Our Several Callings

Matthew 10:24-39

June 25, 2017

“A disciple is not above the teacher, nor a slave above the master; it is enough for the disciple to be like the teacher, and the slave like the master. If they have called the master of the house Beelzebul, how much more will they malign those of his household! “So have no fear of them; for nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known. What I say to you in the dark, tell in the light; and what you hear whispered, proclaim from the housetops. Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. And even the hairs of your head are all counted. So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows. “Everyone therefore who acknowledges me before others, I also will acknowledge before my Father in heaven; but whoever denies me before others, I also will deny before my Father in heaven. “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; and one’s foes will be members of one’s own household. Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.

 

This is one of those texts we tend to avoid – a sword instead of peace; turning against one’s family, taking up the cross and losing one’s life. None of that sounds remotely pleasant, and, honestly, it all sounds like something I’d just rather ignore and avoid – especially on a nice summer weekend!

But there it is, right there in the text. Moreover, it’s a dangerous text as well as a difficult one. To ignore a passage such as this one is to cede authority over it to others, and this one has been used and abused, for example, by cult leaders to manipulate followers into leaving families and by defenders of state violence to sanction such violence in the name of Jesus.

So, with a certain amount of fear and trembling, let’s take a crack at it.

Let’s begin by naming what disturbs us about it. Let me read it again. … What bothers you or disturbs you and gives you pause in these words?

I want to focus on a single word for a bit: sword. When, in verse 34, Jesus says, “I have not come to bring peace, but a sword,” the word translated as bring also commonly meant toss, or cast aside not caring where it lands. Elsewhere in Matthew the author uses the same word to describe casting out demons. So a rather stilted literal translation might have Jesus “casting peace” and “tossing the sword.”

So, while sword is certainly a correct translation, the context suggests that we think a bit more broadly about just what Jesus is tossing around here. One probably wouldn’t deploy a sword so casually in battle, but one might bring a sharp implement to cut things into two pieces, to cleave them.

Cleave is one of those wonderfully rich words that means both one thing and its opposite. We can cleave things, as in cut them, or we can cleave to things, as in cling to them. The cleaving sword is an incredibly complex image, perhaps even a metaphor for faith in action. I think Jesus is bringing a metaphor to a sword fight here.

Acts of faith tend to cut both ways, as it were. To step out in real, risky faith, following the call of Jesus, tends to involve turning points, markings in time that separate us from what came before and, to some degree, cut us off from the past even as we are bound to a new future.

Martin Luther King often told the story of sitting alone in the kitchen of his home in Montgomery, Alabama, in the midst of the bus boycott that sparked the Civil Rights Movement and thrust King into national prominence as its vocal leader. He had been threatened, his home bombed, and the young movement was facing one of its many early crises. He was all of 26 years old at the time. He sat alone, late at night, worried and wanting to step away from leadership. In that moment, he felt the presence of the Divine promising him, simply, that he would not be alone.

It was enough for the moment, and King determined that he would follow the call that pressed in on him leaving behind the life he thought he was going to lead: parish pastor for a few years then into the academy to teach. He dreamed of life as a professor. The sword of faith cut him off from that dream, and opened him to another, larger dream that he would cleave to for the rest of his life, and articulate for the nation and the world just a few years later.

King lived through a time when the nation was cleaved apart precisely over the nature of the dream he gave voice to. We are living through the midst of another season of deep and dramatic division in our national life.

What needs to be left behind? To what shall we cleave as we live into the future?

I don’t pretend to know the answers that only history will provide, but I can read some of the signs that seem increasingly clear to me.

Massive and growing income inequality gives the lie to the promise of shared prosperity. The bitter  legacy of white supremacy gives the lie to the promise of equality before the law. The rapidly changing global climate gives the lie even to the promise that we are securing anything – even the planet – to our posterity.

If we are to respond faithfully to the demands of the present time we’ll need some clarity around calling. Each of us has several callings in our lives – to be faithful partners, to be parents, to be children and siblings, to be employees or students, to be citizens. Each of these roles demands something different of us, and each invites us to live up to certain standards.

Our common faith, however, calls us to a singular standard: the heart of the gospel calls us to love God with all of heart, mind, and spirit, and to love neighbor as self. Who is the neighbor? In scripture it’s pretty clear that the neighbor is the one before us, including, especially, the poor one, the outcast one, the widow and the orphan. The neighbor is the one with pre-existing conditions. The neighbor is the one whose nursing care if paid for by Medicaid. The neighbor is the one whose debilitating condition will cost several lifetimes of income to treat.

We are called to love neighbor as self, and at the very least this means wanting for neighbor what we desire for self. This week, let’s start with decent and fair health care coverage.

The central and fundamental calling of our faith may well come into conflict with our other callings. To which will we cleave?

Some of us will face this conflict in the days to come. Some may, in exceptional circumstances, confront difficult choices with respect to deep relationships. And I want to pause right here and suggest that in the text at hand Jesus was speaking of exceptional familial circumstances in which the “master of the house” is demonic. Most households – most families – are not demonic, but if familial life is demonic may the sword of faith cleave you from it. And through that same faith, may you cleave to the family of choice that is the community of faith.

Some of us will have to choose between the demands of faith and the responsibilities of work. This one, I know, is more common. I also know it’s a choice that can be made and survived. Indeed, when I faced it years ago, and called a mentor to seek advice, he responded, “David, if we are doing our jobs there will be scars.”

Such scars come from the cleaving of the sword Jesus tossed.

My prayer is that we all learn to bear such scars, for the times confronting us demand much. Our faith does not promise that we will not be scarred along the way. It merely promises that we do not bear these burdens alone.

The present moment feels confusing and often like some thick undergrowth of twisted vines impossible to penetrate. May the sword of faith cleave a way through it such that we can cut a way toward a future otherwise. We make the way by walking it, and the deepest promise of our faith is the simple assurance that we do not walk alone. May we feel the Spirit’s presence for the living of these days. Amen.