Sermon: Ministry is risky, or should be (Feb. 19, 2017)

Epiphany 7A

Feb. 19, 2017           

Matthew 5:38-48

1 Corinthians 3:10-11, 16-23

            This week at Bethlehem’s council meeting, we were discussing the parsonage. This is a conversation that has been going on for a couple years – more than that, really. A house is quite an asset for a congregation to own, but more often than not, Bethlehem’s is not being used. For it to stand empty is not good stewardship of our resources, but the question is, what would be good stewardship? How is God calling us to use this asset, and the property that goes with it? Or, is the best stewardship to let that asset go?

As the process and conversation have gone prayerfully on, several ideas have come and gone. Sometimes an idea looks promising, but just as soon as we start to imagine the potential, the fears creep in. “But what if this happens, or that? What about liability? How will this affect our taxes?” They are all important questions, and while they need to be asked, they also usher us safely back into our comfort zones. But the faithful refrain which I have heard emerge out of these concerns, and which I heard at our council meeting this week, is, “Ministry is risky.”

            Ministry is risky. Truer words have never been spoken. The life that Jesus calls us to live is not easy, and sometimes not even safe. There’s a reason so many early Christians were martyred – killed for practicing their faith! It’s because the things to which our faith calls us are counter-cultural. They are not of this world. They run contrary to the norms of this earthly kingdom. And because of that, they are often upsetting, and they are frequently risky. In fact, in the first century, merely claiming, “Jesus is Lord,” was an affront to the government – they should have been saying Caesar was Lord, not this Jesus! This very declaration got a lot of people killed!

            Perhaps one of the riskiest things Jesus ever said was what we heard in today’s portion of the Sermon on the Mount: “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” The

imperative is so familiar to us that it may have lost its punch. When we consider it conceptually, it’s very nice – who could be against loving one another? What Christian could possibly be against praying for people, even for those who persecute us? After all, they need prayer most of all! Yes, yes, we say, love everyone, even and especially our enemies.

            Yes, conceptually, Jesus’ command is very nice, and quite safe. But the niceness and safety melt away when we try actually to put it in action. When we think about the people who drive us nuts, who have hurt us either physically or emotionally, who threaten our way of life and our world view, who scare us, whose past and beliefs are unknown to us, who don’t act or look like us, who act in ways we find reprehensible… Then, loving becomes more difficult. More risky.

And it becomes more difficult still when we really consider what love looks like in Christ’s kingdom. One way it can look is certainly donating items and money to help those in need. Churches are really good at that. It is a very good, important, and safe way to share God’s love.

But is it the full extent to which Christ calls us to love one another? 

Before Jesus tells us to love our enemies, he lays out several strange ways of interacting with people: turn the other cheek when someone hits you, give your cloak to someone who takes your shirt, when you are made to walk one mile, walk an additional mile. Counter-cultural. Against the norm. Out of our natural inclinations and our comfort zones. Really, these imperatives are, in many ways, ridiculous! Yet… this is Christ’s kingdom! He is constantly asking us to do things that by worldly standards are sheer foolishness!

I suppose that’s what Paul was getting at in his letter to the Corinthians that we heard a moment ago. “If you think that you are wise in this age,” he writes, “you should become fools so that you may become wise. For the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God.” Oh, I find this so frustrating! I have amassed tens of thousands of dollars in student loan debt so that I could become wise – and now Paul is saying that all of this is foolishness to God? That all of our rational thought, our keen insight, our educated decisions – all of this is ultimately foolishness to God?

In a word… yes! Because all of our thinking about things, our careful consideration of consequences, our over rationalization, usually leads us away from the radical love of neighbor – neighbors we love and neighbors who are enemies, either real or perceived. For Jesus, there is only one question to ponder: what is the most loving way to act toward my neighbor? It is not, “Is

this safe?” It is not, “Is this in my personal best interest?” No, Jesus never said, “Love your neighbor, within limits,” or, “Love your neighbor, just as long as it is in the best interest of your personal safety.” He said, “Love your neighbor, love your enemy, and pray for those who persecute you. Full stop.” All that Jesus calls us to is for the sake of the other, and in particular, for the sake of the disadvantaged, disenfranchised, or oppressed other.

I’ll admit to you, I don’t like this command. It is too hard, too scary – it seems impossible. “Ministry is risky” is easy enough to say, a nice enough way to start a sermon, but enacting it is an entirely different ball game! And sometimes we would prefer to come to church and find respite and comfort, not conviction and the sense that we are not doing enough, that the love we are willing to share is not enough, that we are not, as Jesus says, “perfect, just as our heavenly Father is perfect,” and never will be. I get that. I, too, want to be comfortable in my faith, comfortable with my relationship with God and with others. Who doesn’t want to be comfortable?

But it turns out, Jesus never promised to make us comfortable. That’s an important distinction: Jesus never promised to make us comfortable – but, he did and does promise to bring us comfort. But this comfort doesn’t come in the form of a pat on the back, nor a pass on our baptismal call to love one another. No, Christ’s comfort comes in the promise we hear each week that we are forgiven. It comes in the words, “This is my body, given for you. This is my blood, shed for you for the forgiveness of sin.” That is where our comfort lies. That is what we can return to after we go out and do the risky business of ministry, even putting our own safety on the line for the sake of loving our neighbors – both those whom we love, and those we might consider enemies.

Ministry is risky. Christ’s ministry took him to the cross, killed as a common criminal. Following Christ is counter-cultural, and even foolish at times, and frequently unsafe. Indeed, the only reason we are able to walk in Christ’s ways is because of those promises from God – the promise of forgiveness, love, and grace. We are able to do it because God empowers us to do it. We are able to do it because we know and trust that if God calls us to it, then God will walk with us through it. And with each step we take, with Christ by our side, we come closer to becoming whole, complete, becoming “perfect,” and living into our baptismal call and the people God envisions us to be.

Let us pray… Gracious God, you call us to the tough and risky work of ministry, asking us to love our enemies with an active love, and pray for those who persecute us. Give us the courage to follow this call, trusting ever in the comfort your promises bring. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.