Pentecost 14 A: Community Rules

Posted by DJL on Sep 1, 2020 in Dear Partner | 4 comments

Matthew 18:15-20

Dear Partner in Preaching,

I must confess that I think I’ve been misreading this Sunday’s passage from Matthew for, well, pretty much my whole life. J That’s likely because – another confession coming – I tend to read Matthew as a fairly strict rule enforcer, a little harsh a times, even bordering on nasty occasionally. (Told you I was about to ‘fess up!)

But… I think I’ve got it – and Matthew – all wrong. (Well, not all wrong, as Matthew can be kind of harsh, particularly when dealing with the Pharisees, his likely opponents in the struggle for the allegiance of his folks.) After reading this passage more closely, however, I think Matthew is way less interested in rules for rules sake than he is in rules for the community’s sake and, in particular, rules that protect the vulnerable (noting that his community feels pretty vulnerable right now).

A few things struck me this time around. First, the attention Matthew gives to Jesus’ instructions about resolving disputes or, more acutely, the impact of our poor behavior, may reflect that, well, Matthew’s community was struggling with disputes and the impact and consequences of poor behavior. I don’t know why I haven’t thought of that before. Perhaps because I have usually heard these verses referenced as a universal approach to conflict resolution and less as reflecting Matthew’s concern for the struggles of his folks. But, as we know from experience, conflict can hurt. When members of our community show little regard for others, everyone suffers. So why not share a story or memory of Jesus where he offers counsel about how to resolve conflict and address poor behavior.

Second, this whole chapter is about the vulnerable. Jesus starts by placing a child in the midst of disciples arguing about greatness and invites them to redefine their assumptions and criteria. Moreover, beyond redefining greatness along the lines of humility rather than power, Jesus also implores them to welcome those who are vulnerable like a child saying that when they do so, they are welcoming him (1-5). The next section is about avoiding at all costs harming “these little ones” – not specified but again likely referring to the vulnerable members of the community (note that it’s “these little ones who believe in me”), stressing hyperbolically that it would be better to lose a member of one’s physical body than harm vulnerable members of the communal body. Sin, in Matthew’s (and Judaism’s) view is not an individual affair. Our poor choices affect and infect the larger body. And Matthew exercises particular care with regard to the children, the little ones, the vulnerable (6-9). Then comes Matthew’s version of the lost sheep – and let’s admit that most of us probably forgot Matthew also offers this metaphor! – pointing out God’s concern not to lose any of the community, even those who have gone astray (10-14).

Third, this is a pretty intense process for resolving conflict. But whereas I used to read that as a peculiarly Matthean legalism – “first you have to do this, then you have to do that…” – I now see it as the lengths to which we should go to try to reconnect with someone who has “gone astray” or even those who have “sinned against you.” When it comes to ruptures in the community, you don’t give up. Or least you try everything you can think of before letting one be bound to the consequences of their sin.

Fourth, conversation is interestingly central here. First you go to talk to the one who has fallen short. Then you bring one or two more to talk. Then the larger community gets into the discussion, all in the hopes that the one who has gone astray will engage in the conversation, listen, and return (15-17). Goodness, but after reading about all this, I began to wonder if maybe the straying member, the one who has sinned, is actually one of the “little ones” that has gone astray and needs our best efforts and care? (And in case we’re not sure that it really, really matters that we keep trying, the very next passage is when Jesus tells Peter that it’s not enough to forgive one seven times, as according to the law, but seventy-seven times! [21-22]!)

Fifth and finally, all of this has shifted how I think of the last words of Jesus in this scene. Rather than read v.19 as a magical formula – “if you can just get a certain number of people to agree and pray, God will do it” – perhaps instead it’s the more proximate promise that the outcome of reconciliation is nothing short of incredible potential and possibility. When we heal our divisions and come together, God is powerfully at work and nothing is impossible. Moreover, Jesus promises that when we are about this work – that is, when we come together as a community to address our differences, resolve our disputes, seek to end conflict, and repair relationships – he is there. Always. Supporting, encouraging, blessing our efforts. We are not alone and that’s why we don’t give up.

All of this strikes me as remarkably timely as we deal with a pandemic, economic upheaval, racial injustice and cries for reform, and a polarized political landscape. The heart of this passage is about Christian community – what it is, how it suffers, how to address hurt, what a healed community can do. And so we might, Dear Partner, use this occasion to ask our folks what kind of community we are going to be. Can we look at those around us and believe and affirm that even those who disagree with us on important issues are nevertheless followers of Jesus? Can we imagine that the goal of our community is to nurture relationships inside and outside our congregation? Can we commit to going to great lengths – even of tolerating those who disagree with us about who should be our next president! – to engage each other in conversation, hoping that we listen to one another?

What if we ask our congregation these questions this Sunday, Dear Partner? What if we invite them not to read each other’s actions through the lens of partisan commitments but actively commit to seeing one another as “little ones” who deserve our care and compassion? What if we strive to be less assertive and more humble, recognizing that we are more likely to find Jesus amid acts of humility than assertiveness? What if we assess our words, our actions, and how we spend our time according to the simple but huge question, “does this build up the body of Christ and nurture Christian relationships or not?” What if we help prod, stretch, and encourage our communal imagination as those called to tend the relationships of the larger community, striving to advocate and care for the vulnerable, be agents of reconciliation, actively encourage civil conversation, and be a place of welcome and forgiveness?

But before addressing these questions to our congregation, we probably should ask them of ourselves. Do we state our convictions – whether in a sermon, casual conversation, or a social media post – in a way that draws lines or erases them, in ways that invite conversation or invite people to choose a side? Are we more eager to listen to or judge those who differ with us politically?

I’ve often heard colleagues elevate the “prophetic” role of the preacher over the “pastoral” role, but this passage makes me wonder whether that’s a false dichotomy. If I speak and write and preach and post in a way that makes members of my community wonder if I would respect or would welcome them if I knew how they voted, am I really demonstrating any meaningful regard for them as a fellow believer? Posting and tweeting, as we countless recent examples, is a far cry from engaging in conversation and caring (though admittedly the former is quicker and feels pretty good).

What kind of community will we be? What kind of community leader will we be? These questions are deeply intertwined. At times that may seem too big to answer. But Jesus promises to be with us as we struggle together to address them. We are not alone. Ever. We are called to reach out, to engage, to advocate and care for the vulnerable while also seeking those who have gone astray. And as we do, Jesus is there. Always.

Hard work, Dear Partner, but good work. Thank you for your commitment to it. Community is messy. Community is also important, the place where God is at work. And so know, as you prepare your sermon, that God is at work in you and through you, always for the good of the community and, through the community, for the sake of the world. God bless you with patience, courage, and a sense of God’s presence and peace.

Yours in Christ,
David