. Lewis wrote, “In praying for people we dislike, I find it helpful to remember that we are

joining in God’s prayers for them.”

My friends, the choice is ours. You can forgive the ingratitude. Absolve the affront. Acquit

the deceit. Pardon the betrayal. Take out those bolt-cutters and snap the chains that link you to

your pain and your past. Or you can ignore Christ’s instruction; feed your bitterness and starve

your soul. Can the choice be any clearer? Choose life. Choose Christ.

Forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you. A good measure,

pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give

will be the measure you get back.

RELEASING RESENTMENT

February 24, 2019

Luke 6: 27-38

For many people, this may be one of the most difficult passages in the Gospel. It seems to

express an idealism that is totally unrealistic and unattainable. "Love your enemies, do good to

those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who abuse you." Wait a minute.

We live in a world of mass shootings, #MeToo, child detention centers, ongoing racial violence,

and the sexual abuse scandals that even now are rocking the Catholic Church and the Southern

Baptist Convention. Vicious vendettas often stirred up in the tabloid press and other media, the

horror of terrorist attacks on the innocent, are these things not to be avenged?

Then Jesus says, "If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone

who takes away your coat, do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you,

and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again." Come on, Lord. Let's be realistic.

If someone takes away all my goods, then I surely won't be able to give to everyone who begs

from me. This is nonsense. It doesn't make sense. I wonder how many people here today will hear

this scripture text, politely sit through the message, and then pack it all safely away.

It may be worth noting that the passage begins, “I say this to you who are listening.” In

order to understand what Jesus is really saying to us, we need to put aside our assumptions and

prejudices and really listen, for this passage in particular is one where we are likely to react from

the gut. And so, perhaps we should begin by pointing out what Jesus is not saying. Jesus is not

saying that we should act as if an offense doesn’t matter, a wound doesn’t hurt, and things don't

have to change. Jesus is not recommending that we allow ourselves to be abused or mistreated

because “God wants us to forgive and forget” (which, by the way, is not a biblical saying). Jesus

is not calling victims to keep quiet and keep taking it. There is nothing godly about responding to

systemic evil with passive acceptance or unexamined complicity.

Jesus’ followers and many in the audience of today’s text were people who suffered

dehumanizing treatment meted out to them by the hierarchical system of caste and class, race and

gender, age and status, as well as a result of imperial occupation. They were subjected to routine

indignities and forced to stifle their inner outrage. Why would Jesus tell them to bless those who

oppress them? New Testament scholar, Walter Wink, offers a new perspective on the situation.

Although he works primarily with Matthew's version of this story, some of the same insights can

be applied to Jesus' words in Luke.

Wink sees Jesus' instruction to turn the other cheek as a form of non-violent resistance to

oppression. To get our heads around this, we need to know something about the culture in which

Jesus lived. You see, in first-century Palestine, the use of a person's left hand was restricted to

unclean functions. This meant that you would never strike a person with your left hand. If you

were superior to the other person, you would strike them on the cheek with the back of your right

hand, never with the fist or palm of your hand for that would mean they were your equal. A

backhanded slap was the normal way of admonishing inferiors. Masters backhanded slaves;

husbands, wives; parents, children; Romans, Jews. Jesus told the oppressed peasant audience to

follow the initial strike by offering the other cheek, which would be impossible or at least very

clumsy to strike with the back of the right hand. You see, this simple act would effectively strip

the oppressor of his power to dehumanize the peasant. Since the whole point of the backhanded

slap was to reinforce societal inequality, turning the other cheek was far from an act of passivity

and acceptance, it was a dangerous act of defiance.

The same resistance came in giving up one’s shirt when asked for the coat. You see,

indebtedness was a plague in first-century Palestine. It was the direct consequence of Roman

imperial policy which created large estates owned by absentee landlords, managed by stewards,

and worked by tenant farmers, day laborers, and slaves. The peasants had been humiliated by the

imperial stripping of their lands, their goods, and finally even their outer garments. You see, in a

court of law, a creditor could take as collateral for a loan a poor person’s long outer robe, but it

had to be returned each evening so they would have something in which to sleep. Jesus was telling

impoverished debtors, who had nothing left but the clothes on their backs to use the system against

itself, to strip off their clothing in order to transcend the attempt to humiliate them and rise above

the shame while registering a stunning protest against the system that created the debt.

Few, if any, of us have experienced such unjust humiliation. I suspect that very few of us

carry around an “enemies list” of the people we mark for vengeance. Taking offense, collecting

grudges, amassing enemies is usually not a formal process. Most people don’t wake up every day

with resentment in mind. But somehow it happens. That’s because its roots run deep, driven by

our demanding egos, right through our very thin skins to the heart of our easily activated pride.

So, who are these people who bedevil us? Consider who Jesus is calling you to love.

The first way to love your enemies is not to have any; to overlook slights before they fester;

by being quick to forgive; by forthrightly containing and expunging the damage before it infects

you; by keeping your neighbors as neighbors, not seeing them as adversaries. Better yet, by seeing

them for what they are as beloved children of God. But, despite our best defenses, we are flawed

vessels. Life is complicated. Misunderstanding abounds. Accidents and mistakes happen. Hatred

can suddenly loom-up and take possession of us. It is a danger we live with all the time. It lies in

wait when we feel sorry for ourselves, when we are frightened or angry, when we view ourselves

as victims, when we obsess on settling a score for offenses, real or imagined.

My friends, one of the basics of Jesus’ teaching this morning is that we can’t control other

people’s actions towards us, but we can control our own response. The ability to control ourselves,

the refusal of letting someone else dictate our emotional response, allows us to enter deeper into

the heart of a God who acts in all people. Lutheran minister, Nadia Bolz-Weber, describes

mistreatment as a chain that binds us and writes powerfully about the power of forgiveness. She

writes, “Maybe retaliation or holding onto anger about the harm done to me doesn’t actually

combat evil. Maybe it feeds it. Because in the end, if we’re not careful, we can actually absorb

the worst of our enemy, and at some level, start to become them. So what if forgiveness, rather

than being a pansy way to say, ‘It’s okay,’ is actually a way of wielding bolt-cutters, and snapping

the chains that link us? What if it’s saying, ‘What you did was so not okay, I refuse to be connected

to it anymore.’? Forgiveness is about being a freedom fighter. And free people are dangerous

people. Free people aren’t controlled by the past. Free people laugh more than others. Free people

see beauty where others do not. Free people are not easily offended. Free people are unafraid to

speak truth to stupid. Free people are not chained to resentments. And that’s worth fighting for.”

These are the lessons Jesus leaves with us in this gospel text. These are the beliefs we cling

to in the turmoil of our time. Remembering that we exist in the moment, but knowing that we

don’t live for the moment. In the context of eternity, who did what to whom and whose fault it

was, all fade into insignificance. God has a bigger plan and invites us to be co-creators of a beloved

community where no one is backhanded and all people are mutually respected and valued. As

C.S. Lewis wrote, “In praying for people we dislike, I find it helpful to remember that we are

joining in God’s prayers for them.”

My friends, the choice is ours. You can forgive the ingratitude. Absolve the affront. Acquit

the deceit. Pardon the betrayal. Take out those bolt-cutters and snap the chains that link you to

your pain and your past. Or you can ignore Christ’s instruction; feed your bitterness and starve

your soul. Can the choice be any clearer? Choose life. Choose Christ.

Forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you. A good measure,

pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give

will be the measure you get back.

RELEASING RESENTMENT

February 24, 2019

Luke 6: 27-38

For many people, this may be one of the most difficult passages in the Gospel. It seems to

express an idealism that is totally unrealistic and unattainable. "Love your enemies, do good to

those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who abuse you." Wait a minute.

We live in a world of mass shootings, #MeToo, child detention centers, ongoing racial violence,

and the sexual abuse scandals that even now are rocking the Catholic Church and the Southern

Baptist Convention. Vicious vendettas often stirred up in the tabloid press and other media, the

horror of terrorist attacks on the innocent, are these things not to be avenged?

Then Jesus says, "If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone

who takes away your coat, do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you,

and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again." Come on, Lord. Let's be realistic.

If someone takes away all my goods, then I surely won't be able to give to everyone who begs

from me. This is nonsense. It doesn't make sense. I wonder how many people here today will hear

this scripture text, politely sit through the message, and then pack it all safely away.

It may be worth noting that the passage begins, “I say this to you who are listening.” In

order to understand what Jesus is really saying to us, we need to put aside our assumptions and

prejudices and really listen, for this passage in particular is one where we are likely to react from

the gut. And so, perhaps we should begin by pointing out what Jesus is not saying. Jesus is not

saying that we should act as if an offense doesn’t matter, a wound doesn’t hurt, and things don't

have to change. Jesus is not recommending that we allow ourselves to be abused or mistreated

because “God wants us to forgive and forget” (which, by the way, is not a biblical saying). Jesus

is not calling victims to keep quiet and keep taking it. There is nothing godly about responding to

systemic evil with passive acceptance or unexamined complicity.

Jesus’ followers and many in the audience of today’s text were people who suffered

dehumanizing treatment meted out to them by the hierarchical system of caste and class, race and

gender, age and status, as well as a result of imperial occupation. They were subjected to routine

indignities and forced to stifle their inner outrage. Why would Jesus tell them to bless those who

oppress them? New Testament scholar, Walter Wink, offers a new perspective on the situation.

Although he works primarily with Matthew's version of this story, some of the same insights can

be applied to Jesus' words in Luke.

Wink sees Jesus' instruction to turn the other cheek as a form of non-violent resistance to

oppression. To get our heads around this, we need to know something about the culture in which

Jesus lived. You see, in first-century Palestine, the use of a person's left hand was restricted to

unclean functions. This meant that you would never strike a person with your left hand. If you

were superior to the other person, you would strike them on the cheek with the back of your right

hand, never with the fist or palm of your hand for that would mean they were your equal. A

backhanded slap was the normal way of admonishing inferiors. Masters backhanded slaves;

husbands, wives; parents, children; Romans, Jews. Jesus told the oppressed peasant audience to

follow the initial strike by offering the other cheek, which would be impossible or at least very

clumsy to strike with the back of the right hand. You see, this simple act would effectively strip

the oppressor of his power to dehumanize the peasant. Since the whole point of the backhanded

slap was to reinforce societal inequality, turning the other cheek was far from an act of passivity

and acceptance, it was a dangerous act of defiance.

The same resistance came in giving up one’s shirt when asked for the coat. You see,

indebtedness was a plague in first-century Palestine. It was the direct consequence of Roman

imperial policy which created large estates owned by absentee landlords, managed by stewards,

and worked by tenant farmers, day laborers, and slaves. The peasants had been humiliated by the

imperial stripping of their lands, their goods, and finally even their outer garments. You see, in a

court of law, a creditor could take as collateral for a loan a poor person’s long outer robe, but it

had to be returned each evening so they would have something in which to sleep. Jesus was telling

impoverished debtors, who had nothing left but the clothes on their backs to use the system against

itself, to strip off their clothing in order to transcend the attempt to humiliate them and rise above

the shame while registering a stunning protest against the system that created the debt.

Few, if any, of us have experienced such unjust humiliation. I suspect that very few of us

carry around an “enemies list” of the people we mark for vengeance. Taking offense, collecting

grudges, amassing enemies is usually not a formal process. Most people don’t wake up every day

with resentment in mind. But somehow it happens. That’s because its roots run deep, driven by

our demanding egos, right through our very thin skins to the heart of our easily activated pride.

So, who are these people who bedevil us? Consider who Jesus is calling you to love.

The first way to love your enemies is not to have any; to overlook slights before they fester;

by being quick to forgive; by forthrightly containing and expunging the damage before it infects

you; by keeping your neighbors as neighbors, not seeing them as adversaries. Better yet, by seeing

them for what they are as beloved children of God. But, despite our best defenses, we are flawed

vessels. Life is complicated. Misunderstanding abounds. Accidents and mistakes happen. Hatred

can suddenly loom-up and take possession of us. It is a danger we live with all the time. It lies in

wait when we feel sorry for ourselves, when we are frightened or angry, when we view ourselves

as victims, when we obsess on settling a score for offenses, real or imagined.

My friends, one of the basics of Jesus’ teaching this morning is that we can’t control other

people’s actions towards us, but we can control our own response. The ability to control ourselves,

the refusal of letting someone else dictate our emotional response, allows us to enter deeper into

the heart of a God who acts in all people. Lutheran minister, Nadia Bolz-Weber, describes

mistreatment as a chain that binds us and writes powerfully about the power of forgiveness. She

writes, “Maybe retaliation or holding onto anger about the harm done to me doesn’t actually

combat evil. Maybe it feeds it. Because in the end, if we’re not careful, we can actually absorb

the worst of our enemy, and at some level, start to become them. So what if forgiveness, rather

than being a pansy way to say, ‘It’s okay,’ is actually a way of wielding bolt-cutters, and snapping

the chains that link us? What if it’s saying, ‘What you did was so not okay, I refuse to be connected

to it anymore.’? Forgiveness is about being a freedom fighter. And free people are dangerous

people. Free people aren’t controlled by the past. Free people laugh more than others. Free people

see beauty where others do not. Free people are not easily offended. Free people are unafraid to

speak truth to stupid. Free people are not chained to resentments. And that’s worth fighting for.”

These are the lessons Jesus leaves with us in this gospel text. These are the beliefs we cling

to in the turmoil of our time. Remembering that we exist in the moment, but knowing that we

don’t live for the moment. In the context of eternity, who did what to whom and whose fault it

was, all fade into insignificance. God has a bigger plan and invites us to be co-creators of a beloved

community where no one is backhanded and all people are mutually respected and valued. As

C.S. Lewis wrote, “In praying for people we dislike, I find it helpful to remember that we are

joining in God’s prayers for them.”

My friends, the choice is ours. You can forgive the ingratitude. Absolve the affront. Acquit

the deceit. Pardon the betrayal. Take out those bolt-cutters and snap the chains that link you to

your pain and your past. Or you can ignore Christ’s instruction; feed your bitterness and starve

your soul. Can the choice be any clearer? Choose life. Choose Christ.

Forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you. A good measure,

pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give

will be the measure you get back.