The device is helpful in distinguishing people who have made the leap. From normal to special? From common to profound? More often, from self-awareness to self-importance.

I have made the leap.

The internet makes the leap easier. How far from self-important could I have been seeing as how I own multiple domain names bearing my name? I have consistently plastered my name or initials on whatever blog I start and abandon. My latest attempt is false humility, really, simply inserting my initials into a word, trying to seem like I’m just differentiating my portion of the internet river, when I’m really co-opting a pretty giant concept (writing) for the sake of self-promotion (whriting). Then again, when we all have twitter accounts and facebook pages (pages and pages), what’s so whrong with a little self-presentation?

So we are all close to the leap when we are cultivating our online identity. My leap was completed though, when I had kids. I changed from Walt to Daddy.

And Daddy is important.

Daddy can get away with all kinds of crap. Daddy can say “Because Daddy said so.” What kind of narcissist supports an argument with the mere reminder that he made a statement? Kings, dictators, parents. That’s about it.

It’s not too hard to see why Daddy made the leap. Daddy was told early on that he was responsible for two human lives. And Daddy changed a lot of diapers. And Daddy taught them English. And Daddy tells them what not to say and when not to say it. And around 51% of the time, they do what Daddy says. That’s a majority. In this country that’s the difference between being in charge and being unemployed.

Daddy is in charge.

But Daddy gets it wrong. A lot. A few choice examples that might be overheard in this house:

Daddy is so tired, please get back in your own bed.

Daddy doesn’t have to eat vegetables.

Daddy can drink that.

Daddy can say that.

I have to wonder what message this sends. The roles we establish in family life last. In Christianity, we are constantly being reminded that an image of God as Father is not so great for someone whose Father was a terrible person. The role of Father is linked to a person and a relationship (or lack thereof), not an idealized or isolated concept. So when I say something Daddy does, I’m identifying both myself and my role in the family. Maybe it establishes identity, or maybe it ties it up. If this person/idea Daddy does certain things, that presumes that other people can not do those things. Or at least, if they do, they could be doing it incorrectly.

I think the position of “I” in parenting is so easily forgotten, because “I” is a weak, sinful, person who is often wrong. When I talk to my children personally, I run the risk of being honest. I know there is a place for Daddy, but the role of “I” in my children’s lives seems to have so much more potential. I will always be a Daddy, but the thought that I can be a friend to my daughters one day, when they need less authority and more relationship, is enough to make me truly joyful.

So at the risk of losing a little power, I will make an effort to wander back into self-awareness. Love is not a declaration of power, but a choice to give away power for the sake of relationships. That’s what I’ll teach my kids. And they’ll know it’s true, because Daddy said so.

Twitter is bad.

I tried giving up Twitter about two years ago, when I saw that the good folks at Good Morning America were tweeting, as a show. And they were doing a piece about Twitter and what it is and why it’s hot and new and here to stay and who tweets and how to tweet and why it’s not something to be afraid of anymore. I decided Twitter’s utter hipness, it’s Facebook-dethroning appeal to me, was dead. The secret was out. The sarcastic, crude, snobbish, exclusive, inclusive, community, authentic, artificial secret was revealed, the medium was corrupted. But no one on Twitter agreed with me, so I didn’t give it up after all.

I tried to tweet every day. You know, something funny. A cute picture of my kids maybe. And I followed people who were friends, and friends of friends. I reciprocated followings to people I didn’t know, but knew who they knew, or followed who they followed. I followed semi-famous people, because that’s who tweets best.

You probably get it already.

Every day.

Every day.

Several times a day.

Refreshing…

4 hours ago

2 min ago

seconds ago

seconds ago.

But I think carrying my iphone around like a portal to the cloud of voiceless followers/followees is kind of hideous. The compulsion to hear what people have to say on Twitter was daily interfering with the need to hear what people have to say in my house, my family, my church, my community. So I tried to go without for a few days, and that was a month ago. I miss it sometimes. But I feel like I’m better off without it, because it was an escape more than an experience. It was not relationship-building, it was probably more harmful, since I tend to err on the side of cynic.

I feel compelled to state here that this is all just me, just my experience. But after taking a step back, I don’t think it is just me. If and when you’re interested in some of the thoughts out there that shook me, read Lex’s post, and the links he mentions. And if nothing else, I would recommend a discipline to try for one week. No twitter or facebook while there’s a human in the room. Just try it. When I did, I quickly discovered the compulsion aspect of it. I wasn’t looking for contact, just for diversion. We are in need of genuine human relationships, and if other people use social media as I do–a projection of the person I want the world to think I am, not who I actually am–then social media is not the place for those relationships to happen. Social media is just a way to create false images, then observe (or even obsess over or stalk) those images. The most powerful relationship-builder is questioning. Twitter and Facebook eliminate questioning. They are declarative statement devices. They are not conversational or layered or nuanced. They are distilled, edited, limited.

I’m still not going to offer a qualification here. I really think these things, and I want you to think about it. I think the jolt I experienced was one of the better things to happen to me in a while, and I hope you feel it too.

I guess.

That’s all I can figure out at the moment, because after a few intensely frustrating hours of life, I feel shallow and pitiful trying to maintain my anger at things not going the way I want them to go. It feels childish to sit here at my desk and avoid paying bills by feeling persecuted because other people aren’t behaving as robotically as I expect them to. It feels so wrong, in fact, that I know there must be something deeply wrong about it.

Whining sucks. I know this from experience with it. It’s not an act I found as distasteful before having children. Now that I have dealt with it consistently for a few years, I understand those people who adamantly oppose it, to the point that it’s number one on a list of pet peeves, if not a justification for crimes against humanity. Bur I’ll admit not knowing exactly why society backs me up when I tell my kid to stop whining. I assume it is because of its communicative disadvantages. Kids whine when they want something. Parents don’t respond well, and so the something is not gotten. (At least not at first, thinks the little brat.) As a negotiating tactic, whining fails more than it succeeds. Too bad I never took a World History course in college, or else I could offer an example of some war and make a joke about whining and the treaty and whatever.

But I guess the real aversion to whining is that it detracts from the group, the whole, the society. Listen to someone whine about something, anything, for long enough and they will eventually complain about something ridiculous. What starts as an honest airing of grievances against the universe will quickly become a laundry list of mediocre annoyances. The whining is annoying, so I can talk myself out of it. But what about the root of it, the frustration?

One of the greatest theological concepts I ever learned is that sin exists in the extremes of self-concept. Most sin is the result of either thinking too much of ourselves or thinking too little. Humility may be the opposite of pride, but not its polar opposite. That would be the sin of self-hate. If you’re not the prideful type, and yet you’re miserable, it’s likely that you’ve fallen into the this extreme. One of the many ill effects of pop theology is that the Church is always telling people how evil humanity is. Fallen, we say. Natural sin, we say. And while it’s a firmly-held and respectable theological belief to say that we are born sinful, I don’t buy it. (That one might warrant a post or two later, eh?) What I’m meaning to say here is that we’re so obsessed with original sin that we push people into the sin of self-hate. “Feel lousy?” asks the Church, “You are!” The way out, we tell them, is acknowledgement and dependance on a Higher Power. Therapeutic? Or just therapy?

So is frustration merely a part of the human condition? Just a result of the evil air we breathe? Or is it an awareness at our eventual utter inability to accomplish the ideals we imagine? Or (or) is it like the siren drone of an alarm clock while we’re comfortably asleep? A reaction to a necessary and beneficial outward stimuli. Maybe frustration is an inward realization–a call to change from what we want in favor of what others need. Socially, it tells us we are not everyone’s boss. Spiritually, it reminds us, pushes us, to pray as Jesus did in a time of frustration, “not my will, but Yours.”

That is my prologue to this. Everything I write is my perspective. I hope it’s enough of a different perspective to be interesting and maybe even to help shave a dull edge for you every now and then. I’m not sure if I get better by describing that perspective better, or by allowing it to be changed into a perspective that merits writing about.

All this background could preface any discussion, but I wanted to get it out there sometime, so have it.

As a male, 30, agriculturally and religiously raised and trained, I’d like to talk a little bit about work. These are not statements about all work for all people, but I think there are some themes that are pretty common. I am a thinker. I enjoy concepts and words. As a teenager, it was thought and basic philosophy and communication. Early 20′s, ministerial and theological, mixed with ancient languages. Marketing and advertising ideas and concepts followed, briefly. In the last few years, I’ve become more interested in numbers, primarily in the economic sense. Business, stocks, trading, profit, loss. I am someone who is comfortable in his own head more than anywhere else. It’s hard to make a living that way, even though most of you do it, and I admire/envy you who do. Daydreaming, lost in thought, scatterbrained, I always found myself working with my hands, usually outside. I live mentally, but I move physically, constantly. I don’t know if I’m ready to say I’m better at hands-on work, just not as good as I wish at mind-on work. Those who are good at hands-on work are able to focus. They’re the ones I work for eventually. They are the ones who wonder at me as my mind wanders, and I miss a step, a cut, a leak, a part. So why do I keep doing this kind of work? Because it’s what I need to do. Since I left for college I have been seeking to get away from labor. I hesitate to call it work-work, even though that’s how I think of it. For me there’s work, like what everybody does, mostly office-based, and there’s work-work, what my grandfathers did/do. Fields, tools, bruises, scars, sweat. Sweat’s the deal, really. At least to me. I have made mental mistakes that made me sweat, and it’s like an evolutionary echo, to the time my not-too-distant ancestors sweat all day just to survive. Sweating in a suit feels wrong to me. Like my body is mocking the man who builds fence or repairs tractors, I am in my coat of many colors and/or long sleeves, my heart under the stress normally reserved for lifting or pulling or breaking.

I am satisfied on a random day of hard physical labor, more so than on any day of mind work I can recall. For many people that’s not the case, so I hope I’ve been clear enough about this being more a personal reflection than an ideological diatribe.

I find value and worth in completed work, muscle work. My guess as to why that is is that physical work allows for mental work as well. I can operate a saw or a shovel and still think about my family, or the economy or a song lyric, or in the rare case I hear a sermon that Sunday that I’m not hyper-critical of, some good practical theology. I can’t get lost in that thought, especially in the case of the saw, but I can process and reflect. One of those modes of reflection is prayer. “To the glory of God,” I might think with especially repetitive and unchallenging tasks. What does that mean? Probably a lot of things, but at the least it centers me, connects me to the One I believe to be the foundation, center, and completion of all things, including work. The Genesis creation accounts give a picture of a God who is hands-on. I find a connection to God when I am dividing and defining, molding and viewing. I feel sure that the times I can think on these things are the times I am most satisfied with my work, because this is the universal experience we have the chance to share. I have a lot of uncertainty about jobs and careers and calling, but I am absolutely certain of this: Your work (job or not) is just like mine in that it has room for God, because whether we open our eyes to it or not, God is already there.

It is funny to me that I’m only 30 and already working for a younger boss. During our Taco Bell lunch, he was saying he turns 25 next week.

“When I turned 25, I was still in school,” I said, thinking about how different my life is from his. He’s in the tenth year of running his own business. As a sophomore in high school, he already had two employees. As a 25 year-old, I was goofing off in seminary, living off student loans and my Grad Assistant stipend.

That’s a little context for the conversation I had next. The other guy working with us today is older than I am by a few years. When my boss mentioned that I had a master’s degree, the other guy’s ears perked up. He was surprised and interested, and I had to admit what it was in. “Master of Divinity. I tell my wife I’ll call her Doctor Lindsey if she’ll call me Divine Master Walt,” I said, trying to deflect the ‘what are you (not) doing with that degree’ question.

After promptly asking what I was (not) doing with that degree, he quickly jumped into a church conversation. I’m usually hesitant, if not dismissive, of these conversations, but I like this guy and I’m trying to learn to listen better–especially when it comes to people’s thoughts on church. Everyone has these thoughts, and everyone’s pretty certain they have it figured out, whether they’re pro or con. And the more church experiences I have, the more interested I am in other peoples’ opinions about church.

I think he’s about 3 years into really participating in a church. And he’s very laid-back, though opinionated. His conviction about the problems in churches is that they all stem from issues of acceptance. He thinks people in Church are looking for acceptance, and they do so in the ways they find acceptance outside the Church. Those with money seek to control Church money, because having money gives them social standing. Some people want to have power, because that gives them an identity and a role that others have to accept. We talked about this for a while, and came to at least one conclusion: that it relates to insecurity. The fact that so many of us can’t accept ourselves as we are means we try to force others to accept us as someone we’re not.

I think the Church is a place of acceptance. Genuine acceptance. That’s not appealing at first, because a lot of people are like me, and have trouble being genuine. The cliche is that Church folk are hypocrites. That word is a Greek theater term, relating to having different masks for different emotions/characters/scenes. It’s popular to use it for Christians, but everyone has a different face for a different role or relationship. Family face, work face, web face. We know the differences, and think others don’t. Acceptance requires a willingness to be accepted. As my coworker said today, most people are afraid of that willingness, because it means giving up something. Control, mostly. And when we hold on to control, we forfeit the chance to be genuine, because there is only so much we actually control. We can’t control other’s perceptions, or respect, or love. We can, however, accept these things as they are, whether good or not. Being genuine means recognizing our place, theologically, culturally, socially, and not pretending as though it’s different.

My biggest struggle is accepting peoples’ perceptions. That alone has led to so much false behavior on my part. I am constantly imagining how people see me. That is, most people. I do not worry nearly as much about the perceptions my family or my closest friends have of me, because these are relationships that have survived my failed authenticity. Those who have seen me fall don’t need to be convinced I can’t fall. They’re cool with it. They hope I don’t do it again, but know I will. Who I am to them is as close to who I really am as I may ever get. I am trying to be that person in more relationships. Not because I want to be accepted, but because I want to be genuine.

I think Church should be a place where genuine people don’t have to fight for acceptance.

More specifically, I’m writing this post tonight because earlier today I read this post written by Lex. I don’t know if you’ll know what he’s talking about when he refers to Girl Talk, but I don’t think that matters. It helps, but doesn’t matter. Great writing eclipses subject matter in a way that illuminates without overshadowing. Average writing uses words like “eclipses” and “illuminates” and “overshadowing” in the same sentence in the hopes that a distorted metaphor will disguise a lack of discipline.

That post of our friend lexrob’s is what I think blogging should be. Insightful and relevant thinking about topics that are not often spoken of with insight or relevancy. Most of the web is junk, but good writing prevails online because it is a talent and skill that I believe is a divine gift. After all, God don’t make no junk.

I am sure Lex would prefer I stop before he needs to have his colon inspected for smoke damage, but good writing inspires me to try. So I want to try again. I’ve been wrestling with form and function for three weeks now, but now I feel the need for practice. I think I’ll just try to write for a while, and either the ideas will come or I’ll be motivated to go get them. Here are a few areas I’ve been thinking of:

Church. What is it? I’m either the burnt-out minister or the seminary-ruined kid or the high-potential lazy guy. At least that’s the idea I get when I imagine what other people think of me. I probably don’t dispel any of those perceptions with a generic question like that. But I mean it. I am really wondering about it. It’s so basic and foundational, and yet I constantly wonder if Church as Jesus intended it is anything like what we have made it. I believe in an active God. So, I believe the Church has been shaped by God. But I also know of so many cases where churches (lowercase) have been shaped by human desire. I think seeing those cases makes me more committed to Church (uppercase, global, universal, Divine) because I know the failings are failings. A church that alienates by turning inward is not what it should be. What should it be? There’s my question.

Work. I’m in a new work situation. Maybe temporary, but new and different nonetheless. The discomfort of a new job means looking for points of reference, familiar angles and behaviors. Christian thought has a rich history of thinking about work. I’ve been recalling the historical ideas of work (as service to God, as opportunity for prayer and reflection, as personal formation) and trying to apply them to what I do day to day. I can usually give those thought voice when something interesting happens on the job. So far, it hasn’t. I think that’s an even better reason to try to write about them.

Writing. Now that I failed at it, I don’t mind saying that my first real life goal was to have a book written by 30. With 31 a few months away I’m beginning to evaluate/re-evaluate/doubt what it means to think of myself as a writer. The easy answer is that a writer is someone who writes. That comes across to me as a short-term view, because I don’t like writing long. So instead of planning to have the book written by the time my kids starts school, I’ll just plan to write tomorrow or the next day, if not both.

Okay, so now that we’ve thought of some ways we neglect the Old Testament, let’s think about what Jesus is saying in verse 20.

Our righteousness must exceed that of the scribes and Pharisees. How do we do that? First of all, we have to understand what that means. And that means answering this question: How righteous were they?

If righteousness mean obeying the laws, and the laws about those laws, then they were very righteous.

If righteousness means being justified by Christ’s sacrifice and reconciled to God because of his death, then they aren’t very righteous.

What definition of righteousness is Jesus using when he tells his followers to be more righteous than the Pharisees?

Anytime you come across a tough saying, look around it for help in understanding it. Right after this passage is a list of ways that Jesus says we can internalize and transcend the law as we tend to understand it. Jesus explains ways that the law is not abolished, but fulfilled in him as a way to be in relationship with God. And I think that his understanding of righteousness was different than either the Pharisees or ours.

The old misunderstanding of righteousness was law-abiding.

The new misunderstanding of righteousness is helpless justification.

In the last few years, it has gotten popular to believe in a lazier version of righteousness that says we are lousy and God makes us righteous. And while that’s part of the truth, it’s dangerously simplistic. Jesus doesn’t talk about righteousness that way. Jesus talks about righteousness that is active and engaged. It means being a follower, not just a listener.

For Jesus, righteousness is obedience in relationship with God. It is a life demonstrated in the verses that follow. It transcends the law. We are not to follow mindlessly, we are to engage in obedience, and by doing so become active members of the “kingdom of heaven”.

For Jesus, the Law was God’s way of God’s people behaving differently than the world. The world said to have many gods. The Israelites were to have not other gods beside Yahweh God. The world said to serve self above family and neighbor. The Israelites were to honor neighbors and parents. But they turned laws into legalism.

The transformative ideas Jesus presents, if followed, would make us stand out as well. This passage shouldn’t be a tough saying because it’s hard to understand. But when you read the rest of chapter 5, you’ll find it’s plenty tough to do.

I thought Eugene Peterson had some really good nuances in his paraphrase, The Message. I’ve heard this chapter so often that I think I miss how much is really going on. These verses describe a kind of people that are not moralistic or legalistic, like this Pharisees were, and like we tend to be. I think the hypocrisy tag we’ve earned as Christians would quickly be shed if we could become the kind of people who act in the transformative, creative ways Jesus spoke of here.

 ^21-22“You’re familiar with the command to the ancients, ‘Do not murder.’ I’m telling you that anyone who is so much as angry with a brother or sister is guilty of murder. Carelessly call a brother ‘idiot!’ and you just might find yourself hauled into court. Thoughtlessly yell ‘stupid!’ at a sister and you are on the brink of hellfire. The simple moral fact is that words kill.

 ^23-24“This is how I want you to conduct yourself in these matters. If you enter your place of worship and, about to make an offering, you suddenly remember a grudge a friend has against you, abandon your offering, leave immediately, go to this friend and make things right. Then and only then, come back and work things out with God.

 ^25-26“Or say you’re out on the street and an old enemy accosts you. Don’t lose a minute. Make the first move; make things right with him. After all, if you leave the first move to him, knowing his track record, you’re likely to end up in court, maybe even jail. If that happens, you won’t get out without a stiff fine.  ^27-28“You know the next commandment pretty well, too: ‘Don’t go to bed with another’s spouse.’ But don’t think you’ve preserved your virtue simply by staying out of bed. Your heart can be corrupted by lust even quicker than your body. Those leering looks you think nobody notices—they also corrupt.

 ^29-30“Let’s not pretend this is easier than it really is. If you want to live a morally pure life, here’s what you have to do: You have to blind your right eye the moment you catch it in a lustful leer. You have to choose to live one-eyed or else be dumped on a moral trash pile. And you have to chop off your right hand the moment you notice it raised threateningly. Better a bloody stump than your entire being discarded for good in the dump.

 ^31-32“Remember the Scripture that says, ‘Whoever divorces his wife, let him do it legally, giving her divorce papers and her legal rights’? Too many of you are using that as a cover for selfishness and whim, pretending to be righteous just because you are ‘legal.’ Please, no more pretending. If you divorce your wife, you’re responsible for making her an adulteress (unless she has already made herself that by sexual promiscuity). And if you marry such a divorced adulteress, you’re automatically an adulterer yourself. You can’t use legal cover to mask a moral failure.  ^33-37“And don’t say anything you don’t mean. This counsel is embedded deep in our traditions. You only make things worse when you lay down a smoke screen of pious talk, saying, ‘I’ll pray for you,’ and never doing it, or saying, ‘God be with you,’ and not meaning it. You don’t make your words true by embellishing them with religious lace. In making your speech sound more religious, it becomes less true. Just say ‘yes’ and ‘no.’ When you manipulate words to get your own way, you go wrong.  ^38-42“Here’s another old saying that deserves a second look: ‘Eye for eye, tooth for tooth.’ Is that going to get us anywhere? Here’s what I propose: ‘Don’t hit back at all.’ If someone strikes you, stand there and take it. If someone drags you into court and sues for the shirt off your back, giftwrap your best coat and make a present of it. And if someone takes unfair advantage of you, use the occasion to practice the servant life. No more tit-for-tat stuff. Live generously.

 ^43-47“You’re familiar with the old written law, ‘Love your friend,’ and its unwritten companion, ‘Hate your enemy.’ I’m challenging that. I’m telling you to 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 then you are working out of your true selves, your God-created selves. This is what God does. He gives his best—the sun to warm and the rain to nourish—to everyone, regardless: the good and bad, the nice and nasty. If all you do is love the lovable, do you expect a bonus? Anybody can do that. If you simply say hello to those who greet you, do you expect a medal? Any run-of-the-mill sinner does that.

 ⁴⁸“In a word, what I’m saying is, Grow up. You’re kingdom subjects. Now live like it. Live out your God-created identity. Live generously and graciously toward others, the way God lives toward you.” (Matthew 5:21-48, The Message)

Surely we don’t think Jesus came to abolish the Old Testament, do we? It’s two-thirds of our scripture, so surely we take it as seriously as Christ did, right? Well, let’s ask ourselves some questions.

If we all agreed to start (or continue, if you’re one of those holy few) a quiet time tomorrow in which we picked, blue sky, what we read, how many of us would pick an Old Testament book? Not including Psalms.

In the last year, what percentage of sermons or Bible studies you’ve heard have been from the Old Testament?

I’ll confess, my focus in seminary was Old Testament and Hebrew. I claim it to be my passion. I’ve preached 4 times in the last 3 months. All 4 were New Testament passages.

Surely we wouldn’t claim we want the Old Testament abolished, but wouldn’t we say we at least diminish it?

How else do we diminish the Old Testament?

One way happens around Christmas and Easter. We believe that Christ fulfilled Old Testament expectations and prophecies of a Messiah. But sometimes we use the Old Testament like it’s a pantry from which we pull out ingredients now and then to make some kind of Jesus casserole. Throw in some random Isaiah passages we never refer to otherwise. Maybe a Psalm, or at least some verses taken out of a Psalm. A sprinkle of Job, a dash of some minor prophet, and bam! Pasta de la Passion. Immaculate Cupcakes. However you want to think of it. Then we slam the pantry door and leave it closed until we need to make it again the next holiday. We pick and choose passages without thinking about the encounter with God that generated those prophecies or the people who heard them for the first time, long before Jesus was born. Those people experienced God in rich, personal ways that we neglect because we’ve been trained to do so.

How else do we diminish the Old Testament?

Laws. That’s how we think of it sometimes. We think of the Old Testament as Law and the New Testament as Grace. How many books are in the Old Testament? How many of those are law books? Actual legal lists? Leviticus. Deuteronomy. The Old Testament is overwhelmingly a narrative. It is a collection of stories that tell the larger story of God’s revelation and relationship to God’s people.

I think we tend to forget this, because our habit in reading the Bible is shaped by how we read the New Testament. Back to the quiet time reading. I would guess that most people would choose a New Testament letter, probably one of Paul’s. The New Testament letters are easier to understand, more direct, more instructive. They are where our memory verses come from. We like their directness and simplicity. As a result, we try to make all the Bible just like them. We look for single verses, instead of thinking about bigger-picture stories. The Old Testament stories take time and patience to understand, but they are important to us as Christians.

The Hebrew origin of the Greek word translated as ‘abolished’ is a pretty insightful word picture. It began as a traveling word, meaning to cut short a journey. And though the Greek word grew to mean something much stronger, maybe that’s still a good way to think of Jesus’ relationship to the Old Testament. He did not come to end the journey, but to be its next, biggest step.

N.T. Wright said the Old Testament is like the earlier acts of our current play. The fact we are in the later act is no reason to neglect where our story began.

If we neglect the Bible that Jesus read, we put ourselves in conflict with Jesus. That’s why this is such a tough saying.

That being said, I kind of hope we all find it controversial. A Word that never challenges us is probably not a Living Word after all.

What makes something a “tough saying”?

Conflict. The other party says or demands something we find either difficult to understand, or difficult to do.

So what about a “tough saying of Jesus”? We read throughout the gospels that Jesus came in conflict with religious leaders all the time. But we don’t think of those encounters as tough, because we see what Jesus is talking about and agree. The tough sayings of Jesus are those in which Jesus is not in conflict with an obvious enemy, but with us.

The conflict may take one of many forms. Maybe the conflict is between Jesus and our understanding of Jesus. Maybe the conflict is between Jesus and our expectations. Sometimes, the conflict is between what Jesus tells us to do and what we want to do. Or even between Jesus’ will and ours. But it seems that if we read a story or a teaching about Christ and find it difficult, either to understand or follow, there is a conflict between us and the text.

The conflict in Matthew 5:17-20 seems to have all these conflicts in some form. And yet, if we take some time to think about what Jesus is saying, we find that it’s among the least complicated of the “tough sayings”. And we find that the passage is in fact not a conflict, but a solution.

Matthew 5:17-20 (NRSV)

17 ‘Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfil. 18 For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished. 19 Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches others to do the same, will be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. 20 For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.

It seems that Jesus was accused of trying to “abolish the Law and the Prophets”, which was a phrase used to refer to the Hebrew Bible. We don’t have the account of that exact claim, but either it happened or Jesus perceived that people saw him as claiming to get rid of the scripture. And we can imagine the religious leaders having that misunderstanding, right?

But what if it wasn’t enemies of Christ that thought this, but his friends and followers? What if they thought that Jesus was getting rid of all their history, and that they could just slide into this new religion? Surely they were tired of Pharisees too. All the tedious details of laws and history and war in the Hebrew Bible must have weighed on them somewhat. Maybe Jesus was a chance to dump all that and be free from tradition.

Imagine a Faith in which no matter how hard you tried to faithful, devout even, someone was there to point out your shortcomings. Imagine people whose role it was not to instruct, but critique. A tiny minority given power over your faith. But not just that. Your national history, legal responsibilities, and religious growth, were all constantly used against you.

Unfortunately, we can relate, can’t we? The purpose of the Church is to be a community of the faithful. But we easily turn it into a court of supreme piety. Instead of a cloud of witnesses, we encounter a line of accusers. I certainly sympathize with anyone who wanted to be free of the hypocrisy of the establishment.

So maybe there were some of Jesus’ committed followers who were tired of it, and thought welcoming the new meant abolishing the old. And maybe, just maybe, we think that too. Perhaps we’re the ones who think Jesus came to abolish what we call the Old Testament. If so, he’s telling us clearly here that we are very wrong.

Stay tuned for some new mothballs.