In the Gospel of Matthew (Matthew 5:38-42) Jesus is laying out another series of tough conduct guidelines for his followers. Quoting the Law of Talion (Exodus and Leviticus) Jesus states that an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth (which was a huge improvement over previous tribal punishment where unlimited retribution – whatever you could enforce – was a given) is not acceptable. “Offer no resistance to evil.” 

Then Jesus gives three stark, concrete examples: A slap in the face; a lawsuit that claims your tunic; and a demand from a soldier of the occupying army to carry his field pack. Jesus says Go along with it! Offer no resistance. This is not our usual way.

This challenge had extra weight for people of the Middle East. In the eastern cultures and societies, personal and tribal honor were extremely high (perhaps the highest) values. Bringing dishonor, disgrace or shame upon one’s family, tribe, one’s self was cause for shunning, excommunication, death. A slap in the face is a great insult.To be sued for your basic clothing is embarrassing. To aid the enemy, who is oppressively occupying your country – in any way – is treasonous. What is Jesus thinking?

It seems that Jesus is pointing out that for those who are called to bring about God’s Kingdom (us!) there is an alternative way of seeing and a different standard of behaving. This is the radical change that Jesus invites us into. If our world is to change, we need to change.

Our personal honor is not rooted in or dependent on how others treat us. The fact that we are beloved children of God cannot be undone, no matter what we do or others do to us. Our value is infinitely precious, no matter how we are treated.

We are not to resist any harm to our personal or public self, or any attempt to humiliate or degrade us. We are not to retaliate – ever. Vengeance is an empty reaction that can never be satisfied. We are to act as beloved children of a loving God toward all God’s children.

To be very clear, Jesus is not speaking here about how we are to respond (directly, forcefully) to unjust aggression or abuse of any kind towards others and/or ourselves. We need to see, name and confront evil in all its forms. But we also need to be extremely careful that our response is focused on bringing about good in a loving way – not about trying to comfort our aggrieved ego.

 

Saints alive! It seems that our notions of sanctity or holiness are often distortions. We form images of other-worldly beings who have little or nothing to do with everyone we know – even very good people! Whatever saints are, it isn’t like me – their lives are not like my life. I mess-up all the time. Why do we put them so far out of reach? Maybe because we believe that we can’t possibly do what we imagine they did to achieve the rarified air of almost godliness. 

Yet St. Paul in his letters regularly addresses the members of the communities he is writing to as saints or as God’s holy ones – sometimes just before he calls them out or corrects them for their obvious shortcomings and failures to live as God would prefer. Being a saint is not being perfect. Saints are human beings and we human beings are not capable of perfection. We can try to do good, to do better next time. 

In Scripture, holiness is linked to being a member of God’s people, chosen by God, called by God to live good, loving lives. Sounds like all of us! God looks at all of humanity and sees that we are very good. This despite the forces and movements within and around us that seduce us to selfishness. Even saints make mistakes. 

Sanctity is not passive. It invites our response. We need to cooperate somehow, trying to live, as best we can, as God desires us to live. Our cooperation cannot be perfect, because we aren’t. We are limited to what we have come to understand is, in our time, with our formative experiences, living as God wants. We can’t do more than this.

Think of people in history (even in our lifetime) who have been designated as saints: Paul of Tarsus, Francis of Assisi, Mother Teresa of Calcutta… Picture the apostles before and after Jesus’ resurrection. At some point they all came to passionately dedicate their life energy to God. They were not saintly in every moment of their lives, but they wholeheartedly embraced and followed the Spirit’s lead. Over time, God became the primary focus for their lives. Responding to God’s grace made them who they were. Being a saint is not our achievement. 

Léon Bloy, a nineteenth century French writer, wrote: “The only real sadness, the only real failure, the only great tragedy in life, is not to become a saint.” Being a saint is God’s work. What fear so infiltrates our heart that we choose to settle for mediocrity, compromise, socially acceptable niceness, instead of letting God transform us into powerful, yet flawed, instruments of the Good: saints!

Today would have been his 85th birthday. He’d survived deprivation, war, and personal losses. He, Parkinson’s and all, was resolutely committed to waiting out COVID-19 with his dear love and soul mate, Mikki. In the middle of the night, it seems, there was some kind of accident, trauma from which he could not, would not recover. I am just now back from his funeral.

For David, injustice, ignorance, arrogance, and complacency were intolerable. He vibrated with passion, and his heart was saturated in compassion. He possessed a razor sharp mind and humor to match. David was solidly a good man – rare, remarkable, memorable. There is a void, that will not be filled in this life.

It so happens that today is the celebration of the Sacred Heart of Jesus – a Feast that focuses on the fullness of God’s Love for all humanity – no one excluded, nothing held back in reserve. Seems fitting to review and to remember David this day. Late in a restless life he, found or re-found, faith, family, belonging. He realized that our time here is too short to waste wading around in any dead end.

There is deep pain, more than usual, in David’s death. Not for him, not now. After more than a year of pandemic-induced isolation, the awareness of how many moments together we missed out on magnifies the sense of loss. Yet, isn’t this true for all of humankind. We have all been deprived of innumerable, grace-filled times together with loved ones, friends, communities… that hold us closely. Hopefully we have learned to deeply appreciate what is temporarily being denied us – taking nothing for granted – and are resolved to live what days we are given, more mindfully, more fully, more gratefully.

In the desert, hospitality or refusing hospitality is cause for either life or death. To offer water and shade to members of your family and tribe, as well as to any passing stranger, is a matter of survival. In a nomadic culture, tomorrow it could be you in need of this life-sustaining refreshment and rest.

Thomas Merton once wrote that today everywhere is desert. And, in a sense, we are all wandering nomads. The inner life that defines us as human is in danger of drying up and blowing away with the next windstorm. We require oases and depend on one another for gracious welcome. Hospitality is a simple, if sometimes risky, gesture necessary for us to continue on our pilgrim way.

Are there people – not like us, of course – with whom we would not share what we have if they came to our camp, to our oasis? Our future, and our growth toward fullness, as the human race, rests on our willingness to share what we have with whomever is needy. When we look out from the cool shelter of our airy tents, can we see those who are struggling just to get by as our brother, our sister, part of our self? What will it cost us – a drink of water, a few minutes, a smile, a gentle word? It cannot be said often enough. We are all in this together – like it or not. We need to learn to make room in our lives, in our tents, for those whom God will send into our lives.