Sermons

Moving Beyond the Do-Gooderism of Loving Your Enemies

I say to you that listen, hate your enemies, do evil to those who hate you, curse those who curse you, damn those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, hit them back even harder! If they take away your coat, steal it back and take their shirt too. If anyone begs from you, give them nothing but a harsh word, and if anyone takes away your things, take everything they have. Make them regret it. Get yours. Protect yourself, and use everyone else. No one else matters.

If that had been the message of Jesus two thousand years ago, I don’t think a single one of us would be sitting here today. Hate, vengeance, selfishness, and disregard for our interconnectedness are utterly opposite of everything we believe, utterly the opposite of the baptismal covenant we will hear in a few minutes. Can you imagine if that was the message I was up here to deliver today?

I wish that message of hate, greed, and dehumanization were a lot rarer than it is because I hear it everywhere. I hear it any time two groups are pitted against each other, yes, in geopolitical conflicts and domestic partisan conflicts, but even sometimes between sports teams. As humans, we prefer our own kin and those like us, the us. Everyone else, we’re not so sure about, the them.

This gospel message about loving our enemy is in part two of the Sermon on the Plain in the gospel of Luke. It’s easy, or at least easy for me, to just kind of gloss over it. Here’s Jesus, being so Jesus-y again, casually telling me to be nice to people, give my money away, turn the other cheek, and love my enemies, although that line seems much less tangible than the rest. And what it invokes for me is a kind of Christian do-gooderism, that is great for Church, but gets put on the back burner for the rest of the week.

Doesn’t Jesus know we live in the *real* world, a world of cruelty and scarcity? Doesn’t Jesus know that, like him, we are living through history, through what feels like a full-throated attack on American democracy?

But I think that Jesus is calling us out of our context, beyond our fears and our circumstances. Times like these are when we need a radical gospel the most, and that’s what this is: an utterly radical text that shocked the world when it was first said and continues to shock us now. In the gospel stories we hear every week, we again and again see that Jesus is presented with two options: will it be them or us? And Jesus always chooses a third option. He resists this either-or thinking. He chooses an option that invokes not division but unification.

And I think it is probably better for our enemies that we love them because love is the only thing that can turn an enemy into a friend. Because when enemies remain enemies, trying to obliterate each other only serves to replicate the problem further. Only love can transform that dynamic into something new.

But I also want to talk about why animosity is bad for us, the subjects of this command. Twenty years ago, on a hot Oklahoma day, I did what I did every Sunday: I got dressed and drove to an Episcopal Church for Holy Eucharist. And I was very early because I’d never been to this church before, and I gave myself plenty of time to follow my Mapquest directions to get there. And as I sat in my car, killing time, I became overcome with fear and anxiety. I panicked; there’s no other word for it.

That’s because this church was the conservative Episcopal church in the area, and it had become a hub for those who did not want lesbian, gay, and bisexual people in the church, especially not in leadership. And I knew some families had left my progressive (for Oklahoma) church and gone to this church. I was so afraid that I was going to walk in the door and they would think that I was like them. I was afraid I was betraying my LGBT friends and betraying my ethics. I was afraid that even by sitting in a pew with someone, I was choosing their side. I thought by loving my enemy, I was betraying my allies.

I sat there in the hot car, and I wrestled, and I argued with myself. I started the car to leave; I turned the car off. All the disdain and scorn I felt flooded my body, all the hurt and anger that had divided my diocese. I’m guessing that you know this feeling. Because when we harbor enmity toward others, it can eat at us from the inside out, like rust decaying inside us. That rust erodes our humanity and makes it harder to see the image of God in others. In a moment, we will hear that resisting evil, seeking and serving Christ in all persons, and respecting the dignity of every human being are key features of the Christian life, which we baptize Luke and Sam into today. In baptism, we commit to not let the rust eat through us, but rather allowing the Holy Spirit to wash it away.

And eventually, I went inside the church. I was there to see a friend sing in the choir, and I seem to recall that he did a wonderful job. I’d love to tell you that I saw someone I knew, and we had a big transformative conversation, and it totally solved everything. But I think the harder truth is that it was one tiny act where I moved an inch toward a group of people I disagreed with. We joined together at communion, and I believe that the act had ripple effects. On that day, I no longer saw these people as caricatures.

We are living in a messy world, one that’s still in progress, and there isn’t always a satisfying conclusion. But I believe these small actions matter: praying for someone with whom you have conflict, making the first vulnerable move toward reconciliation, taking a risk.

I know that many of you are in precarious positions right now. And I wonder, who am I to stand up and deliver such a tough message? But then I remember that it’s not me who said it, but rather Jesus, the one who was crucified and who was risen.

And so I return to his words:

“I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. 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. Do to others as you would have them do to you.”

Amen.