But I say to you... Going beyond the basics

 Sirach 15.15-20 ‘He has not commanded anyone to be ungodly.’

1 Corinthians 2.6-10 ‘A wisdom God decreed before the ages for our glory.’

Matthew 5.20-22a,27-28,33-34a,37 ’It was said to those of old; but I say to you.’

 

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Today’s gospel reading is pretty punchy.

Perhaps sometimes we hear this sort of Gospel passage and wonder where the message of love and kindness is to be found, isn’t this all a bit harsh and too strong?

There are two responses to that.

First, the love, mercy and faithfulness of God pervades the whole of scripture.

Bear in mind too that these verses are part of the Sermon on the Mount which contains the Beatitudes and the gentleness of that part of the message.

Perhaps what we’re getting in these verses is ‘tough love’; not the ‘gentle parenting’ that has become all the rage.

That takes us to the second response.

Don’t mistake being loving for being unchallenging: sometimes it is more loving to challenge.

If we’re looking for the ‘all you need is love’ message, what we find here is the challenge to love in a way that is more than just avoiding doing bad things.

It’s not good enough not to murder, not to commit adultery or not to swear an oath.

The spiritual life, coming closer to the way of Jesus, is made real by taming the angry self within; by averting the lustful gaze, by stopping beating around the bush so as to speak honestly.

St Thomas Aquinas, the medieval priest and theologian, describes love as willing the good other, for the sake of the other.

In other words, love of my neighbour is simply for their sake, just because they are there, not because of what I can get out of them; the other person is not a product or an object, but truly a person, someone made in the image of God.

So, if a Gospel reading like today’s gets under your skin that’s good: good, because it is moving your heart.

Something really important is going on here.

The Trappist monk, Thomas Merton, writing in the 1970s, develops Thomas Aquinas’ words wrote about treating people as persons not objects. Merton says:

Love is only possible between persons as persons. That is to say, if I love you, I must love you as a person not a thing. When we love another as an object, we refuse or fail to pass over into the realm of their spiritual reality, their personal identity… We have to love them for what they are in themselves, and not for what they are to us. (Thomas Merton, The Power and Meaning of Love)

Merton suggests that being able to love others in the way Christ loves them means we are the ones who need to be transformed.

That’s when Jesus says, ‘but I say to you…’

So, when we are angry with someone we de-personalise them by making them into a problem that corrodes our hearts.

When we look lustfully on someone we are making them an object, desiring them in a way that diminishes them and corrodes our hearts.

When we swear on something other than our own integrity then we are dodging our responsibility to treat someone as a person not an object.

This flies so much in the face of the culture we see around us.

We’re fed anger, lust and deceit all the time in the media, be that legacy media or social media, in public life, in art and film.

So we’re asked to reflect:

·       What is it in me that makes me angry with so and so? What’s that doing to my heart?

·       What is it in me that makes me look lustfully at someone? Now, the answer might be, ‘isn’t that obvious’ (nudge, nudge, wink, wink) but by looking lustfully I have declared in my heart that that person is an object of my desire, not a person to be honoured.

·       What is it that gets in my way of simply saying ‘yes’ or ‘no’ and meaning it? Who am I kidding? I am just protecting myself.

Jesus is certainly setting a high bar, ‘you have heard it said…but I say to you…’

The world, I think, can agree murder is bad; perhaps the jury is out nowadays on how devastating adultery is to a wronged spouse, and certainly children of a marriage; and as for honesty, well if you can get what you need by telling some porkies, good luck to you.

‘You have heard it said’: it seems many people haven’t heard that.

And even if everyone agreed with the Law of Moses about murder, adultery, oaths and keeping your word, Jesus calls us deeper.

‘Put out into the deep’ he says to Peter elsewhere.

Take the risk to recalibrate your life; pattern your life after the one who, faced violence with strength, who treated men and women with the dignity of being persons made in God’s image and growing into God’s likeness, who spoke plainly and truthfully, even though that was not received well.

Here’s the way to the wise living St Paul talks about. Bonkers to the world rejected by the rulers of this age, but revealed in the Lord of glory by the Spirit who searches everything.

May we be schooled, as we celebrate this Eucharist, into the ways of the love of Jesus Christ fashioning our lives into his, transformed into his glory.

Salt, Light & the Covenant of Life

 Isaiah 58.6-10 ‘Your light shall break forth like the dawn’

1 Corinthians 2.1-5 ‘I proclaimed to you the mystery of Christ crucified.’

Matthew 5.13-16 ‘You are the light of the world.’

 

Let your light shine before others,

so that they may see your good works

and give glory to your Father who is in heaven. (Matthew 5.16)

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In our Gospel reading today, Jesus places before us two vivid and compelling images of what it means to be his disciples.

He does not simply suggest that we might become these things, nor does he offer them as distant aspirations.

Instead, he speaks with striking directness: you are the salt of the earth; you are the light of the world.

These are not optional extras for the especially keen or the particularly holy.

They are declarations of identity.

Jesus tells us who we already are by virtue of belonging to him.

These sayings could not be more fitting on a day when we celebrate a baptism—both in the life of this parish and in the life of the Church Universal.

Baptism is the moment when a person is drawn into the life of Christ, grafted into his Body, and marked with his identity.

Today N enters into that life, and so these images of salt and light speak directly into the faith she receives and the vocation she begins.

Salt has remarkable properties.

In the ancient world it was essential for preserving food, preventing decay, and enabling life to flourish in harsh climates.

It also seasons food, enhancing and drawing out the flavours already present.

Yet salt must be used wisely.

Too little and it is ineffective; too much and it overwhelms, even destroys.

In large quantities it can kill vegetation and render land barren.

Salt is powerful, and its power must be rightly ordered.

So why does Jesus say to his disciples, you are the salt of the earth?

On one level, he is encouraging them—and us—to see ourselves as those who bring flavour and depth to the world, who draw out the goodness of God’s creation, who preserve what is holy and life-giving.

Christians are meant to make the world taste more like the Kingdom.

But there is a deeper resonance.

In Scripture, salt is closely associated with covenants—the sacred relationships into which God draws his people.

The Covenant of Priesthood with Aaron and his descendants is described as a ‘covenant of salt’ (Numbers 18.19).

Likewise, the Covenant of Kingship made with David is sealed with salt (2 Chronicles 13.5).

Salt symbolises permanence, fidelity, and the enduring nature of God’s promises.

In baptism we are formed as prophets, priests, and kings in Christ.

We are drawn into the Covenant of Grace sealed by his blood.

In the early Church, a small pinch of salt was placed on the tongue of the person being baptised.

This sal sapientiae—the ‘salt of wisdom’—symbolised purification, preservation from corruption, and the reception of divine understanding.

It was a sign that the newly baptised was being strengthened to live faithfully within God’s covenant.

So when Jesus asks, if salt has lost its taste, how shall its saltiness be restored?, he is not merely offering a culinary observation.

He is speaking of covenant faithfulness.

If we, who are the salt of the earth, lose our saltiness, we cease to draw out the flavours of the Kingdom; we cease to preserve the way of the Lord; We fail to live the life into which we were baptised.

Salt loses its flavour when God’s people forget who they are.

The people of Israel lost their saltiness when they abandoned the covenant.

Christians lose theirs when we place other priorities ahead of Christ; when the life of the Church becomes optional; when receiving Christ in the Eucharist becomes something we can take or leave; when prayer dries up; when charity grows cold and we lose our connection with e Communion of Saints.

Salt only makes sense as salt when it is salty.

Likewise, human beings only make sense when our lives are shaped after Jesus Christ, the true Light of the World.

And this brings us to the second image Jesus gives us: you are the light of the world.

Just as salt is pointless without its distinctive properties, so light is pointless if hidden under a basket.

Light is meant to shine, to reveal, to guide, to warm.

What a remarkable assertion this is.

Jesus, who says of himself, I am the light of the world, also says to us, you are the light of the world.

Our light is not our own.

As the moon reflects the light of the sun, so we reflect the radiance of Christ.

Without him our lives are dim and cold.

True enlightenment is not found in human-centred philosophies but in turning toward the God-Man, Jesus Christ, the fullest expression of what it means to be human.

As St Paul reminds us, our faith does not rest “in the wisdom of men but in the power of God.”

When Christ is placed on the lampstand of our hearts, we cannot help but shine.

Our good works—our acts of mercy, justice, compassion, and faithfulness—become windows through which others glimpse the glory of God.

Jesus’ image of a city set on a hill would have immediately evoked Jerusalem.

Approaching it from the Jordan Valley at sunset, pilgrims could see its lights from afar.

They lifted their eyes to the hills and sang, “from whence cometh my help?”—knowing that their help came not from the earthly city but from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth.

Jerusalem was a city of light, its Temple illuminated by golden lampstands.

Yet even that city fell into darkness when the powers of this world sought to extinguish the Light of the World.

But the light could not be overcome.

The One who was present when God said, ‘Let there be light,’ (Genesis 1.1) shines even through death and into our hearts.

It is into this radiant mystery that N is baptised today.

She is sealed with Christ’s light and seasoned with his salt.

And we, with her, are called again to be what Jesus declares us to be: the salt of the earth and the light of the world.

May we draw out the flavours of the Kingdom, preserve what is holy, and shine with the light that leads others to the Father. Amen.

 

Salvation presented

 Malachi 3.1-4 ‘The Lord whom you seek will come to his temple.’

Hebrews 2.14-18 ‘He had to be made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful.’

Luke 2.22-32 ‘My eyes have seen your salvation’

 

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The Presentation of the Lord, which we mark and celebrate today, is full of rich scriptural resonances.

We have the temple, the place of encounter between God and Israel, a place of offering and sacrifice.

We have the beautiful image of two young parents bringing their child to the temple, offering sacrifice for him who will become the sacrificial lamb who takes away the sin of the world. (John 1.29)

We have Simeon’s moving realisation, when he takes this child in his arms, that there is nothing more in the whole world that he needs to receive, or to see, or to do that can make his life complete: I can depart in peace for my eyes have seen the salvation of the world prepared for me and for everyone.

Yet, in the beauty and the intimacy of the scene, there is also a foreshadowing of darkness: Mary, the blessed Mother, will have a sword pierce her own soul too.

We learn that in this child the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed for many will oppose him. As in St. John's gospel he came to his own but his own received him not.

We can’t read this passage without connecting it to the words of St John’s Gospel:

The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not know him. He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him. But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God, who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God. (John 1.9-13)

Simeon received him, and so did Anna.

Anna the prophetess, though advanced in years, is still young and fresh in expectation and hope, filled with the conviction that she will see the Lord's anointed: the son of David revealed in Jesus Christ son of God and son of Mary.

Anna, and Simeon, remind us - of any age - not to be jaded, grudging or always assuming that nothing good will come in a given situation: Anna is a prophetess of hope and the vibrant expectation that God will reveal his beauty, goodness and truth.

What Mary and Joseph were doing in bringing the Lord to his own temple, his own house, fulfilled the law of Moses and also tells us what is to come: this child is the new temple, this child's body which shares the substance of our flesh is our home, our life, our peace, our salvation; Jesus Christ is our place of encounter with the fullness of the Living God.

And we ourselves have entered the Temple of this church in holy procession, echoing with our lights, the lanterns of the Wise Virgins, those five bridesmaids who ran to meet the coming Bridegroom, the spouse of their souls and ours.

Guided by faith, and enlightened by charity, we shall meet and know him, and he will give himself to us.

We miss so much if we don't go beyond the surface of today's readings.

For a start, what we see in the gospel is something increasingly rare in our society today.

Where birth rates are dropping and being a mother or father is increasingly devalued, the Presentation of Christ reminds us of the preciousness of the procreation of children and the Christian vocation for many, but not all, to be a mother, to be a father.

Mary, in the spirit of other women in the Bible offers her child to the Lord, because he is the Lord’s gift to her.

Think of Hannah, the mother of Samuel, of the unnamed wife of Manoah, mother of Samson, of Jochebed, the mother of Moses, of Elizabeth the mother of John the Baptist, all offered their sons back to the Lord because they knew that a child is a gift from God, not a commodity or a right.

That’s a radically different view of children from the societies that offered child sacrifice, like the Incas or the Canaanites who sacrificed children to the false god Molech.

It’s radically different from the Romans who saw children as utterly disposable and of no worth.

The Biblical tradition sees children as precious, and abhors their destruction, be that at the hands of Pharoah, Herod, or anyone else for that matter.

The Biblical offering of a child is an act of surrender and trust, not abandonment or annihilation.

What Mary and Joseph are doing is surrendering their sense of control and trusting God in who their child will become.

The other ‘sociological point’ that the Presentation of Christ reveals is what it truly means to be intergenerational, a mix of age groups in a community.

We’re told that increasingly people of different ages don’t mix, don’t understand each other: the old think the young are snowflakes who have it easy; the young resent how older people have property and pensions that they are unlikely to get.

That’s little wonder.

There are a diminishing number of places where people of different generations both interact and share something in common.

Churches (and other faith communities) are now, more or less, the only places where a true intergenerational community is formed.

In the spirit of young Mary, mature Joseph and elderly Anna and Simeon, may our church be an intergenerational community where we rejoice in other generations, because we all unite around the Christ child.

Ultimately that is the measure of the health of any church.

The conviction of the gospel and the church is that it is only in Christ that human lives are enlightened, restored, healed, and forgiven.

Today, Christ the son of God is presented in human flesh, a human body, and is present in the world.

If only God, he is remote from us.

If only man, he has no capacity to save us.

But as God and man who enters our life in his body and blood, through opening ourselves to receive him in prayer and by feeding on him in patient, faithful reading of his word, then we can know the abundant life he promises to bring.

And when he comes to the temple of our bodies we can never be the same, so in St Paul’s words:

I appeal to you therefore… by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect. (Romans 12.1-2)