Mt 5:38-42

24 September 2006

“The Gift of Conflict”

            I realize that my sermon title could lead to some unintended conclusions.  Describing conflict as a “gift” might suggest that I enjoy conflict—that I seek it out.  It might be reasoned that I’m spoiling for a fight…that I am a troublemaker.  However, I’m discovering new levels of awareness!  For example, I was able to watch the Dolphins’ sad display last Sunday in their game with the Bills—and remain completely calm!  (Well, maybe not completely calm!)

            Our call to confession today has these words:  “confession isn’t for wimps.”  Many would disagree; many believe that confession is for wimps.  Those who think so, as I once did, only demonstrate how little they understand confession of sin and true repentance.  It takes a great deal of strength and courage to confess one’s sin—and really mean it.  (And that’s strength and courage I’m still working on!)

            Likewise, the words of Jesus in our gospel reading in Matthew sound like, to many ears, the words of a wimp.  It sounds like somebody, to use a phrase that’s become very popular recently, who simply wants “to cut and run.”  To put it bluntly, it sounds like somebody who’s just a coward.

            Actually, it’s the first part of our passage, the part Jesus apparently dismisses, that’s commonly taken to mean, “Hey, I’m no coward!  I’m not putting up with any crap!”  It’s the well-known phrase, “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth” (v. 38).  It appears in Exodus 21, which we read, and in different situations in Leviticus 24 and Deuteronomy 19.

            This is the lex talionis, the law of retaliation.  We often hear calls for law and order, for greater security, based on this idea—an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.  It seems to provide for a very stern type of justice.  Definitely not for wimps!  However, that’s only true if we take the principle of “an eye for an eye” completely out of its context.

            Francis Beare has noted, “The lex talionis was in its time a social advance of great magnitude [in modern times, we can compare it with the outlawing of slavery]; it put an end to the vendetta, the blood feud, which allowed unlimited retaliation for an injury done to a member of the family or tribe, so that an entire group could be wiped out before the demands for vengeance were satisfied.”

To our 21st century ears, the law “sounds savage, but it was actually a softening of the primitive fierceness of the feud, which set no limits to the revenge that the group might take against the offender and all his family or tribe.”[1]

Still, Jesus isn’t interested in limiting revenge to “the same injury; Jesus declares that we must take no revenge at all.”[2]  When he says, “Do not resist an evildoer,” he’s telling us to not seek revenge on someone who has wronged us (v. 39).

We can see in our scripture reading some examples of what Jesus means.  There’s the familiar line about turning the other cheek.  He says if someone sues you for your coat, hand over your cloak as well.  If someone forces you to go one mile, go the extra mile.  And while this last one isn’t so much a matter for revenge, Jesus tells his disciples, “Give to everyone who begs from you, and do not refuse anyone who wants to borrow from you” (v. 42).

Clearly, everything that Jesus says in our gospel text runs contrary to what we almost always do.  Why is that?  Do we not agree with him?  What does he mean?  Is this ethic he lays out for us something that can actually be done?  Many people have simply said “no.”  They believe that, at best, Jesus has set an impossibly high standard that serves as a lofty goal—a goal that no one can reach.  Maybe that’s true; maybe it’s not.

However, something else to keep in mind is the ancient Middle Eastern usage of hyperbole, of exaggeration.  When Jesus asks, “Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye?” nobody thinks he’s referring to a hunk of firewood hanging out of your face! (Mt 7:3).

In any event, I’m especially interested in the phrase:  “if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also” (v. 39).  Some have said that Jesus advises such incredible patience in order to make the offender feel ashamed.  Maybe so, but he doesn’t say that.  Jesus doesn’t seem to put any conditions on his directive to turn the other cheek.

Thinking of this verse, I’m reminded of a story told by Joan Chittister.[3]  She speaks of an account from the Far East, about “a vicious general [who] plundered the countryside and terrorized the villagers.  He was, they said, particularly cruel to the monks of the place, whom he despised.

“One day, at the end of his most recent assault, he was informed by one of his officers that, fearing him, all the people had already fled the town, with the exception of one monk who had remained in his monastery, going about the order of the day.

“The general was infuriated at the audacity of the monk and sent the soldiers to drag him to his tent.

“‘Do you not know who I am?’ he roared at the monk.  ‘I am he who can run you through with a sword and never bat an eyelash.’

“But the monk replied quietly, ‘And do you not know who I am?  I am he who can let you run me through with a sword and never bat an eyelash.’”

            Understand, I’m not saying that Jesus wants us to let ourselves be murdered.  He dodged death himself plenty of times.  That is, until he realized that “his hour had come” (Jn 13:1).

There’s another take on this idea of turning the other cheek that’s a little more accessible—though that doesn’t mean it’s a whole lot easier!  Speed Leas, one of the country’s top consultants in congregational conflict management, has commented on Jesus’ words.

“What that means to me,” he says, “is that when the battle has begun, I do not leave, nor do I attack.  I stay there.  I stay in range of getting hit again.  I take the risk of not destroying the other person or leaving the scene.”[4]  According to Leas, Jesus tells us to resist the “fight or flight” syndrome.  You know what that is:  the temptation, when faced with a conflict, to either lash out or to take off!  We either get in somebody’s face, or we avoid them altogether.

There’s something that tends to handcuff us when dealing with conflict.  This is true for all people, but I think it’s especially true for those of us in the church.  We have a tendency to see conflict as inherently bad, something to steer clear of.  Having said that, I do not retract the words I uttered at the beginning of my sermon!  I neither seek out nor enjoy conflict!

Why then, do I speak of “the gift of conflict”?  First of all, if we believe that God is sovereign, then surely everything comes from the hand of God.  Whether that means God causes it or permits it is another question entirely.  And there’s something else to consider:  our understanding of conflict is far from perfect.

Episcopal writer Caroline Westerhoff says this:  “Conflict is not just inevitable, as we are prone to say wisely and with a sigh of resignation.  Instead it is part of the divine plan, a gift.”[5]  And so we’re brought back to that word, “gift.”  How can conflict be considered a gift?

According to Westerhoff, conflict is part of the creative process.  Almost any story or movie has an element of conflict.  Conflict is indeed inevitable; it’s built into creation itself.  Animals engage in conflict for food.  In a way, humans do, as well.  We certainly find ourselves in many different kinds of struggle.  A big part of the artistic process is struggling with ourselves and with God.

            The truth is, we have differences.  We look, think, act…smell…different!  That’s how we’ve been created.  One of the main reasons for conflict is due to the fact that we’re not all alike.  We aren’t copies of each other.  We often attempt to impose a level of sameness on each other, but it’s a mistake.

            If we can’t, or shouldn’t, avoid conflict—if it can’t be prevented—what we can and should do is to manage conflict.  We need to guide it, set boundaries around it.  We have to use it for constructive, and not destructive, purposes.

            “To manage conflict then would be to allow it, not suppress it; to open our doors and windows to its fresh wind.  Following this line of thought to its ultimate conclusion, violence and war becomes not conflict run amuck, conflict out of all bounds, but the final outcome of conflict [stifled].  They result when we will not allow the other to be different, when we deny our life-giving dependence on the different one with all our might and means.”[6]

            Obviously, conflict is a vast topic—too large to deal with in a single sermon.  Let me use our epistle reading to narrow it down (Ja 1:1-4).  (By the way, Banu based her devotional at last Tuesday’s session meeting on this same scripture, without knowing that I had already selected it for today.)

            James begins by extending “greetings” to “the twelve tribes in the Dispersion,” a reference to Jewish Christians scattered throughout the Roman Empire (v. 1).  The Greek word he uses for “greetings” (cairw, chairō) also means “rejoice.”  It’s the same word Paul uses when he says, “Rejoice in the Lord always” (Ph 4:4).

            In verse 2, when James says, “My brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of any kind, consider it nothing but joy,” the word for “joy” (cara, chara) is a version of the word for “greetings” or “rejoice.”  He’s using a play on words, a pun.  (So, even if you don’t like my puns, I’m still using an ancient and venerated art form!)

            Anyway, how can James tell us to consider trials a source of joy?  That’s nuts!  That’s like saying conflict is a gift!

            I’m certainly not saying that this is easy, but until we have faced trials, our faith can’t produce “endurance,” and endurance won’t have “its full effect”:  that we become “mature and complete” (vv. 3-4).  In a similar way, if we’re unwilling to be a loving presence in the midst of conflict, we’ll never be able to pass through to the wonder that lies beyond.  We’ll remain stuck.

            Today, as we look around the church building—the day after the auction—we notice that many items of beauty and meaning are missing.  Some have been purchased by the church who will be moving in.

            As I’ve had conversations with people asking about our plans, many have said, “How sad.”  Yet a greater number have said, “How exciting.”  God is doing a new thing.  Can we not perceive it?  I look around the church this morning, and I see beauty and meaning.

            I see beauty and meaning, not so much in items that will one day crumble to dust, but I see beauty and meaning in you.  I see you.  I see the light of Christ in you.  And I want to stand with you, together with Christ, as we journey through the conflicts and trials of life.

            I won’t deny that following Jesus is sometimes a scary proposition.  It’s easier to just set our lives on cruise control—to not take any chances.  But the one we follow—the one who says to turn the other cheek—is no coward.  He’s no wimp.

Amid the temptation to simply cut and run, Westerhoff asks, “How do we reenter this terrifying territory of conflict?  First we must see our predicament for what it is, and we must see that all our fearful resistance, finally and for all time, has been overcome.  What we could not possibly do under our own power has been made possible by the power of God’s grace.  And then we just must will to enter.”[7]

Jesus Christ gives us the strength and the love to do that very thing, to walk together and to enter that new land.

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