"But I say to you..."

As a still relatively rookie weekly preacher, I find myself sticking pretty close to the script each Sunday. After all, that script represents hours of my own thought and work.  In my sermon writing, I actually enjoy struggling to find just the right word in order to convey an idea, recognizing how important that word might be in expressing what I’m trying to say. Not that my idea is so critical in itself. It isn’t. But I hope it triggers further thought in those who hear me.

                Which is why I surprised myself recently by going “off script” for just a moment. I was explaining to the saints of Seneca Presbyterian Church why my blog has been so idle of late and how I hoped to re-invigorate my weekly rhythm.  I told them that I enjoyed the challenge of it and the freedom of it. And then I let slip out something I had not prepared to say. I told them I could say some things in a blog that I could not say from the pulpit.

                I have always been very conscious of not using the pulpit for “hot topic” issues. The reasons are many. Foremost among them is the preacher’s role as interpreter of scripture. The text is supposed to guide the conversation, and if that is true, there is no place for a “bully pulpit” of personal opinion.  The challenge, of course, is when the text cries out to speak on a “hot topic” issue. That’s when my second reason for restraint comes into play. The pulpit is inherently a monologue. Difficult issues where passions can play on both sides require a dialogue.

                Yet I find myself being challenged by my own discipline. The text for this week includes what scholars call the great “antitheses” of the Sermon on the Mount. Those are the six statements found only in Matthew where Jesus says, “You have heard that it was said, but I say to you.” Jesus then goes on to call his disciples – which is us the Church – to a higher righteousness and a deeper commitment. The very first of those higher callings may be one of the most difficult. “You have heard that it was said ‘You shall not murder,’ but I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment.”

                Christians are so very often angry with each other. Sometimes we get so angry that we stop talking to each other. In my tradition, we express that anger politely. We separate from each other – we dismiss sister congregations to other denominational bodies. There have been times, however, when those I cared about were caught in the crossfire. The battles moved beyond differences of opinion to name calling, with the most hurtful name called being “non-Christian.” Sometimes those of us who are called to love our brothers and sisters in the faith above all else can so profoundly disagree that we say “If you don’t believe the way I believe, then you are not only wrong. You are not an authentic Christian.” In just about every case that I have known, my friends were not the ones saying it; they were the ones to whom it was said.

                When Jesus taught about the power of anger to kill, he urged reconciliation above just about all else. It was even more important than offering sacrifice at the altar. I think that’s because division in the body of Christ renders authentic worship impossible.

                So here is my dilemma. If difficult issues require a dialogue and Christians often fail to dialogue effectively, can we at Seneca Presbyterian model a better way? The people of SPC are remarkably diverse, and remarkably compassionate. I know we do not all agree on some of the issues that are dividing our world and our churches today. Yet for varieties of reason – including I trust our care for one another – we are not inclined to engage each other in open dialogue about the issues that challenge. Should we? Could we? 

              Would the dialogue divide us, creating tensions that could lead to anger? Or would the dialogue strengthen us, bringing us closer together and modeling for the world that there are Christians who can profoundly disagree on matters of deep importance and still receive and care for one another? Can our unity be so strong that we are able to listen and learn from one another rather than seeking to persuade the other of the “rightness” of our believing?

They are questions that cry out for conversation. 

I invite you into it.