Pastor Paul E. Hoffman

The Sixth Sunday after Epiphany

Beloved in Christ, grace and peace to you in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

If you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift.

Can you imagine how long that might take? Jesus says: First, be reconciled to your brother or sister…. Rather than the few minutes we set aside in the Eucharistic liturgy to share the peace with one another before we bring our gifts to the altar, can you imagine how long it might take for us to first be reconciled with one another, and then move on to the offering and what follows?

It’s a beautiful if somewhat impractical thought, isn’t it? This business of reconciliation is a rich and messy endeavor. And, granted, some of those with whom we need to be reconciled are here with us in the assembly, but certainly not all. How long would it take? How long would it take, do you suppose, to do what it takes to find those who we believe might have something against us – note that Jesus says those who have something against us, not those we have something against…  How long would it take do you suppose for us to track those people down, lay ourselves humbly at their feet, seek their forgiveness, and then return to the assembly to continue with our worship? I think that it could take a really long time.

This idea of being at peace with one another – whoever, wherever those one anothers might be – stands at the centerpiece of this part of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount. At the heart of his message, Jesus imagines, even if we cannot, a community of followers who live together in peace.

It would be easy to make this all very legalistic, to set up this varied and eclectic catalog of ethics from Jesus as a new form of righteous-ness, which, as you know, almost always turns south into self-righteousness. So far in the history of humanity, no one has been able to keep the Law. So it is a fool’s errand to believe that now Jesus is setting up a new even more rigorous system that will frustrate us with failure at best and shame at worst.  

No, Jesus sets this scene of reconciliation with one another as a prerequisite to bringing a sacrificial gift to the altar. He wants it to be clear: harmonious relationships are more important than ritual satisfaction. Holy living, à la Jesus, is more than checking a box.

First be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift. First, be reconciled.

This new way of living together in justice and mercy is tucked into a list of ways that we manage to alienate and take advantage of one another. It was as true for the ancients as it is for us this very day.

Maybe we’ve never drawn a gun on anyone, but anger festers, insults, abound, the culture calls everyone with whom we disagree “a fool” in one way or another, but usually with much harsher words

Jesus paints a picture of a world in which women are not treated as property to be disposed of at the whim of a man’s desires.  He imagines a community where every person in valued, and believed worthy of reconciliation. He challenges us to imagine a world in which one’s word is honored and respected. A world where saying YES is the same as meaning YES. The same as DOING yes. No swearing necessary.

And if you think that these are standards of compassionate living that were only needed in his time, think again. We continue to live in a world where women and people of color are still forced to scratch and claw in a culture deaf to their quest for equality. Persons whose self-expression challenges the hetero-normative culture long to be seen, but too often are dismissed in ways that closely resemble handing them a certificate of dismissal, as men did with their wives in Jesus’ day, waving them off, putting them away. Out.

We dismiss people with modern day equivalents of ritual sacrifice by sending a dismissive email and washing our hands of them and their paltry opinions. We salve our souls with a perfunctory text but fail to get to the bottom of what others long for or need. We reconcile with non-apologies. You know the kind, “If something I did offended you, well, sorry.”

Jesus wants more for us. With eyes of love fashioned before the Creation was formed, he looks on us and longs for us to live a reconciled life with one another. A life where sin and guilt and injustice and dis-ease are crucified, dead and buried. And here in words meant to heal, not condemn, he raises up a new vision, the entrance ramp to his new creation. First, go and be reconciled… Christ wants us to be partners with him in that New Creation, living in the spirit of his love, his life, his endless possibilities for purpose and depth – in what we say and do in the community of Christ and in the world. Do you see that he wants that first? Jesus wants us to live together in harmony more than he wants an offering. Especially an offering that is less than genuine. Especially an offering that just checks off a box. Jesus wants us to share the peace. And yes, I think it could take a really long time if we do it with all our hearts. But then the table is waiting, spread with a taste of the New Creation. And whether we’ve succeeded or whether we’ve failed, we are still invited.

This new life to which Christ invites us begins with reconciling. It begins with sharing the peace. It begins with taking that peace beyond these doors and into a world that is longing for meaning and hope. It is our joyful task to seek that peace of Christ in every person, in every nation. It is our baptismal call to be partners with Christ in bringing the light of dignity to every living being.

It may take a very long time. But in his dying and in his rising, Christ promises a day when time will be no more and we will all live together in both his presence and his peace. But there is no need to wait. First be reconciled to your brother or your sister, right here, right now.  And Christ’s peace will come flooding back upon you.

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Pastor Paul E. Hoffman

The Fifth Sunday after Epiphany

Beloved in Christ, grace and peace to you in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Claudio was an anxious Eucharistic minister. And he wore his anxiety on his sleeve, so much so that one day I finally asked him about it.

“Such holy things, pastor. Such holy things. When I carry the chalice I’m carrying such holy things. In my head there is always a voice that is repeating, ‘don’t drop it, don’t spill it, just do what you’re called to do; don’t drop it, don’t spill it, just do what you’re called to do…’”

As we catch up with Jesus this morning, the Sermon on the Mount continues. Preaching to his disciples and the crowds, Jesus echoes what Claudio was feeling, “just do what you’re called to do.” In the case of equipping first-century witnesses Jesus gives guidance that is very clear and positive. He speaks to his beloveds of such holy things:

You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world.

Honestly, the power and the impact of Jesus declaration is lost on us. In our overstimulated culture, the metaphors of salt and light seem – well – a bit bland and dim. They are gifts we take for granted

But salt was essential to survival in Jesus’ day. It wasn’t just an optional ingredient that might be added to food to spice things up like cumin or cayenne. Salt was used to preserve food and blazed a trail for international trade. It functioned as an antiseptic, saving lives from infection and disease. As it became more and more valuable as a commodity, it stood at the center of economic and political power.

In a similar way, we who live in the bright glare of cities that never sleep have only the faintest idea of how light functioned before elec-tricity. News flash: the ancients didn’t have a beam of light from their smartphones to find whatever was lost under the car seat, or to blaze a pathway from the bed to the bathroom in the night.

Declaring his people to BE salt and light is a new wisdom that Christ preaches. It is not a wisdom of this age, or of the rulers of this age. It is a new wisdom that Matthew proclaims along with the apostle Paul, the wisdom of Christ and him crucified. Those who are salt and light in the world not only bring this new wisdom into the world, Jesus proclaims that they actually ARE that wisdom in the world. YOU are that wisdom in the world. You, people of God, are salt and light.

Jesus pushes the envelope.  As Jesus often does. Listen: I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Say it like this: there is a difference between knowing about salt and light and being salt and light. A difference between knowing about our Lord Jesus, crucified and risen from the dead and being our Lord Jesus, crucified and risen from the dead.

Jesus invites us to let our righteousness exceed that of the scribes and Pharisees, and to let our light shine. To be his love in the world. This is what Christ means when he says, I have not come to abolish the law, but to fulfill it. I am not interested in followers who know about righteousness, or who know about salt, and light, and commandments and teachings. I am not interested in followers who are god-ish. I am interested in followers who are Godly.

Let’s be honest. For a guy like me, it is easy to be god-ish. A cradle Lutheran, I grew up in the 60’s in an area of the country that was deeply Christian. I thought everyone was. Honestly, it wasn’t until I moved to Seattle in 1996 that I met a bone fide pagan, someone who openly if not proudly chosen to practice no faith at all. For a guy like me, being god-ish was easy. Very little risk. I have spent my life being able to go along and get along, to be like salt and light in the world.

Jesus wants us to know a greater gift. Jesus wants more for us, because Jesus always longs for what is best for us. Jesus offers us a gift beyond measure.

On a particular Sunday, I noticed that Claudio was possessed of an uncharacteristic calm as an assisting minister. His hands did not shake. When he handed me the chalice and purificator after com-munion his palms were not sweaty. His face was relaxed and radiant, not furrowed and pinched. After worship, I asked him about it.

“Yep, pastor, there’s been a change. I’m no longer overcome with the mantra, “don’t drop it, don’t spill it, just do what you’re called to do.” God has given me a sense of peace. “What changed?” I asked him.

The last time I was Eucharistic minister, when I sat the chalice on the altar, I realized that Christ was not somehow magically in that chalice. I knew that if I spilled it or dropped it, God would understand. When I looked out across the congregation and saw all the people of God that I was privileged to serve, I realized that Christ was not in the chalice. At least not only in that chalice. Christ was now in all of them. In all of us.”

Claudio had come into a new righteousness that did not eliminate one letter, not one stroke of a letter of all that had gone before. He was able to see Christ fulfilling the Law in a way he’d never seen before. He saw God’s people as bearing the cross of Christ to the world. He saw them as salt and light. In short, he moved them in his mind from god-ish to Godly. He might spill some wine, but he also recognized in a truly sacramental way, that God’s love had spilled into the bodies, the hearts, the minds, of God’s people.

Beloved in Christ. You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world. You are not like a bit of seasoning to make bad things a little better. You are not just a sprinkling of light to make someone’s random hard day a little bit brighter. God has been and will once again today be spilled into you.

On our body and in our heart, through our words and by our actions, we ARE salt and light. It’s very sacramental. What once was in the loaf and chalice is now in us. We are bread for the hungry, drink for all who thirst. We are no longer god-ish. Baptized into Christ we are Godly. It is both joy and privilege, gift and task, and Jesus walks with us every step of the way. Because he lives, we shall live also, to bring Christ to the world for others. Light for the world to see.

Salt and light. Christ in the world. This is who we are. Rise and shine, people of God. Godly people. Bringing peace to the troubled. Food to the hungry. Shelter to the homeless. Such Godly people we are called to be.  Such Godly people we get to be. Godly salt. Godly light.

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.