Sept. 6, 2020 Sermon

P14A 2020 Matthew 18:15-20
As I’ve gotten settled into my new house, I’ve acquired quite an extensive collection of
user’s manuals for many more products and appliance than you would think require explicit
directions. I mean, what is the learning curve on a toaster, really? But it’s reminded me of how
I have heard the Bible referred to as an instruction manual for life, and how that analogy has
never resonated well with me. I’m one of those people who tries to put the thing together
without reading the directions, and if I do have to consult the book, I try to skim the instructions
as quickly as possible, then that booklet ends up in the kitchen drawer with all the other
manuals that I hope to never see again and will only ever use if some kind of trouble arises.
That’s not a good goal for our relationship with the word of God. After all, I’m not spending
much regular quiet time delving into the poetic wisdom of the owner’s manual for the
immersion blender. So I don’t read today’s gospel as a simple four-step procedure for solving
conflict in the church; I think Jesus is telling us much more than that here.
First of all, notice that in this whole passage, Jesus expresses zero surprise as he predicts
the presence of sin and conflict in the church. Not that sin and conflict should be a goal of our
Christian community, of course, but we sometimes seemed shocked when everybody fails to get
along in perfect harmony in the church. We forget our confession that we are in bondage to sin
and cannot free ourselves; Jesus does not forget this. Jesus knows that the price of doing the
business of living in human community is that we will be both recipients and perpetrators of sin
and division. This is not the way it’s supposed to be, but it’s the way it is on this side of eternal
life. So Jesus tells us not to avoid it or pretend that it doesn’t exist but to be ready to handle it
reasonably and responsibly.
But do notice that Jesus is specifically addressing what should happen when another
member of the church sins against us. We should stop to define what that means: bearing false
witness, stealing, coveting, murdering—probably not in the sense of actual homicide but by
Luther’s definition of making life harder instead of helping or supporting others. Those are
sins. Someone disagreeing about what color carpet to install in the sanctuary is not sinning
against us. Someone adding more seasoning than the recipe calls for while cooking in the
church kitchen is not sinning against us. Someone voting their conscience instead of our
preference at a committee or council meeting is not sinning against us. This is because the
church is supposed to be made up of all different kinds of people with different backgrounds
and different experiences; being claimed and called by Christ is the common ground that we
share. We’re not supposed to be united by rooting for the same sports team, voting for the same
party, or preferring the same taste in food or music or aesthetics.
Yet when there is real sin, real harm done, that injury is not to go unchallenged, because
there are some hurts that can’t heal by just pretending that nothing is wrong. But when our
relationships do break, the Christian response, the Christ-like response, is completely
countercultural to what society advocates. I’m sure the internet is not solely responsible for the
nastiness in our society, but it has definitely exacerbated our call-out culture. People love to
advertise when someone has messed up. But that isn’t how Jesus tells us to react. He says
we’re supposed to help that person save face by addressing the fault quietly and privately. It’s
only when that doesn’t work that the issue is supposed to become more public. Yet even then,
the goal of any kind of confrontation is still restoring the broken relationship; it’s not to
convince the other person that you’re right and they’re wrong. That’s the difference between
Jesus’ way and society’s way: we’re not supposed to merely be recruiting more people to our
side to win a shouting match. The likelihood of reconciliation when we get a gang together to
force our position is pretty low. As followers of Christ, we’re supposed to care less about being
right and more about being in relationship. How much better would the world be if we all said
we cared more about the other person than our own position?
Still, Jesus is realistic in recognizing that sometimes even our best, most measured efforts
fail to get through. And then we’re supposed to treat the offender as a Gentile or tax collector.
Which begs the question, how did Jesus treat Gentiles and tax collectors? Oh, yes, with just as
much grace, compassion, love, and welcome as he treated everyone else, meaning that we don’t
get to write off anybody, even those who infuriate us by refusing to see things our way. Pretty
challenging instructions, especially for an election year.
So to recap, this passage does not give us a simple step by step procedure for how to
force someone to see things our way, followed by permission to ostracize them if they won’t.
But there’s one more verse we have to unpack: Jesus’ reminder that where two or three are
gathered in my name, I am there among them. In one sense, this is a great reassurance that we
don’t need a multitude of people for God’s presence to be realized among us—a timely promise
right now when we can’t gather together as a whole community the way we usually do. On the
other hand, this is a warning that when two or three of us are gathered, with two or three
different opinions and two or three different agendas and we’re about to engage in two or three
different arguments, Jesus is also there with us—so perhaps we should make sure that we think
and speak and act with one another in ways that Jesus would approve.
This discipleship stuff is tough work. But the community God calls us to create together
is worth it. May we welcome what God strives to do in, with, and through us for the sake of the
world.