There’s an old Calvin and Hobbes cartoon where Calvin
complains to Hobbes. “Why should I be nice to other people?” he asks.
“Sometimes I think I’m just good for nothing.” Hobbes answers, “I often think
you’re good for nothing.” Before Hobbes’ funny line, Calvin raises an excellent
question: “Why should I be good?”
The difference between the life of a disciple and that of
an unbeliever is not in what they do.
Sinners love, Christ says, and saints love. Sinners do good, and so do saints.
Sinners lend, saints lend. Outwardly there’s little or no difference at all. And that’s thrown many people for a
loop. Prominent atheist writers claim we can have ethics without God. And if by
ethics they mean, “decent outward conduct,” they have a point. So if I can be just as good without Christ, then
what’s the point of believing?
The answer’s simple:
Christ didn’t come to make us
good;
he came to make us God.
So he says, in today’s text,
“Lend, expecting nothing in return, and your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High.”
What
does it mean to be a “son of the Most High?” It means to be a member of the
divine household, sharing the divine life, and light—and love. The acts are the
same; but the expectation is completely different.
What
do you expect when you’re good to
someone? There’s an easy way to tell, but it can be very painful. When someone
neglects me, ignores me, forgets to say “thank you”—how do I respond? If I act
hurt or wounded, if I withdraw—indeed, if there’s any change at all in me
toward them, then I didn’t lend expecting nothing in return.
And
how do I love my enemies? If love is a feeling, it’s impossible. How can I feel
good about people who are trying to hurt me or kill me? Only if love is a
commitment, a decision to do good for another human being—only then can I truly
love my enemies.
But
how can I love enemies, and lend expecting nothing in return? Remember: Christ
didn’t come to make us good; he came to make us God. If we tried to do it in
ourselves we would fail, as miserably as the disciples did when they went
fishing after Jesus’ resurrection.
But
we are not in ourselves any more. Our old life, with all its expectations, died
when we were baptized. “I have been crucified with Christ,” says Paul, and I no longer live, but Christ lives
in me. And the life I now live in the flesh, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.”
Of
course, this isn’t automatic. Since I have been crucified with Christ, I must
crucify my sinful passions and not feed them. Part of that crucifying is to
remind myself, day after day, of my changed expectations. Gone must be the
expectation to get something back for things I give. Gone must be the desire
for vengeance on those who have hurt me or mistreated me.
And
just there is the point of sharing God’s own life. He freely gives me all he
has, in Christ his Son; only by releasing my grip on my possessions am I free
to receive the gift of his care. Only by seeking and serving my enemies can I
know the kind of love God has for me. Christ reconciled us to the Father while we were enemies, and dead, and blind;
how could I not let go of the grudges I carry?
Christ
calls us to great things, humanly impossible things, in our lives as
individuals and our life together as a parish. But what is impossible with men
is possible with God. Let us therefore, as Fr. John said last week, not receive
the grace of God in vain, but hold it fast. Let us learn the love of God in
practice here, so that we may be made perfect in love hereafter, through his
grace and love for mankind always, now and ever, and unto ages of ages. Amen.
