Jack McKinney
Pullen Memorial Baptist Church
November 4, 2007 – All Saints’ Sunday
Text: Luke 6:20-31
Plainly Spoken Truths
The art of communication is one of the most difficult things to master. To be understood when we are speaking or writing, or to understand another when we are being addressed, is a challenge on the best of days. And all of us have many examples of what can happen on the worst of days.
I recall one painful example of miscommunication, even though the incident took place many years ago. I was playing golf with my good friend, Marc. Apparently we were not having a fabulous day on the course because the group behind us had to wait for us to finish each hole. So, finally, in the spirit of Christian charity, we decided to let the group play through. I was standing off to the side of the green when we waved to the players back in the fairway to go ahead and hit their balls. At this point it would be important for me to mention that I am legally blind. I cannot see a golf ball hit from 150 yards away and follow its flight in the air. So, when the first player hit his ball I turned to Marc, who was standing about twenty yards in front of me, and said: “Where did it go?” At which point Marc yelled, “It’s headed straight for you.” So, I assumed the stance that makes it impossible to look courageous—I kind of half squatted with my hands over my head. And as I did that I heard Marc shout, “Move to the left.” So, I quickly took one step to my left just in time for the golf ball to strike me squarely in the back of my neck. Picking myself up off the ground a few moments later, I looked up to see my friend visibly relieved that I was okay. Then he laughed and said, “I guess I should have been more specific. I meant move to my left, not yours.”
The thing that jumps out at me in that little story, and in many other instances of miscommunication that I have been a part of, is that the way we interpret someone else’s words often reveals a bias. And that bias is simply this: we hear what others are saying through our own subjective experience. When my friend said, “move to the left,” who else’s left would I have thought of but my own? Just like when KaKi says, “Please turn off the light, I’m going to sleep.” Surely that means turn off the light when I finish the article I’m reading or the program I’m watching, doesn’t it? Apparently not. Even though that would be my interpretation of her words, I have learned through years of experience that my interpretation is rarely correct.
All of which brings me to our Gospel reading for the day, a text that has nothing to do with getting hit by golf balls or ticking your wife off when she wants to go to sleep, but everything to do with the perils of interpreting what others are saying. In Luke 6 we find a passage that is often described as Jesus’ Sermon on the Plain. Let me ask you a rhetorical question here, no need to show hands: How many of you have ever heard of the Sermon on the Plain? Now, if you are trying to imagine Jesus sitting on a 737 preaching to the poor person stuck in the middle seat, let me just say that’s the wrong kind of plain. The Sermon on the Plain refers to a level bit of ground, not a supersonic jet. Now, another question: How many of you have ever heard of the Sermon on the Mount? Sure, most of us have. It is one of the most-loved texts in all the Bible from Matthew 5. Many scholars believe the Sermon on the Mount from Matthew’s Gospel and the Sermon on the Plain from Luke’s Gospel are actually the same event recorded with some important variations by two different writers. So, the question is, why is one version of this sermon famous and loved, and the other all but forgotten?
The first thing I’d point out is that if you are going to give an important speech or sermon, you need elevation. Everybody knows that. Whether it’s preachers standing in elevated pulpits, or Martin Luther King, Jr. speaking from the steps of the Capitol down to the masses below, you just can’t give a speech that will be recorded for posterity from flat ground. Matthew understood that, but Luke didn’t. Needless to say, neither of the writers probably knew where Jesus was standing when he gave this sermon. After all, they were writing about an event that happened decades earlier and had been passed down to them through oral tradition. But poor old Luke just didn’t appreciate the importance of staging. He’s got Jesus standing on a plain, while Matthew has him up on a mountain. You tell me which image is more impressive?
But here is the real difference between how Matthew interprets the sermon as opposed to how Luke interprets it. Matthew’s version is easy on the ears and gentle on the spirit. In Matthew, Jesus says: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” In Luke, Jesus says: “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.” And that’s how it goes from that point forward. The Sermon on the Mount talks about those who hunger and thirst for righteousness; the Sermon on the Plain talks about those who are simply hungry. Can you feel the subtle but real difference in the way the sermon is being interpreted? Matthew has Jesus speaking to the spiritual condition of all kinds of people and promising them an eternal reward. Luke has Jesus speaking to the social condition of poor and hungry people and saying the kingdom of God is for them, and about them, now. You can read the Sermon on the Mount in any church in the world, regardless of how affluent it is, and everyone will smile and say, “Beautiful.” But you can’t read the Sermon on the Plain just anywhere and expect that response. It’s a hard word that challenges those who have a lot of stuff. And, my friends, we have a lot of stuff. So, maybe that’s why we know and love the Sermon on the Mount, but we think the Sermon on the Plain comes with a beverage cart and a seatbelt.
Jesus was famous for giving sermons or parables that needed a lot of interpretation. Some of it just leaves us scratching our heads. But let’s be honest; these words in Luke 6 are not like that. There couldn’t be a more simple and direct message than this one. Jesus is saying people who are attached to things are going to miss the point of his message. He is saying not to retaliate when someone hurts you, not to worry when someone robs you, not to wish ill on someone who is your enemy. “Love your enemies,” he says, “and do good to those who hate you.” It’s like that bumper sticker some of you have on your car: “When Jesus said to love your enemies, I think he probably meant don’t kill them.” Yeah, that’s probably a good baseline interpretation.
So, if these words are so simple and direct, and we don’t have to wrestle with what they mean, why do we resist them? Because they call into question many of our firmly held beliefs. We believe in war as the last resort to our security; Jesus’ sermon doesn’t provide that last resort. We believe that economic security is the pathway to happiness; Jesus’ sermon says otherwise. We believe being well thought of and admired for our accomplishments is one definition of a good life; Jesus’ sermon says it’s not a bad thing if people really dislike you because you stand up for the right things. Most of this doesn’t feel particularly good. Some of it seems impossibly idealistic to us. But who says the truth comes packaged in sermons that feel good and are easily attainable. Sometimes the truth comes from a man standing on a plain just speaking plain, hard truths. And we are left in that uncomfortable dilemma of having to decide which truths will we hold on to: the ones we live with daily that are easy and familiar, or these truths from Jesus that keep us up at night wondering what this means for our lives.
On this All Saints’ Sunday the words from Jesus in Luke 6 remind me of the current controversy that has arisen around the late Mother Teresa. In the process of investigating her life as part of the process for making her a saint, the Catholic Church has uncovered correspondence from Mother Teresa that shows her severe doubts about God and her lack of connection to the divine. Many have been shocked to read that this woman regarded by many as the greatest Christian of the twentieth century felt abandoned by God for much of her ministry. Forgive me, however, if I fail to register the horror many Christians are expressing. After all, if you or I spent our lives working with lepers in Calcutta, holding dying people in our arms almost every day, and watching the lack of concern most of the world has for the forgotten people on the margins, wouldn’t we all have enormous doubts? What strikes me about these revelations is not that Teresa was less of a saint; I think she is now an even greater one, a more real one. Even though she didn’t feel close to God most of her life, she continued to live out Jesus’ command to serve the poor and hungry and sick. She was incredibly faithful even though she was wracked with doubt and loneliness. In my mind, there couldn’t be a better definition of a saint than that.
I wonder how many of us have called to mind that kind of person today in naming our personal saints? Not perfect people; not holier than thou people; just people who were faithful and decent and gave of themselves in a way that we have never forgotten. Saints don’t have to be full of inerrant wisdom and absolute faith. Often they are simple people who have not dodged the hard but clear teachings of Jesus. We admire them for their courage and tenacity in doing the difficult things, the generous things, the loving things. We remember them and give thanks because what they did shaped us and continues to inspire us to do better.
There are many things Jesus said that are hard to interpret. The Sermon on the Plain isn’t one of them. These words are not hard to understand; they are just hard to live. But really, do we want a faith that comes from on high and demands little of us? If so, we don’t need any saints. We just need elevation and pretty words, and the world will go on like it always does.