Maybe that’s why I’ve always been a rule-follower. I was made fun of in elementary school for always doing what the teacher told us to do, and I only got one detention during all four years of high school. (My crime was talking during a tornado drill.) To this day, I turn things in on or before the due date. Even if there isn’t a car in sight, I never cross the street when the hand on the street sign is lit up, and I always wait the recommended 15 minutes in the lobby after getting a shot. Apart from occasional speeding, I’m a by-the-book kind of gal.
Inside the Lines
Following the rules provides a nearly tangible sense of security. By coloring inside the lines, I am free from the negative consequences lying in wait like Halloween ghosts or goblins ready to attack those who dare to scribble in the margins. Adherence to the letter of the law isn’t exactly the pass-go-and-collect-big-money card in the Monopoly game of life. But at the very least, it’s a direct route to free-parking.
The gospel readings lately from the book of Matthew have been preoccupied with the law. The law of Moses, that is, and Jesus’ understanding of and relationship to it. A few weeks ago, the gospel depicted a Pharisee trying to trick Jesus by asking if divorce was permissible. A week later, we heard the rich man spell out for Jesus all the commandments he followed so faithfully. But he was disappointed when Jesus said that more was required. The following Sunday, we heard James and John squabbling about who would rank highest in the kingdom. Presumably, their high ranking would come from straight A’s on their report cards for following all the rules. But Jesus’ response was to scold them and explain that coming in first really means finishing last.
The Limits of Legal-Ease
Then last week we met Bartimaeus. By giving sight to the blind man, Jesus made it clear that faith is less about checking the boxes and more about how one “sees.” Matthew’s gospel was written for a Jewish audience for the purpose of showing not only that Jesus was a good Jew and descendent of David, but that he was also a greater teacher than even Moses.
This Sunday we’ll hear an unnamed scribe ask Jesus about the greatest commandment. When Jesus explains that it is simply to love God above all and neighbor as oneself, the scribe compliments him rather than trying to trip him up. He affirms that this law “is worth more than all burnt offerings and sacrifices” (12: 33) and receives Jesus’ warm praise.
But where is the security in following the rule of “love?” For the most part, I know how to avoid coveting my neighbor’s goods and how to keep the Sabbath holy. I can “see” in my mind’s eye what following those rules actually looks like in real life. But loving God and neighbor? What does that look like?
What does radical love look like when you’ve lost your job and are behind on the rent? Or when aging parents need help, but you have your own little kids to care for? What does radical love look like when you come into some money, but people a couple blocks away can’t afford health care? Or when your career finally takes off years of sacrifice, but your partner wants no part of the out-of-state move that goes along with it? What does love of God and neighbor look like in any of a bazillion circumstances we find ourselves in where there is no rule book, no instruction manual, no cheat sheet?
The Most Frightening Thing of All
Jesus turned the safety and security of rule-following on its head. He replaced the certainty of a paint-by-numbers moral code and social contract with the outrageous suggestion that we simply . . . love. What could be scarier than that?
Perhaps it’s fitting that this Sundays’ gospel reading falls on Halloween. The “good news” is amazingly good . . . but it’s also scary as hell. When it comes to the well-lived life, there are no owner’s manuals. Sure, we have Jesus’ teachings and parables. But we don’t have specific instructions translated into twelve different languages accompanied by helpful diagrams. There are no cue cards, cheat sheets, or crib notes when it comes to living a full life.
Yes, the “good news” is incredibly, unspeakably good. But this news about the radical love of God and neighbor is a whole lot scarier than zombies or skeletons. That’s because it can’t be captured in a set of rules.
Maybe those who heard Jesus’ words to the scribe in the gospel reading this week understood. Maybe they knew the fear factor involved in radical love. The last line of the passage reads, “And no one dared to ask him any other questions” (34).
Photo by David Menidrey on Unsplash
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