Choose Kingdom Life!
Photo by Nina Strehl on Unsplash
Imagine two scenarios. Both take place after dinner among groups of like-minded friends. The first takes place around a campfire, after a meal of fresh fish, roasted game, and robust local brews. At first, the contentment of full bellies, the beauty of the starlit night, and the laughter of good-natured jokes dominate the picture. But then the conversation turns to politics and the “state of the nation,” and suddenly a latent anger, always simmering just under the surface, rises up to engulf the group. It spills over in harsh condemnation of those in power and those who cooperate with them. The jokes are no longer good-natured; the contentment is gone, the beautiful night ignored. Visible under the brittle veneer of anger is the thing that fuels it—FEAR, a deeply rooted fear that the next “crisis,” when it comes, will be the one that wipes out forever a cherished way of life, that it will change things in irreversible and unwelcome ways. Fear shapes the words spoken, the attitudes displayed, and the mad scramble for every weapon one can get one’s hands on. Can you picture it?
The second scene is just a few miles down the road, in the dining room of a sophisticated, elegant home. Light music plays in the background. Light conversation bounces around the beautifully decorated table as guests with bellies full of a gourmet meal and imported wines relax in comfort. But then the conversation turns to politics and the “state of the nation,” and suddenly the atmosphere changes. Light conversation becomes angry, harsh rhetoric, derisive and derogatory remarks about “those people” who oppose “progress” and put even the status quo in jeopardy with their threats of revolt. And visible under the veneer of anger is the thing that fuels it—FEAR, a deeply rooted fear that the next “crisis,” when it comes, will be the one that wipes out their cherished hold on power and influence, that will change things in irreversible and unwelcome ways. Fear shapes the words spoken, the attitudes displayed, and the insistent demeaning of “the other.” Can you picture it?
I suspect that we can picture it only too easily. If I asked you to guess a location for this pair of scenarios, you might suggest just about any U.S. zip code and come up with a likely answer. However, what I have just described to you isn’t a 21st-century American setting at all, but a description of the first-century Jewish context. The nation into which Jesus was born was passionately partisan and sharply divided, not least among class lines, with hot rhetoric that could easily slide into vitriol and ugly hatefulness. And Jesus—like many of his disciples—grew up in Galilee, where the two scenarios existed in close proximity to each other, with the hostility, anger, and fear frequently on open display. This is the kind of socio-political reality into which Jesus spoke the words of the Sermon on the Mount. It is a context that is eerily similar to our own, and his words have never been more relevant.
When Jesus looks at the initial group of people who have chosen to follow him, he realizes that their preferred solutions for “the mess things are in” and their definitions of “the good life” probably fall into one of those two scenarios. Jesus also knows that neither perspective reflects accurately the character of the King and neither fear-driven scenario leads to kingdom living. So right at the beginning of their journey with him, he graciously invites them up onto the mountainside and sets before them a different way, what Paul later will call “a more excellent way.” The portrait of kingdom living begins with a series of counterintuitive kingdom blessings (Matt. 5:3–12), followed by these identity-shaping declarations about kingdom citizens: “You are the salt of the earth; you are the light of the world” (5:13–16). Then Jesus assures them that what he is offering is not an abolishing of the law and the prophets, but a fulfillment of them (5:17–19). And he makes the bold claim that those who align with his mission, who desire to be salt and light in the world, will demonstrate “a righteousness greater than that of the scribes and Pharisees” (5:20). Then, without any transition whatsoever, he launches into a series of six examples of what a law-fulfilling, kingdom-shaped, greater-righteousness life looks like (5:21–48). The first and the last of those examples form a frame around the whole series.
What is Jesus doing in this series of six examples?
I think Jesus gives us two important clues to his purpose and intention. The first is found in the organization of the six examples. Each starts out, “You have heard it said,” in reference to either an OT commandment or to a popular interpretation of a commandment. This is followed by, “but I say....” Jesus boldly and authoritatively lays out the full scope and true intent of the commandment. He highlights the inseparability of the law from the heart and character of the Law-Giver, making clear that any interpretation of the law that doesn’t take seriously the character of God will be incomplete, distorted, or just plain wrong. And bad interpretation of the commandments leads inevitably to really bad application of them. Looking at all six examples, we see Jesus saying, in essence, “When you don’t take seriously enough the holiness of God, your application of the commandments to your own life is pretty weak. And when you don’t take seriously enough the mercy of God, your application of the commandments to others becomes harsh and condemning.”
The second clue to Jesus’ purpose for these examples is found in the summary of the series (v. 48), and it reinforces what we’ve already seen: “Be perfect (or complete),” Jesus says, “as your Father in heaven is perfect (complete).” In other words, live a life that reflects the character of the King! The Message version of Matthew 5:48 gets at the heart of this: “You’re kingdom subjects. Now live like it. Live out your God-created identity. Live generously and graciously toward others, the way God lives toward you” (emphasis added).
John Wesley rightly saw that the verb here is future, rather than strictly a command; the old KJV rendering captures both the future sense and the derivative imperatival sense: “you shall be perfect (complete).” This is good news, because it turns Jesus’ exhortation from a seemingly impossible DIY project into a God-empowered adventure. As we practice the kind of kingdom living that Jesus is describing, God himself will perfect and complete us, making us more and more like himself. The more we embrace the King’s definition of “the good life,” the more the “royal resemblance” becomes recognizable in us.
Pausing here to reflect, we must ask: if Jesus could say such things to people who were steeped in Scripture, whose traditions kept the story of God front and center in their daily experience, what might he say to us? If Jesus’ first-century people were clinging to interpretations and applications of God’s Word that were divorced from the character and revealed purposes of God, then what word of caution might this offer to Jesus’ 21st-century people? If we are willing to sit on the mountain with Jesus, willing to see and embrace his vision of kingdom life, what corrections or redefinitions might we need to make in our own understanding and application of God’s commands?
What does this series of examples teach about life in the kingdom?
Jesus begins gently enough in his first example (vv. 21–26): “You have heard it said, ‘Don’t murder.’” We sigh with relief, because this requirement seems relatively easy to keep. We may mess up on the others, but we’re not likely to break this one. “Whew,” we think, “maybe this kingdom living stuff is going to be OK. And maybe a ‘righteousness greater than that of the scribes and Pharisees’ isn’t going to be such a daunting challenge after all.” But then Jesus lays out the true scope and intent of this command, and suddenly we’re all implicated in its “greater righteousness” demands. “But I say, if you are even angry with someone, you are subject to judgment!” (v. 22a). This word, when it’s used with a human subject, almost always denotes sinful anger. Jesus says that not just murder, but the sinfully angry attitude that can lead to it, is worthy of punishment. Now we’re squirming a bit. And then Jesus gets all up in our business when he illustrates what kind of anger has this lethal potential: “If you call someone an idiot, you are in danger of being brought before the court. And if you call someone a fool, you are in danger of hell” (v. 22b). Are you thinking back over the things you muttered about that driver who cut you off on the way to church?? Or are you remembering what burst out of your mouth the last time you changed the channel and saw a representative of “the other party”? Jesus has turned to meddling, hasn’t he? We may be tempted to run back down the mountain and put some distance between us and his demands.
“Idiot” and “fool” were both common expressions of mild scorn and insult, probably thrown around rather casually and without raising many eyebrows, even among the most devout. In the hotbed of partisan politics and socioeconomic stress that was Galilee, this kind of speech was probably the stuff of daily bread. But Jesus says there’s no such thing as a careless word or excusable insult. Not only does such speech break down human relationships, it also erects barriers between us and God (vv. 23–24). As John Nolland puts it, “Worship that is acceptable to God cannot take place against the background of a damaged human relationship which is being ignored.” So no matter how common or accepted such angry speech is in the larger culture, kingdom living calls for us to abandon it. Speech that destroys, shreds, demeans, or disdains another human being has no part in kingdom life. And if such insults, which John Wesley calls “any word that did not spring from love,” have spewed from our lips (or our keyboards) against a brother or sister or even against an adversary (v. 25), kingdom living calls for swift and determined pursuit of forgiveness and reconciliation.
What about Jesus’ final example (vv. 43–47)? Here he circles back to the initial theme, approaching it now from a different angle. “You have heard the law that says, ‘Love your neighbor’ and hate your enemy” (v. 43). It’s interesting that only the first half of that—“love your neighbor”—is actually commanded in Scripture (cf. Leviticus 19). The addition of the flip side—“hate your enemy”—suggests that Jesus’ disciples were part of a culture that had absorbed the ethos that ran counter to the spirit of the kingdom of God. They seemed to be operating out of pagan “common sense” on the subject: “To friends be kind, against enemies retaliate” and “a man’s virtue consists in outdoing his friends in kindness and his enemies in mischief.” Even some of the writings from Qumran reflect this ethos: “Love the sons of light. . . hate all the sons of darkness” (1 QS 1:9–10).
Jesus turns that popular interpretation on its head. “But I say, love your enemies! Pray for those who persecute you!” (v. 44). Remember the Galilean context—Jesus understands very clearly who the enemies are and what the persecution feels like. He knows what it is to live under the burden of excessive taxation, the constant threat of military force, and fragile tolerance for religious freedom. In the midst of that context, he says clearly, “Love them and pray for them.” He himself would embody this ethos in the darkest moment of his life, calling out to his Father to forgive those who were nailing him to a cross (Luke 23:34). Love and sincere prayer for their enemies came to be one of the hallmarks of the early Christians (Acts 7:60; Rom. 12:14, 20; 1 Cor. 4:12–13; 1 Thess. 5:15; 1 Pet. 3:9). John Wesley reiterated this call for the early Methodists: “Speak all the good you can to and of them, who speak all evil of and to you. Repay love in thought, word, and deed, to those who hate you.”
Why does Jesus ask this of his followers? Because this is the kind of living that reflects the heart and character of the king. Verse 45: “In that way [by loving enemies and praying for persecutors], 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.” To divide human beings into two categories—lovable and hateable—is to be no better than the pagans or the tax collectors, reflecting the character of the empire. To love all of God’s image-bearers is to live as true citizens of the kingdom.
Scot McKnight reminds us that we must ask ourselves how God loves human beings. He describes God’s love as “a rugged commitment to be with someone as Someone who is for that person’s good and to love them unto God’s formative purpose.” A rugged commitment to be with humanity—the Incarnation showed us that! To be with us and to be for our good—the Cross showed us that! To love us toward God’s good and formative purposes—the gift of the Holy Spirit shows us that! That is the kind of love Jesus calls us to offer our enemies and persecutors.
What might this “love for enemies and prayer for persecutors” look like in our daily lives? I think it can be both bigger and smaller in scope than we might imagine. A couple weeks ago my husband and I saw the lovely new film, A Man Called Otto, and I was particularly struck by the character of Marisol, the feisty Mexican immigrant who moves into grumpy Otto’s neighborhood. She is delightfully persistent in offering love to the neighborhood grouch, despite his equally persistent rebuffs. And I had to ask myself, after the first couple slammed doors, would I have just dismissed him as a hostile old bigot, worthy of insult in return for his invective? Would I have given up on him? Marisol did none of that. In fact, she demonstrated a rugged commitment to be with Otto as someone who was for his good, loving him into the sort of person God wanted him to be. Maybe the Ottos in our lives are our starting points for kingdom living.
Why does it matter?
Why does it matter if we refrain from murderous speech? What difference does it make if we actively pursue reconciliation when our speech has wounded others? Why should we take so seriously this love of enemy and intercession for the persecutor? I think the apostle Paul expresses most clearly the impact of this law-fulfilling, kingdom-shaped, greater-righteousness living. In Philippians 2:15, he urges Christians to live this way so that we may be “blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and twisted generation, among whom you shine as lights in the world.” Ugly, hateful, demeaning speech and angry, fearful disdain for our enemies is one of the most notable characteristics of the particular “crooked and twisted generation” in which we live. If we want to shine like brilliant lights, and if we want to retain the savory saltiness of our kingdom identity, we cannot fall into the patterns of empire. If we want to offer effectively the gospel of the kingdom, we must demonstrate a family resemblance to the King. This generation needs us to live out our God-created identity, to live generously and graciously toward others, the way God lives toward us.
Rachel Coleman lives in Elida, OH. She is an adjunct Bible instructor for Asbury Theological Seminary, United Theological Seminary, and Indiana Wesleyan University and serves as the regional theological education consultant (Latin America) for One Mission Society.