Missing Out on the Sermon on the Mount

I grew up in a mostly evangelical environment, Dutch Reformed specifically.

It was very much about salvation, but with a clear intellectual dogmatic foundation. Folks weren't afraid of thinking, but it was clearly determined by boundaries, beyond which one didn't go, because there was no need for anything more than what was already available within the tradition. We had the answers, and we knew how to read the Bible.

One of the ways of reading the Bible was how the Beatitudes were read - primarily as something quite ideal and beyond our reach, of value for reminding us how much we're sinners, and how badly we need the atoning death of Jesus - who, having died for our sin, puts us right with the Father, so that we can have eternal life. To safeguard our eternal God, we're careful not to violate the essential and personal moral strictures that have mostly to do with alcohol and tobacco, theater attendance, card-playing, and sex. Making money, as much as you can, was just fine. If you had money, you gave to your favorite charities including the church, to maintain buildings and programs and missionaries - locally, perhaps, a rescue mission, retirement homes, colleges and seminaries.

The fact that the Sermon on the Mount is the longest discourse given by Jesus doesn't register with evangelicals - fact is, much of the Gospels fail to register, drawn to Paul as evangelicals are, and if they're reading the Old Testament at all, drawn primarily to the historical books dealing with conquest and war, temple building and priest-craft, kings and queens, power and punishment.

By sidestepping the Sermon on the Mount as an ethical discourse for daily life, evangelicals relieve themselves of a tremendous ethical burden, and if pushed, will often reply, "Well, no one's perfect."

True enough, but Jesus, who seems to understand that rather well, yet proceeds with the Sermon, even saying that one might be as "perfect" as the Father in heaven is perfect, or complete; meaning: that one can ethically love others, be fair and decent, and treat all with kindness. In other words, as the word in Greek rightly means, one can be "complete" - i.e., one can have all the components of divine benevolence - not on the same scale, but with similar intensity and broadness.

Granted, we're not perfect, not even complete, whatever that means, but lack of perfection shouldn't stop anyone from trying. I mean, is this not what we learn in school, in sports and music and painting and marriage? Just because we're imperfect is not reason to give up, but rather reason all the more to persist.

Yet in the evangelical community, the lack of perfection becomes, when it comes to the Sermon on the Mount, not an encouragement to try, but a reason to simply "flee to Jesus for mercy and salvation."

I missed out on the Sermon on the Mount when I was growing up ... I was clear that I was a sinner in need of grace

I learned that fornication and Onanism were sinful, and so was drunkenness. I heard plenty of sermons about sin and salvation and Jesus "dying for my sins." And likely these days, I would hear plenty about homosexuals and abortion. But I never heard anything about justice, poverty and war; I remember hearing a bit about Communism, but never a question raised about Capitalism.

I never learned the great ethical lessons of the Christian faith, rooted in the Prophets and given new meaning in Jesus, and, yes, even Paul, when read finally in the light of Jesus, and not the other way around, as was the custom in preaching and Bible Study.

It was only years later that I discovered how important is the Sermon on the Mount and that Jesus offers this ethical discourse with a full realization that it was not going to be easy, but that it was possible "to be perfect as our Father in heaven."

Faith and Politics - My Journey

Some of my earliest memories are of God.

God was there for me, and I was never afraid of God.

That carried through high school (Grand Rapids Christian High School).

And Calvin College.

And then to Seminary, and all the years since.

Sometime in 9th or 10th grade, I subscribed to U.S. News and World Report.

I read every issue.

Slowly, the world of mice and men merged with my sense of God and Bible reading.

In high school, I bought a huge Thompson's Chain Reference Bible, and I loved it. I found my verses, underlined them, memorized them, and made them mine, but the best was yet to come.

In seminary, I began to read the whole Bible, and that's pretty much continued over the years.

My teaching mantra: "Read lots of the Bible in single settings, and read often."

Out of this mix of reading and personal history, I made my political decision when I turned 21 and was able to vote.

But was it just Bible and then politics?

No!

The whole of my life - for whatever reason, I very much felt like the outsider, and that gave me sympathy for the outsider. I was sick a lot as a child - bad allergies and lots of colds and coughs. I was overweight much of the time. My family moved often. My mother had great difficulties with most of the family and some of their friends. My father was on the fringe of things. My older brother was gone off to college when I was 9, and we didn't see much of each other thereafter.

I've always had feelings for those who are shunned by others, who don't belong, who are looked down upon.

Wasn't always consistent, that's for sure. I was a terrible racist.

It was in college where the debris of racism was finally gathered up and swept away by Dr. Roger Rice who had us read Michael Harrington's "The Other America." This professor will always be enshrined in my memories.

Slowly, my world came together.

Theologically, what mattered was grace.

No one has better understanding of grace than the Apostle Paul.

And then Calvin.

My Presbyterian story.

Amazing Grace.

These are the bits and pieces of who I am, from little on.

This is my story.

And why I see the world as I see it, and think about politics as I do.

I've been reading the Prophets as of late.

Strong reading.

Confirmation, I think,

What God despises is military might and the pride that goes with it.

Wealth without restraint.

Mistreatment of the vulnerable - the failure of the nation to care for its weakest citizens, and even the alien within its boundaries.

And false gods.

False gods are always present and evident in the above: the love of military might, and reliance upon it. Love of wealth and the accumulation of more and more. Contempt for the poor, ignoring their needs, taking advantage of them, impoverishing them even further.

No matter the pretense of faith, behavior reveals the false gods.

So ...

All greatness is of God.

All greatness becomes arrogant.

God brings down all arrogance.

How do I vote?

I vote for the politicians that have the larger grasp of what justice is all about. A big vision of the world, and our place within it. Those who proclaim "America the greatest" are just plain wrong, sadly mistaken, and need to immerse themselves in the Bible before they yammer on like some silly potentate of old.

I vote for those who have a sense of the underdog, the vulnerable - who look upon them and their plight with compassion rather than contempt. Who see them as people, not parasites. Who see them as victims of big systems that serve the wealthy. Who understand that it's the job of priest and prophet and king to address these needs and maintain balance for all citizens.

I vote for those who understand the manna principle: that those who have much won't have too much, and those who have little won't have too little.

I have no time for Ayn Rand and her blighted view of things.

She's to be pitied.

Not believed.

How strange that anyone who professes faith in Christ would shape her bitterness and bile into a political vision.

But so it goes in this world of cabbages and kings.