Luke 6:27-36 · Love for Enemies
Saints in Shorts
Luke 6:27-36
Sermon
by David J. Kalas
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Seven years ago, our family moved from southern Virginia to northeast Wisconsin. As you might expect, spring comes later here. Fall comes earlier. And winter is a much different experience in northeast Wisconsin than it was in southern Virginia. The same temperatures that seemed bone-chilling in Virginia are good reason to leave the mufflers and mittens at home in Wisconsin. Of course, many of the retired folks in my congregation here take their cue from the geese and fly south for the winter each year. Florida and Arizona are the desired destinations as they leave behind the piles of snow, the sub-zero temperatures, and the bitter cold wind. 

Set aside for a moment, if you will, the comfortable, climate-controlled setting in which you are probably sitting just now, and picture yourself living in some of the fiercest winter weather you can imagine. A local television or radio station in that cold community publicizes a special promotion: an all-expenses-paid two-week trip to some warm and sunny spot. The trip can be to Florida, the Caribbean, Cancun, Hawaii -- you name it. And all you have to do to be eligible to win this very desirable prize is to show up at a particular place at a particular time.  The date comes for the prize to be awarded, and so you and hundreds of other folks head out to the spot where the winners will be selected. The setting is a strange one -- a gimmick, you think, to make the trip seem all the more desirable. The contestants are asked to gather in the middle of the night in an open field outside of town. You arrive at the field and discover that the snow is up to your knees, except in the spots where it has drifted even higher. The night air is frigid. And the wide open space of the field encourages a strong, cold wind. It is a bitterly cold time and place. 

Everyone there is dressed for the occasion. You could be standing next to your best friend and not even know it, for every inch of every person is covered. Heavy coats and long underwear, mittens, mufflers, boots, and snowsuits are everywhere on everyone. All the people there are layered and insulated. Everyone, that is, except for one nut -- there's one in every crowd, right? -- who is standing there with shorts on. He's wearing no shirt and no shoes, no coat, no gloves, no scarf. 

It's obvious that he is shivering and miserable. And his misery is soon compounded by some folks' pointing and taunting. A few thoughtful persons in the crowd, meanwhile, express concern for his health and well-being, and they offer him some of their winter wear. "Would you like my gloves?" asks one man. "I could just keep my hands in my coat pockets." "I've got an extra scarf," offers another. But the half-dressed man turns down all the offers, though his teeth are chattering and his body is shivering violently. 

If we can imagine someone so uncomfortably out of place -- and so seemingly out of touch with the reality around him -- then we are prepared. We are prepared to read the New Testament. We are prepared to think about the kingdom of God. We are prepared to hear the teachings of Jesus. And we are prepared to understand the kind of people he calls us to be. 

We are dealing here in Luke 6 with some of the very familiar teachings of Jesus. Conventional wisdom says that "familiarity breeds contempt." I expect in some circumstances of life that is true. Perhaps when it comes to familiar scripture passages, however, familiarity may breed something even worse: a kind of deafness to God's word. After all, once I think that I already know what a passage says, I may stop listening carefully to it. And if it happens that a familiar passage of scripture says something more or something other than what I thought, I stand very little chance of hearing that, for I have stopped listening carefully to it. 

New translations of old, familiar texts can help to break the logjam in our understandings. Eugene Peterson, a retired Presbyterian pastor and professor of theology, offers us such a fresh translation of these teachings of Jesus. Peterson's version, called The Message, includes this insightful and startling translation: "To you who are ready for the truth, I say this: Love your enemies. Let them bring out the best in you, not the worst. When someone gives you a hard time, respond with the energies of prayer for that person. If someone slaps you in the face, stand there and take it. If someone grabs your shirt, giftwrap your best coat and make a present of it. If someone takes unfair advantage of you, use the occasion to practice the servant life. No more tit-for-tat stuff. Live generously" (Luke 6:27-31).1 

Jesus' instruction to "turn the other cheek" is one of those very familiar passages of scripture. It is so familiar to us, in fact, that it has become something of a cliché. We may need to take a closer look at that cliché, however, in order for it to have real meaning and application in our lives.  For myself, I don't suppose that I have been struck by anyone since a playground spat in the fifth grade. And I don't live in a setting where I am likely to be struck by anyone. Still, I have a hunch that this instruction has daily meaning for me.  It is worth noting that Jesus does not say, "If anyone attacks you with a knife ..." or "If anyone stabs you with a sword...." First-century Palestine certainly had its share of violence, but Jesus chooses a different kind of offense. The example he chooses -- being struck on the cheek -- is not a life-threatening kind of attack. If I am struck on the cheek, what is it that is really at stake? A slap on the face is perhaps more of a blow to my ego than my body. It is not so much that my life needs to be defended as it is my pride that wants to be avenged. 

You and I may not live in settings where we are likely to be physically struck, but we are almost certainly in settings where our egos get slapped around a bit. That can happen even without any deliberate malevolence on the part of a spouse, a co-worker, a friend. And when someone has dealt my ego a blow, whether accidentally or quite intentionally, what shall be my response?  Egos, by their fallen nature, tend to be quite big and very sensitive. They beg, therefore, to be defended and avenged. And so my instinct when I am struck, in whatever form, is to strike back in kind. It seems that the reasonable ethic for Jesus to teach, then, might be that I should just walk away. Swallow my pride, bridle my tongue, sheathe my desire for vindication, and just walk away. 

I was in a small fellowship group recently where folks were sharing a bit about their daily struggles to live lives that are pleasing to God. They came to the subject of stressful family relationships, and two people in the group reported that they were learning just to walk away from the harsh and berating speech they sometimes hear. The most Christ-like alternative to retaliatory words or action that they had found was to beat a hasty exit. The only choice they saw was fight or flight.  That is the kind of advice a caring mother would give, I suppose, if her son found himself in some antagonistic setting at school, on the playground, or in the neighborhood. "Just walk away" is the policy most likely to keep him out of fights and away from harm.  On the other hand, our "just walk away" ethic -- which seems very reasonable -- leads to all sorts of broken relationships and abandoned commitments. If being hurt in a situation -- or the likelihood of being hurt again -- is best resolved by my walking away, I will find ample cause to walk away from a whole lot of people and situations in my life. I will walk away from my family, from my friends, and from my church. I may try to find ways to walk away from myself, as well. 

Quite the opposite from walking away, however, Jesus tells his followers to hang in there: to stay in that situation, that relationship, where we have just been hurt or offended or bruised. He not only denies us the seeming pleasure and satisfaction of retaliating, it appears that he wants us to leave ourselves deliberately vulnerable to being hurt again. After all, if I am going to stay there with the person who has just struck me on one cheek, I should at least brace myself: protect myself lest that hurtful person lash out at me again. But, no, I am to leave my other cheek available, leave myself exposed. 

Jesus' words seem, at first blush, to be nonsense. What possible good could come from such a strategy of vulnerability? Could it be that Jesus wants us to be hurt?  No, not at all. Jesus wants something far better, lovelier, and more profound than that. Jesus wants us to be like God. "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" (vv. 35b-36). 

If turning the other cheek sounds like nonsense to us, we might look more broadly at the teachings of Jesus to see if that one is just a fluke -- a misunderstanding, something lost in translation. But, no, we discover that the nonsense is everywhere. Love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who abuse you. If anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. Who can take seriously this sort of advice? Are these teachings excerpted from a sermon titled "How to Be a Doormat"?  No, these are teachings about how to be like God. This is, after all, the God who sent his Son into enemy territory "in order that the world might be saved through him" (John 3:17b). This is the Father who welcomes back with open arms and new clothes the irresponsible prodigal. This is the One who reconciles his enemies to himself at his own expense (Colossians 1:21-22). And this is the One who prayed on the cross for his taunting executioners to be forgiven.

Several years ago, I saw someone wearing a t-shirt featuring the traditional symbol of the fish that Christians have used to identify themselves since the days of persecution in the Roman Empire. The fish on the t-shirt was not alone, however. There were a great many other fish -- including some rather menacing looking ones -- all swimming in one direction, while this lone Christian fish was swimming in the other direction.  That's a pretty good depiction of life in this world for the person who would follow Jesus. Perhaps we do not always have to swim alone, but we are surely called to swim upstream. 

This Christian ethic of going against the flow is not just for the sake of being contrary. No, we swim in the opposite direction from much of the rest of the world simply because we are swimming toward a particular destination. And you can't reach that destination -- the kingdom of God -- by living in the same direction as the fallen, sinful world.

Or perhaps the truth of how we are called to live goes still one step deeper. More than just living toward our destination, we Christians are called to live like our destination. 

The old traditional traveler's wisdom said, "When in Rome, do as the Romans do." And that's fine, if you want to fit in in Rome. But the Christian lives with a different ethic, for the Christian has a different ultimate goal. We may live in the world, but we do not aspire to fitting in here. Instead, since our citizenship is in heaven, as the Apostle Paul says, we speak the language and live the customs of the place to which we belong. Simply put, we live like heaven on earth.

That should not come as a surprise to us. In the most familiar of all prayers -- a prayer many of us speak once a week or more -- we pray for God's will to be done "on earth as it is in heaven." If that is what we pray, then surely that should also be how we live: on earth as in heaven. 

Return with me now to that frigid field in our imaginary vacation contest.  I imagine the contest judges climbing up on the platform and surveying the crowd. Hundreds of people are there, eager to be chosen for the all-expenses-paid trip to Florida, the Caribbean, or the like. The judges consult with one another only for a moment, though, and then they point to the shivering fool in shorts. He is selected from the crowd. He is helped onto the makeshift platform to join the contest officials, and there they award him the much-desired trip. 

A murmur of surprise and confusion flows through the shivering crowd. Then the contest officials explain their decision to the bundled bystanders: this man won the trip to the Caribbean because, simply, he was the only person who was dressed for the Caribbean.  And so it is with you and me.  We are invited to enjoy an all-expenses-paid eternity in the Kingdom of Heaven. The expectation of the Judge, however, is that we will "dress" for our destination, even while we are here. Even though we live in the bitter cold of a fallen, sinful world, we are to live like the warmth of love, humility, and holiness that characterize our destination. The apparel -- the lifestyle -- that is fashionable in heaven may leave us shivering and vulnerable here. Kingdom-bound folks are bound to being teased and misunderstood, for we look and live so out-of-place. But that temporary discomfort is a small price to pay in the end. For the Lord has graciously promised his shivering saints in shorts, "Your reward will be great" (v. 35).  


1. Eugene H. Peterson, The Message (Colorado Springs: NavPress, 1993), pp. 131-132.   

CSS Publishing Company, Sermons on the Gospel Readings, Cycle C, by David J. Kalas