Matthew 22:34-40 · The Greatest Commandment
Last Impressions
Matthew 22:34-40
Sermon
by Leonard Sweet
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Last week we spoke of the power of “first impressions.” From a chronological standpoint, Paul’s “First Letter to the Thessalonians” was his first written words that have come down to us. It is the “first impression” of a life of Jesus discipleship written in the New Testament.

In this week’s gospel text from Matthew, we have a kind of closing bracket to that “first impression,” a bookend “final impression,” a last word from Jesus to the various Temple authorities. We have the third and final confrontation with those whom Jesus encountered as soon as he entered Jerusalem for his final visit into the Temple in Jerusalem.

His first encounter was with the Herodians (who were egged on by the Pharisees) when he was grilled about the question of paying taxes to Rome.

His second encounter was with the Sadduccees where his views on resurrection and eternal life were sized up and audited.

Now in this third encounter Jesus is confronted by what appears to be an organized, formal assembly of Pharisees. These were those Jewish authorities who were most devoted to imbedding the force and focus of written Torah law into the fabric of every jot and tittle of everyday life.

The Pharisees had cataloged a list of 613 commandments or laws, which all faithful Jews should follow. But these 613 laws were also divided into those that were “weighty” and those that were “light.”  “Thou shalt not commit murder” was one of the “Big Ten.” Written by the hand of God on stone at Sinai, this commandment was definitely weighty. Making a fire on the Sabbath, striking up some firelight, that was definitely “light,” and in an emergency, absolutely expendable. The Pharisees’ question to Jesus was tried to get him to name which of the most “weighty” commandments were the “hefty, hefty, hefty” ones. What commandment was #1, the big boss with the hot sauce.

Jesus’ response was his “final word,” his “last impression” in this series of Temple confrontations. It is unexpected and uniquely incontrovertible. Instead of citing one of the venerable “Big Ten” or what we call “The Ten Commandments,” Jesus chooses the words from Deuteronomy 6:5, the words prayed by observant Jews four times a day, words as familiar and close to the hearts of the people of Israel as the names of their own children.

The Shema, recited everyday by the faithful, declared, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” The “greatest commandment” Jesus chose was not a commandment “against” anything. It was a commandment “for” something. It was a commandment that commended an attitude of faith and love directed towards God. 

Yet Jesus could not stop there. Jesus could not uncouple the love of God from God’s love for this world. Jesus recognized that was impossible. So in response to the Pharisee’s question Jesus added an inseparable “and a second is like it:”  “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

This quote from Leviticus 19:18 extends a love for God into a love for all those whom God loves — which is to say all of the world, all creatures, all people, who inhabit this earth that God made. That is Large Love. That is Heavy Love. That is Weighty Love. That is the greatest commandment, the greatest mission that any of us will ever encounter throughout the course of our lives. Here is but another evidence that Jesus is without peer in history for “reframing.” Jesus reframed the Hebrew conception of Shema (morality and justice) with perceptions of “Love your neighbors,” “Love your enemies,” “Go the second mile,” “Return good for evil,” “Forgive 70x7."

Last impressions are indeed “lasting impressions.” Every political debater, every public speaker, every family member, wants to get in “the last word.” Our last impression, our last words, our last actions, hang in the air long after we are gone. Our last words give off a lasting aroma that continues to impact the environment long after we have passed by.

In Matthew’s gospel Jesus’ last “face to face” debate with his opposers and detractors is a question about the “greatest commandment.” Jesus does not hesitate, he doesn’t have to ponder or consider or hem and haw “on the other hand.” Jesus does not choose any of the “thou shalt not” commandments. Jesus chooses one thing: love. To love God is to fulfill the greatest and yet most basic commandment. And in the committed living of that commandment those who love God will also “love your neighbor.”

For Jesus love was not love unless it went both vertical and horizontal — up to the heavenly throne and across the street to those people who have old cars on cinder blocks and way too many garden gnomes and flamingos in their yard. When Jesus is on the cross showcasing God’s love for the world he is also instructing John, “Take my mother home with you.” When Jesus is most cosmic, most universal in his mission, he is most particular and provincial: “Take care of my mother. Take her home with you.”

Love your God; Love your neighbor. That is it. It’s that simple. It’s that complex.

The Pharisees, the protectors of the Torah, called Jesus out on a “give us the greatest” challenge so that they could engage him in debate and whittle away at his authority. As it would be today, every religious official could be expected to have a different answer to “what is the greatest?” Every one of those officials could have offered a great defense of their personal choice.

Jesus’ answer put them off balance. His ensuing question about the relationship between King David and the coming Messiah flummoxed them even more. When Jesus challenged the Pharisees to recognize that “King David” addressed the coming Messiah as “Lord,” not as his offspring, that upset the applecart on their messianic expectations. If David recognized the coming Messiah as his “Lord,” that messianic presence could not be his own generic offspring. The true Messiah could not just be another great leader, or king, or warrior. The Messiah that the great King David called “Lord” must come from a divine source, and what is more, must have a different and a supremely divine agenda.

The Pharisees wanted to get rid of Jesus with a final ensnarement. They crafted a final question that could reveal him to be a country bumpkin who had no true knowledge of Torah truths. Instead their question about the “greatest commandment” was answered with an assertion from the most basic expression of Jewish faith, the Shema, and a completely theologically based extension of that first confession to both “love the Lord your God, with all with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind,” and “love your neighbor as yourself.”

Photographer, “foodie,” and author Melanie Dunea conceived a great question that she made into a book (actually a series of them, since the first was so successful). She interviewed fifty of the most prominent, successful, respected chefs from around the world, asking each of them what they would like for their “last supper” on earth.

She asked what they would like for their meal, where they would like to eat it, what would be the music, who would be the chef, and who would be in attendance.  In other words, what would they like to leave as their “last impression” on this world if they could orchestrate that moment and all their desires would come true.

A few chefs chose a menu of elaborate cuisine and exotic places. But by far the majority of these “rich and famous” folks chose something else. They chose family, they chose friends, and they chose their most familiar foods. They wanted their “last supper” not to be about extreme presentation or haute cuisine, but to be about sharing a meal with extended family and sharing bread and love around the table. As one chef exclaimed, “It would be a simple dish, a slice of country bread, some olive oil, shaved black truffle, rock salt, and black pepper” (p.32).

Instead of being served, most of these chefs wanted to cook and serve their “last supper” themselves. Not because they wanted to be “large and in charge,” but because they wanted their last act to be feeding those whom they loved.  Award winning English chef Tom Aikens summed up his commitment by saying “Cooking is my love and life. If this is the last thing I get to do on earth, then I am going to have to do it myself” (p.74). They could imagine no greater desire than to feed the ones they love one last time.

Vimal Char is a Kashmiri Pandit who started his career as a chef at the age of 21. In the last couple of years he has become one of the most famous chefs in the world. His last supper request was that he be able to cook with it with his wife, “Sangeeta and I would prepare it together for the family.” (p.88) Angela Harnett, and English chef in charge of the Murano restaurant in New York insisted that her assistants would be “family — we would do it all together” (p.102). Paul Kahan wanted his last meal on earth to be a big old pig roast, but the final touch would be “Swiss chocolate, because my wife, Mary likes it” (p.104). His final dessert was for his loved one, not himself.

When Jesus was asked “what is the greatest commandment?” he issued the answer that was the impetus behind the messianic presence and incarnation. Love. There was no other reason for his presence. There was no other reason for his mission. There was no other reason for his sacrifice. There was no other reason for his resurrection.

The Herodians, the Sadducees, the Pharisees, they all had carefully calculated plans about how human beings could connect with the divine. They had outlined all sorts of political shortcuts, liturgical and ritual outlets, and rigorous lists of legal do’s and don’ts. Jesus said no, plain and simple. The way to God is a really a short cut. The way to serve God and be in most intimate contact with the divine is through love. That was Jesus’ final Temple based message to the religious authorities. Jesus’ final word would always be love. At his arrest. At his trial. At his crucifixion. At his resurrection. At his ascension.  His final words were always about loving God and extending God’s love to embrace others, especially those hard to love.

One more observation about My Last Supper: 50 Great Chefs and Their Final Meals, Portraits, Interviews, and Recipes (2007, 2011). One of the chefs Melanie Dunea contacted very politely refused to be a part of her project. His name is Guy Savoy, a French chef who is the Head Chef and owner of the Guy Savoy restaurant in Paris and sister restaurant in Las Vegas, both of which have gained multiple Michelin stars. He owns four other restaurants in Paris and Qatar.

His response to providing Melanie Dunea information about his “Last Supper” was this:

Dear Madame, I thank you for your note, and am touched by your admiration. Nevertheless, I have a phobic rapport with death, and because of this, will never discuss my last meal. This returns me to my life’s philosophy: I talk about openings, not closings.

All of Jesus’ “last impressions” were not about “closing” but were about opening. In this week’s gospel text his words reveal that we are to be about the eternally opening power of love, both the love for God and the love for our “neighbor.” Throughout the ordeal of his arrest, torture, trial, and crucifixion, Jesus remained “open” to the power and presence of God’s love. It sustained him, empowered him, enabled him to forgive those who abandoned and attacked him, gave him the strength to sing Psalm 22 from the cross about the victory he was attaining.

Here is the lasting impression Jesus made upon the religious establishment of his day. When asked “Which of the 613 commandments is the greatest?” his response was essentially this: “Sometimes you have to forget the 613 commandments and do the right thing.” Or to a people of fixed and unbending principles, Jesus gave this as his lasting impression: “Sometimes you have to forget your principles and do what is right LOVE.”

Love God and neighbor with everything you got. That’s the greatest “commandment” of them all.

ChristianGlobe Networks, Inc., Leonard Sweet Sermons, by Leonard Sweet