“You have heard the law that says the punishment must match the injury: ‘An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.’ But I say, do not resist an evil person! If someone slaps you on the right cheek, offer the other cheek also. If you are sued in court and your shirt is taken from you, give your coat, too. If a soldier demands that you carry his gear for a mile, carry it two miles. Give to those who ask, and don’t turn away from those who want to borrow. “You have heard the law that says, ‘Love your neighbor’ and hate your enemy. But I say, love your enemies! Pray for those who persecute you! In that way, you will be acting as true children of your Father in heaven. For he gives his sunlight to both the evil and the good, and he sends rain on the just and the unjust alike”. (Words of Jesus from “The Sermon on the Mount” as recorded in Matthew 5:38-45).
If I were not a Christian and if I were to stumble across this quote in some old, dusty volume stuck away in an old, warped crate in a cobweb-filled, attic, I think reading this quote would pique my curiosity about this man, Jesus of Nazareth. I think I would be fascinated by this man and his teachings, and would be deeply curious to know why and how he could have possibly come up with such a novel approach to dealing with the complexities of being alive on planet earth, together with billions of other people, all trying to survive on the same planet at the same time, and, more often than not, getting in each other’s way, sometimes unintentionally, sometimes with unmitigated anger and unquenched cruelty. Why this bizarre approach to the human dilemma? Why left them slap you not only on one cheek, but on the other as well? Why give them not only your shirt but also your coat? Why carry their gear for not only one mile, but two? Why do the unthinkable and love not only your neighbors but also your greatest enemies? Is it even possible to live this way? I think that I might be simultaneously strangely attracted to and oddly repelled by this man’s teachings. I would probably spend some sleepless nights trying to figure out if this Jesus of Nazareth were a brilliant prophet who was far ahead of his time, or a madman calling men and women to an incredibly difficult, unreasonable and counterintuitive lifestyle that could never possibly work — at least not in this little corner of the universe. Is he proposing a lifestyle that is too good to be true, or one that is too radical to be plausible? Is Jesus so far ahead of the rest of humanity that he is expanding the threshold of morality and spirituality, or is he introducing an unorthodox and unethical teaching that is psychologically and sociologically damaging and even downright dangerous to himself and to those who are crazy enough to try to take him seriously? Reading these words for the first time would probably propel me into some level of existential crisis. I think I would go back and read the quote a second time. Then I would be struck by the words “In that way, you will be acting as true children of your Father in heaven”. So Jesus is suggesting that this lifestyle is reflective of the character of God, and that having a lifestyle that reflects the character of God somehow makes us like children of God. Interesting, but scary. So Jesus is trying to tell us about a God who goes the extra mile, a God who forgives his enemies and his persecutors. And God wants us to be like Him. God wants to be his children, which means we somehow resemble him in our character. Like parent, like child. Is that what Jesus was trying to say? Well, maybe I can sort of believe in that kind of God. Maybe. And then I would read further in that old, dusty book in that old, musty attic, and I would discover that Jesus not only came to tell us about God, but that he also claimed to be the Son of God; God in the flesh; God walking around on the planet, as a man— both God and man at the same time. The plot thickens. If I were to continue to read that book, perhaps I’d start to connect the dots. God not only tells us who he is, he not only tells us how to live, but he sees our dilemma, and he does something about it. He comes to earth as a man, not only to tell us how to live, but to show us how to live. He comes not as a superman but as a vulnerable human being, subject to all the conditions to which all other humans are subject. He enters into our suffering, our vulnerability, our pain, because that’s the kind of God he is. He models to us the lifestyle that he teaches, not by shouting it down from heaven but by living among us, suffering alongside of us, walking the extra mile with us, loving his enemies, forgiving those who persecute him. He shows us how to do it, and in the process we find out that he is a God of incredible wisdom, strength, and compassion. I am finding it easier and easier to believe in that kind of God. But then I'd be struck by the fact that this God of incredible wisdom, strength and compassion is also a just God, and a God of wrath. That part of the story terrifies me. I think I'd be tempted to put the book down at that point, but hopefully I would continue to be drawn into the beautiful mystery that is unfolding in the pages of this book. If I would continue to read I’d soon come to The Truly Unthinkable. God dies for his people. God dies to pay the penalty for the sins of his people. How could this be? God is perfectly just. Therefore he hates sin and must punish all sin. God is perfectly compassionate and loving. He wants to forgive us so that he can reconcile us to himself, so that we can be with him forever. How can he forgive us if he is just? How can he condemn us if he is loving and compassionate? Then I would discover that this God who is both infinitely just and infinitely compassionate is also infinitely wise, so in his infinite wisdom he comes up with an infinitely wise plan. He comes to earth as a man. He allows himself to be killed by the sinful actions of sinful men and women, but he turns it around. He somehow manages to absorb within himself all the sinful actions of the very men and women who killed him, and of all human beings who had ever lived before him or who ever would live in the future. By some divine reckoning, he makes himself responsible for the debt incurred by their sins, so that he takes the blame for their sins, and he pays the penalty for their sins. What kind of God would do this? I am finding more and more that this is the kind of God I can believe in. At this point I would probably feel compelled to keep on reading. Does the story end there? God comes to earth as a man, enters into our vulnerability and suffering, shows us how to live, how to relate to him, how to relate to each other, and then he dies to pay for the sins of humanity so that he can reconcile us to himself, so that we can be with him forever. But now he is dead. What good is a dead God? How can we be reconciled to God if he had to die in order to reconcile us to himself? Is that how the story ends? No, there is much more. I would read that Jesus arose from the grave, fully alive, to prove that he had conquered humankind’s two greatest enemies, sin and death. I would read that he ascended into heaven. I would read that he sent his Holy Spirit to indwell all believers. I would read that he started his Church, a community of grateful and joyful and singing and worshipping and praying believers who would learn how to live out his teachings in the day-by-day grind of life. As a community, together they would learn how to love God, to love each other, to forgive their enemies and their persecutors, to go the extra mile, just the way that Jesus showed them, so that they could live as children of God, resembling their Father’s character. I would read that Jesus promised that he would one day return to establish his kingdom upon the earth, as Messiah of Israel and Savior of the world, in fulfillment of the writings of the Hebrew prophets. I would read that just as Jesus arose from death in a real but changed body, so, too, would those who would identify with him and who would give him their total allegiance would be raised from death just as he was, and would participate in his kingdom, on a real but changed earth, in real but changed bodies. I would read and read and read, and perhaps, in my reading, I would eventually start to believe— not just intellectually, but in my heart — I would start to believe in such a way that I would give my full allegiance to the Jesus of this story, that I would come to understand that it’s all true, that it’s a story that’s worth living for and worth dying for, a story that’s truer than anything else that I had ever seen or read or heard about or thought about before. I would start to fall in love with the story, and with the Jesus of the story, and with the God who both created me and died for me, and I would discover that his story is my story. Is this a strange story, or is it a beautiful story, or is it my story? Is it a pretty myth that may be helpful to some, or is it the very foundation of the cosmic order of things? I hope that your curiosity is piqued, so that you will reach for that dusty old volume, begin to read the story, and find out for yourself. If you have already heard the story many times, I hope that you will hear it again, for the first time.
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