Sermon: Don't be angry... (Feb. 16, 2014)

Epiphany 6A

February 16, 2014

Matthew 5:21-37

            I have been hearing over and over again the last couple months about all the flight delays and cancelations due to weather. But in all the stories I have heard, one that I read this week is my favorite. 

It was written by Josh Misner, a dad who was traveling with his 6-year-old son and his teenage daughter. It had been a long trip, and everyone was grumpy due to cancelations and delays, but he was doing his best to keep a positive attitude and be a good example for his two kids. He did pretty well until they landed and sprinted to catch their next leg… only to find that they had missed it by mere seconds. The gate was closed, and there was nothing to be done.

But he saw the ticket agent. "Can you help me??" he asked. The agent was rushing away and said no, he could not. "You can do to the ticket counter over there," he said, as he hurried away. Josh lost it. After holding it together all this way, his frustration came out in a string of profanity... until he say his 6-year-old son gazing up at him. He realized he was setting a terrible precedent for his son, showing him exactly the wrong way to deal with difficult situations and people. Josh spent the next three hours considering how to reconcile what he had just instilled in his son. What he came up with daring and scary, but he knew he had to do it. 

He took his son'g hand. "Come with me." They went to the ticket agent, the same one they'd spoken to before. And Josh laid himself bare. "Sire, I don't know if you recognize me, but about three hours ago, I did something inappropriate. I cursed at you because you didn't help us find a new flight after we missed our connection, and that wasn't right. I took my frustration out on you and set a poor example for my children. I want to apologize to you and ask your forgiveness." The agent looked at him, stunned. "It's okay, I forgive you," he said, and expressed his appreciation for the apology. Of all the people who yelled at him at work - and there were a lot! - he'd never gotten an apology before.

            It was the perfect story to read this week, as I have been considering our Gospel text in which Jesus gives some insight about how we are to treat one another. Jesus talks about some pretty saucy stuff here – adultery, divorce, breaking oaths – but the part that always gets me is the first bit, about anger. Anger is a strange emotion. In the short term, it can be exciting – your adrenaline increases, you start to feel righteous (or too often, self-righteous). Even after the adrenaline passes, there is something sort of satisfying about harboring resentment… knowing that you were right and they were wrong and you are obviously the better person. Of course, that’s all on the surface. In the long run, anger eats away at you. It shuts your eyes to a larger truth. It discourages or prevents self-reflection and the growth that comes from it. And it causes your view of the world to be through jaded glasses. In the end, there is no fun or satisfaction in anger.

            And that’s why Jesus goes so far as to equate it with murder. Because it does come to that, doesn’t it? Whether you actually take a person’s life or not, when you harbor anger about someone and think bad thoughts about them, you have murdered them in your heart. And not only the other person, but you let that anger and resentment eat away at you. Like Anne Lamott writes, “Not forgiving is like drinking rat poison and then waiting for the rat to die.”

            And so Jesus advocates instead seeking reconciliation. “When you are offering your gift at the altar,” he says, “if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift.” Notice, it isn’t even limited to, “If you are angry with someone,” but if you know someone else is angry with you, you should go and seek reconciliation with them. In other words, it doesn’t matter whose fault it is; if you know there is something wrong, something broken in a relationship, then you can be the one to take steps toward healing it.

            Of course this is often easier said than done, and in fact talking to the person about the problem sometimes causes even more pain and brokenness. Relationships are complicated that way. There is a time and a place for everything, and if going to be reconciled with someone is at this point going to drive a bigger wedge between you, well then seek healing a different way. Start by considering your role in the issue. Think about why you acted the way you did, what was going on inside you that manifest itself as anger, and acknowledge that. That is my favorite part about Josh Misner’s apology in the story I shared: he acknowledged that what he had done was hurtful, he pinpointed why he had done it, he apologized without excuse, and he asked for forgiveness. That’s hard to do, but perhaps even harder is taking the time to discover and name all those things.

And that is why the best place to start is prayer: lift that person and that relationship up to God and ask for help in finding healing, and ask what you can do to help bring about that healing – healing for you, or them, or both. As with so many difficult things, prayer is the best place to start.

            But we also find a miraculous healer in the life of the church. The waters of baptism remind us that no matter how covered in angry sludge we may find ourselves, God wipes us clean and forgives us and calls us beloved. When we come forward for communion, we are reminded that Christ took all of our human sinfulness with him to the grave, and now we are free to partake of his grace and come into his love.

            But the part of our worship that ties most closely to this passage is the passing of the peace. Did you ever notice the significance of where in the liturgy this happens? It’s right before we give our offering, and then come to communion, right before we come before the altar and join Christ’s heavenly banquet. Because Jesus tells us, right in our Gospel reading today, that we should reconcile with our brothers and sisters before we come to the altar, and so that is what we do, saying to one another, “The peace of Christ be with you.”

            Have you ever passed the peace with someone you didn’t much like? Or someone with whom you have a painful history, or are having some sort of squabble? I have a handful of times, and it is indeed a powerful moment. To look someone in the eyes, take their hand and say in essence, “I know that we have our differences, and I’m trying to work through that, but in the meantime, know that I wish you the peace of Christ, the peace that passes all understanding, the peace that I myself cannot give, but that I trust our Lord and Savior Jesus can. The peace of Christ be with you always.”

            And that is the remarkable thing about the church, about the liturgy, and about this faith. We don’t always have to have it all together. We don’t have to follow the letter of the law just perfectly every time. Because every time we are not quite able to reach where God would have us be, we can still trust and rest assured that Jesus meets us the rest of the way. And that indeed is the peace of Christ.

Let us pray… Lord God, you have given us the joy and the challenge of relationship. In thanksgiving we lift up to you those relationships that have been life-giving to us. Thank you for those people, Lord… We also lift up to you those relationships that have been damaged or broken over the years. Help to heal this brokenness, God. Help us to know what role we can play in that healing. Where forgiveness is needed, help us to seek it. Where reconciliation is needed, help us to reach it. Where acceptance is needed, help us to find it. And may we continually discover how both your law and your gospel can heal and restore our relationships. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.