Living Word

A Sermon for the Sixth Sunday after Trinity
by Matthew Colvin
Matt. 5:20-26
20 For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.
     21 “You have heard that it was said to those of old, ‘You shall not murder; and whoever murders will be liable to judgment.’ 22 But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment; whoever insults his brother will be liable to the council; and whoever says, ‘You fool!’ will be liable to the hell of fire. 23 So if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, 24 leave your gift there before the altar and go. First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift. 25 Come to terms quickly with your accuser while you are going with him to court, lest your accuser hand you over to the judge, and the judge to the guard, and you be put in prison. 26 Truly, I say to you, you will never get out until you have paid the last penny.
Have you ever stopped to think just how unusual a sermon is in our day? Where else do you sit for half an hour and listen to someone talk in person, without interruption, applause, or any dialogue? Let alone, actually believe it.
You were all kind to me last week as I filled in for Pastor Bill. Well, almost all of you. Luke Galloway wasn’t having it. I don’t blame him. But it raises the question of why you should believe any of what I say here at all. What authority is at work in a sermon?
We mentioned last week that the authority of experts does not challenge us too much: experts put their knowledge at our disposal; they submit it to us for our consideration. It’s true that some of what a pastor says might fall under this category: we are supposed to know the Biblical languages and to be trained in explaining the meaning of the Bible. But when I say, “The Greek word means this,” you should take that with a grain of salt unless I also show you how it fits and makes better sense of the Biblical passage. That is, when we preach the Word, we are following St. Paul’s example, who urges the Corinthians, “I speak as to reasonable men; judge for yourselves the things I say.” (1 Cor 10:15)
Why, then, do we wear robes? Why, in the words of one pastor who does not wear robes, does “someone important get to dress up like Saruman”? Ultimately, that is a symbol that the Reformed Episcopal Church has given the pastor to preach the word with their authority: that the church’s bishops have examined a man and found that his doctrine is in conformity with the church’s teaching. We are not lone rangers. We take ordination vows, and that means we are not free to teach our own doctrines, but those of the church. We subscribe to the Nicene Creed, which means that we are not free to to start teaching Arianism. We follow the 39 Articles in the back of your BCP, which means that we will not suddenly come into the pulpit and start teaching that you’re going to Purgatory, or that you should bow down and worship the bread in Holy Communion. We are men under authority, and ultimately, that means we are under the authority of Jesus.
Now what if I showed up on Sunday with my sermon engraved on two tablets? Not two iPads, but two actual tablets of stone. That would be sending a message about the authority of the sermon, wouldn’t it, and it would be a very different message than is communicated by robes and stoles and appeals to Greek lexicography.
But in our gospel lesson this morning, that, or something equivalent to it, is what Jesus has done: he sits down on a mountain, showing that he is about to fill the role of Moses, who went up on Mt. Sinai to receive the covenant God made with Israel after He brought them out of Egypt.
The Sermon on the Mount is Jesus’s most comprehensive and public announcement of his teaching about the coming kingdom of God — by which we mean, the coming day when Israel’s God would be publicly acknowledged as reigning through the person of his anointed king, the Messiah. It is nothing more or less than the announcement of a new covenant, a new moment in the history of Israel as a people, right up there with the covenant with Abraham, the covenant at Mount Sinai, or the covenant with David. That is Jesus’s message throughout his earthly ministry: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near.” The climactic moment in Israel’s story was about to happen.
What is at stake here is what it means to be Israel, to be the people of God. The Pharisees have one way of doing this; Jesus has another. They are not compatible. And Jesus does not mince words: “For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”
I often have to remind my high school students that the word “Pharisee” was a self-laudatory epithet: they called themselves the P’rushim, meaning “separated ones.” Separated from what? Well, to understand that, we need to go back to the time between the testaments, when the Greco-Syrian empire under Antiochus IV Epiphanes attempted to melt down Israel and amalgamate it with Greek culture. In order to make the Jews assimilate, Antiochus banned copies of the Torah, prohibited circumcision and sacrifices to the Lord, and compelled the Jews to eat pig meat and profane the Sabbath. In other words, everything that marked the Jews as separate from the Gentiles was targeted by Antiochus’s laws.
In reaction to this, the Jews rebelled under the leadership of Mattathias Maccabee and his sons, especially Judah Maccabee. With the help of an alliance with Rome, they eventually succeeded in defeating Antiochus and rededicating the Temple in Jerusalem which he had defiled by sacrificing a pig on the altar. And alongside this military victory, the Maccabees also used violent force to pressure Jews to keep the law. It was a really difficult time to be a Jewish mother: if you had your baby boy circumcised, Antiochus’s officers would kill you and your baby. If you didn’t have your baby boy circumcised, the Maccabees would do it by force. If you refused to sacrifice to Zeus, Antiochus’s officers would kill you. If you did sacrifice to Zeus, the Maccabees would kill you.
The operative word in the Maccabees’ resistance to the Greco-Syrian empire was “zeal.” It did not denote a mere enthusiasm. No, it was a violent upholding of the Torah covenant against those who would annihilate it, against the Jewish renegades who were ready to lose their Jewishness and become part of the Greco-Syrian melting pot. In this, the Maccabees were following an earlier template: In Numbers 25, Balaam had a similar idea, albeit with a different method. After the king of Moab, Balak, hired him to curse Israel, and Balaam couldn’t do so because God caused blessings to keep coming out of his mouth instead, Balaam decided that if he couldn’t curse Israel, he would lead them into idolatry. And the best way to do that was sex: he got foxy Midianite or Moabite women to seduce the Israelites and lead them to worship Baal of Peor. And we’re told that:
…Behold, one of the people of Israel came and brought a Midianite woman to his family, in the sight of Moses and in the sight of the whole congregation of the people of Israel, while they were weeping in the entrance of the tent of meeting. 7 When Phinehas the son of Eleazar, son of Aaron the priest, saw it, he rose and left the congregation and took a spear in his hand 8 and went after the man of Israel into the chamber and pierced both of them, the man of Israel and the woman through her belly. Thus the plague on the people of Israel was stopped. 9 Nevertheless, those who died by the plague were twenty-four thousand. (Num. 25:6-9)
This is what is meant by “zeal.” We get a couple other instances in the NT. Saul of Tarsus, before he was stricken blind and came to believe in Jesus and became the apostle Paul, was full of zeal: he was “ravaging the church, and entering house after house, he dragged off men and women and committed them to prison.” (Acts 8:3) And again, Saul was “breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord.” (9:1) This is what zeal looked like: Saul being a good Jew was very concerned that other Jews were being unfaithful to the covenant of Moses, and the way to put a stop to this was to use violence against them, because that is what the Maccabees had done. Indeed, when we find Jesus described as full of zeal, he too is violent: flipping over tables. “Zeal for your house has consumed me.”
The Pharisees
The Pharisees were the spiritual heirs of the Maccabees. They looked around and saw Israel under the domination of the Romans. And they adopted the Maccabees’ recipe for what to do when Gentiles were dominating you: namely, “obey the Torah even harder.” And especially those parts of the Torah that set Jews apart from Gentiles: keeping the Sabbath, observing Kosher food laws, circumcision, sacrifices at the Temple, and following the cleanness laws that were required for entering the Temple — but following them all the time, even when you weren’t going to the Temple.
These were the religious conservatives. They were the people who took the Bible seriously. They weren’t like the Sadducees, working hand in glove with the Romans. The Pharisees believed in the resurrection of the dead. They were looking for the arrival of the Messiah and the coming kingdom of God.
All of which makes it all the more remarkable that Jesus says, “unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”
Nowadays, if I were to call someone a Pharisee, it would not be a compliment. Sort of like how the popularity of the name Adolph went downhill after the 1940s. Except in this case, there is just one man who trashed the name “Pharisee” and turned it into an insult forever after: Jesus. We don’t have time today to do a thorough survey of everything Jesus said about them, but just consider how effective his techniques were. Tell me the next word: “Woe to you, Scribes and Pharisees, __________.” Or the unforgettable visual images: trying to do eye surgery with a railroad tie sticking out of your own eye socket; fishing around for gnats in your soup while balancing a camel on a spoon; absurdly washing only the outside of a bowl or cup and leaving the inside filthy.
You have heard it said
To combat the Pharisees’ way of being Israel, Jesus sets forth his own teaching. He introduces it with one of the most provocative rhetorical devices: the contradiction. “You have heard it said…but I say to you.” Many people misunderstand this. You have heard it said (!!!) that Jesus is quoting the Torah and then correcting its teaching. But I say to you that in this same chapter, verse 17, Jesus has already disavowed any intention of changing or altering the law and the prophets. His intention is rather to attack the Pharisees and their interpretation.
So how does it work? “You have heard it said” — in Judaism, the verb to “hear” (Heb. shama’, cf. the Shema’ in Deuteronomy 6:4) is closely associated with literal, or overly literal interpretation. Shamu’a and mishma’  are both abstract nouns that mean “literal meaning” as well as “that which is heard.” Likewise, hashshome’a, “he who hears” is often used in the sense of “he who sticks to the superficial, literal meaning of Scripture.” Jesus, then, in introducing his teaching on anger, opposes it to the simplemindedly literal interpretation of the Pharisees: In other words, “You have heard it said, you shall not murder, and you think wrongly that this commandment is just concerned with murder. It is not. It is concerned with the roots and causes of murder; likewise, with the effects and consequences of those causes, other than outright murder.” Or, “You have heard it said, ‘you shall not murder, and only he who murders is liable to the judgment,’ but this is a misinterpretation, for many other offences than simple murder are liable to the judgment.”
In every case where Jesus introduces some received interpretation of the Law with “You have heard it said”, he immediately juxtaposes, “But I say to you.” Here, Jesus gives his own authoritative exposition of the Torah. Note that he does not appeal to any other authority: There is no, “Rabbi Ela said that Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish said that Rabbi Meir used to say…” That’s an actual quotation from the Talmud, by the way.
The sermon on the mount continues for three chapters, until Matthew 7:29. At at the end, we are told the crowd’s reaction: “the crowds were astonished at his teaching, for he was teaching them as one who had authority, and not as their scribes.” That is, despite not having been trained by any rabbi, and despite not having authorization as a scribe to propound binding interpretations of the Torah, and without saying “Rabbi X said in the name of Rabbi Y,” Jesus was declaring, “But I say to you…” That is, on his own authority as the Son of God, not the derived authority of his doctoral dissertation supervisor.
Jesus constantly warned against the Pharisees. Why? Because they represented a very real danger. It is a danger that is peculiarly powerful for people who love God and take the Bible seriously and feel culturally and morally besieged.
We are in a very similar situation, brothers and sisters. You are in the REC. It confesses the Bible to be the inspired word of God; it recites the Creed on a weekly basis; it has bishops, conforming to the polity that characterized the ancient church and the vast majority of church history since then; it stands for orthodoxy and Biblical morality in the face of howling winds of cultural change and creeping sexual perversion and transhumanism, all encouraged by the false eschatology of progress and a false faith in technology. If we are not careful to obey Jesus’s teaching, it will be very easy to fall into Pharisaism, and to pray like the Pharisee in Jesus’s parable: “I thank you, Lord, that I am not like other men, leftists, weirdos with dyed hair, or those rainbow flag alphabet soup people. I attend church every week and give a tenth of everything I get.” The danger, that is, is to adopt a view of the church as the beleaguered remnant waiting for God to smite its cultural and political enemies, and to focus on performative acts of boundary-marking. In other words, to focus on being pure and separate, in the hopes that God will reward your heightened effort at boundary marking by destroying those on the other side of the boundaries and rewarding you.
Jesus’s teaches something different from the Maccabees, both about how to be Israel, and about how to relate to those on the other side of the boundaries of the faith.
23 – “If you are offering your gift at the altar” — even if you are in the middle of the most important performance of Israelite piety, the central act that enabled Israel’s God to dwell with His people. This is a shocking inversion of how the Pharisees thought things worked: for them, if you declared some money “qorban”, then you were excused from supporting your aged parents with it; for them, if an apparently dead body were on the side of the road, a priest or Levite on his way to the temple would be fully justified in avoiding it in order to remain in a state of cultic purity so that he could do his work in the temple. The laws of purity and religion were thus exalted over the duties toward neighbours and other human beings.
Jesus has the OT on his side on this point: the opening of Isaiah rebukes the Israelites for their chutzpah in offering sacrifices and celebrating new moon feasts and other religious observances while perpetrating the worst sorts of social injustice: “Bring no more vain offerings; incense is an abomination to me. New moon and Sabbath and the calling of convocations— I cannot endure iniquity and solemn assembly. 14 Your new moons and your appointed feasts my soul hates; they have become a burden to me; I am weary of bearing them. 15 When you spread out your hands, I will hide my eyes from you; even though you make many prayers, I will not listen; your hands are full of blood…Everyone loves a bribe and runs after gifts. They do not bring justice to the fatherless, and the widow’s cause does not come to them.”
The idea that you can please God by meeting the external requirements, while simultaneously engaged in the worst sorts of injustice toward your fellow men is formalism. Think of a mafia boss who orders a hit on his enemies or pulls out a tommy gun and mows down sixteen rival mobsters on Saturday; the following morning, he shows up at Mass, dips his fingers in holy water, makes the sign of the cross, receives a wafer on his tongue and a blessing from the priest. Mobsters trust in formalism.
God is not fooled.
It was easy for faithful and believing Jews in Jesus’s day to fall into hating the Romans. They were polytheist Gentiles, sexually immoral, and overweening in their obnoxiousness toward the Jews. Jesus mentions “Those Galileans whose blood Pilate mingled with their sacrifices.” The Romans had installed the wicked Idumean dynasty of the Herodians as rulers over Israel. Roman soldiers had the right to Shanghai any Jew and force him to carry his heavy soldier’s pack for a mile.
Against all this, Jesus tells his disciples to “put away your sword” and to “turn the other cheek” and “go two miles”. In the face of the power and authority of the Roman governor, he answers Pilate not a word. He does not compete on the Romans’ level. He knows that their empire will be His whenever He wants. “Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels?”
The Sermon on the Mount teaches a different way of being the people of God: not the Pharisees’ way of exaggerated purity, social pressure, and violent insurrection. It is a way that manifests itself in a totally different attitude toward the Gentiles: one of compassion, not hatred. Not endorsement of the Gentiles’ sins or their idolatry or their sexual immorality or infanticide. But a willingness to lay down His life also for them.
A crucified Messiah implies a crucified Israel. That, in fact, is what we are called to be: Israel for the sake of the world. And that is what we find in our Epistle lesson this morning, as St. Paul urges in Romans 6:
 Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? 4 We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life.
     5 For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we shall certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his. 6 We know that our old self was crucified with him in order that the body of sin might be brought to nothing, so that we would no longer be enslaved to sin.
Followers of the crucified Messiah are to be Israel for the sake of the world. Accordingly, we are to pray for the world — which we are about to do now.