Luke 6:27-38

[Jesus said,] “… listen, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. Do to others as you would have them do to you.

“If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. If you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. If you lend to those from whom you hope to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to receive as much again. But love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High; for he is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.

“Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give will be the measure you get back.”

“Please let that not be my child.”

That was the first thing that ran through the mind of Alex Geller, the father of three, who heard a loud crash while visiting the Hecht Museum, in Israel, with his family, this past summer. Much to his shock, surprise, shame, and embarrassment, his youngest son, a 4-year-old Ariel was, in fact, the culprit in the destruction of a 3,500 year-old, clay jar.

The jar – from the Bronze Age – had been on display at the museum for 35 years, and was one of the only containers of its size, from that period, that was discovered, completely intact. The precious, rare artifact dated back to something like 2200 BCE, until POOF, on a summer day last August, it was gone.

“Please let that not be my child.”

The beautiful thing about this story is that, despite the destruction he wrought, the museum curators asked little Ariel and his family to come back to help repair what he’d broken. AND they think it’s still important to keep these sorts of artifacts open and accessible to the public so that, even if it’s risky and even though accidents happen, people can learn by getting up close, to touch, feel, and interact with the history that’s on display in their museum.

And they think all of this could be a teachable moment, for the boy, they said. And I thought it might be a teachable moment for all of us, too.

I thought this story might be a funny, light-hearted, but meaningful way to wonder about the deeper, heavier invitations we hear from Jesus this morning…this stuff about forgiveness, about not condemning, about not judging. And this stuff about “Loving your enemies,” “Doing unto others,” and “Turning the other cheek,” too. All of this seem like pretty high standards of expectation – a high bar of discipleship and faithful living – to be honest.

I mean, does anyone actually do this anymore – love their enemies? I’m not even sure who my enemies are at the moment. Maybe I’m lucky that my enemies seem like far away, hypothetical, existential kinds of foes. I don’t contend with them daily, face-to-face, man-to-man, if you will, in ways that I’d actually have to make a choice, even, to fight them, let alone love them, as Jesus commands.

And what does it mean to “bless those who curse you?” I’m no good at that. Can any of us say we blessed the last person who really ticked us off – and that we meant it? Ignored them, maybe… Walked away from them, perhaps… Cursed them in return or muttered something under our breath, more likely… but blessed them? I don’t think so.

As for the rest of Jesus’ words today … I have driven past the beggar and looked the other way. I expect to get my stuff back when I loan it. I have withheld my coat and my shirt and more … my closets are packed and, frankly, I could use more hangers at the moment.

And what about, “praying for those who abuse you?” How crazy is that? I’ve never been abused in the ways that come to mind when I hear that word – physical, sexual, domestic kinds of abuse, I mean. Did you hear about the trio of miscreants who were arrested, just last month in Greenfield, for a litany of the most awful offenses against children? The sorts of prayers I’d pray this morning, if I were the family of whoever those victims may be, wouldn’t be kind or loving or full mercy and forgiveness, I can almost guarantee you that.

And, honestly, I believe all of this is okay, to some extent – that God understands, I mean. God knows this about me, already. And maybe God knows this about some of you, too – how stiff-necked and broken, how selfish and sinful, how vengeful and vindictive we can be a lot of the time.

What I’m saying is, I take these extreme statements from Jesus – this very high bar that he sets for his followers? – I take it all about as literally as I do some of the other things he says about plucking out our eyes if they cause us to sin, or chopping off our limbs if they cause us to stumble. That kind of stuff is holiness to the extreme – it sounds like crazy talk – it’s virtually impossible, for many of us – it’s really hard work when the rubber meets the road, to be sure.

Love your enemy … Bless those who curse you … Turn the other cheek …

But, as hard as it may be, that doesn’t mean we ignore Jesus’ words altogether – this invitation to forgiveness, to love, to turning, to blessing; it doesn’t mean we don’t strive to achieve those things – somehow … some way … in some measure of time … with God’s help and by Gods’ grace.

What Jesus does today is call us toward a better way, however difficult that might be to achieve. I think Jesus is always inviting us to love, even when it seems impossible; to bless others, even when it’s really hard. I think Jesus is always calling us to mercy and forgiveness even when it goes against our first instinct; or our natural, sinful, selfish inclinations; or even when it goes against what the world would have us do under the same circumstances; and even if we never get all the way there.

I think that’s what life in the kingdom is supposed to look like – something more like the way the museum curators treated Ariel and his family after that accident with the vase.

It’s risky to be alive in the world. Sometimes we’re the ones who are broken and sometimes we’re the ones who do the breaking. And no matter what, God doesn’t have the luxury that Ariel’s dad had – to hope, even for just a second, “Please don’t let that be my child.”

It’s always God’s children who are being broken. It’s always God’s children who are doing the breaking. And it’s always God inviting us to live and to love in ways God’s self – in the person of Jesus – was willing to live and to love – because God knows we’ll be blessed – and because the world will be changed when we do.

So, we can pray for bullies on the playground, in the classroom, and in the cafeteria. We can try to forgive that jerk at the office. We can work at loving those people in our lives who make it so hard sometimes. We can be slower to condemn those with whom we disagree. We can be generous, even if we don’t think someone deserves it. We can practice humility when we want so badly to prove how right we are. We can muster a blessing and mean it.

We can show and receive mercy. We can forgive and receive forgiveness. We can love and be loved, in spite of ourselves.

Because in the end God is merciful, even when we can’t be. God is loving, even when we’re not. God’s grace is more than we can give and always more than we deserve: a good measure, for sure, pressed down, shaken together, running over – for you, for me, and for the world, until we get it right.

Amen