Seventh Sunday after Epiphany, rcl yr c, 2022
St. John’s In-Person and Livestream
LUKE 6:27-38

I say to you that listen, Love your enemies,
do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you,
pray for those who abuse you.

Luke 6:27-28

I first really heard the term “sacrificial love” when it was used by our youth minister in my previous parish. She was having a conversation with the children and youth at worship one Sunday morning while the grown-ups present listened in. What caught my attention was that she was not talking to us about Jesus and the mystery of his life, ministry, suffering, death and resurrection. Rather, she was referring to “sacrificial love” as the essence, the heart, of Christian discipleship.

I was so bedazzled by the clarity and precision of the term in describing how Jesus’ disciples are to live in the world, I confess that I don’t even remember if the scriptural reference was today’s Gospel or not. It certainly could have been. “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.”  It is a hard teaching, and certainly calls for our faith in the power of love to deal with conflict, and especially conflict in which retaliation would be predictable as our spontaneous reaction. Jesus is calling deeply to us in this reading. Sacrificial love. Costly love. The love God uses throughout Holy Scripture to save people from themselves; the love Jesus embodies and embodied. Can any of us really live this way?

Well, we try, of course, because of our love for Jesus and the gospel; but human nature often wins the battle – especially now, as we have experienced the changing contours of the global pandemic. In March 2020, when the spectre of a worldwide epidemic for which there was no cure overtook our lives, we caught a vision of community and community wellbeing that hinted at some of the dynamics of sacrificial love. “We’re all in this together,” was a phrase that seemed plausible at the time. But personal and individual sacrifice for the sake of the common good doesn’t come easily. After a few months, approximately when vaccines were offered as a possible way of lessening everyone’s vulnerability to COVID-19 and its possible variants, we lost our investment in the common good. Individual survival and eventually personal autonomy pulled at the fabric of our life together. And, of course, none of us is at our best when we are under stress.

In fact, everything about the pandemic has been stressful. And to make things worse, pandemic-related stress is circular. The coping mechanisms we frequently turn to in managing stress – exercise, socializing, going to or participating in sports and cultural activities – are the very things that have been limited by pandemic protocols intended to keep us safe. I wouldn’t be surprised if all of the social unrest we have experienced in Canada over the past four weeks were attributable, at least in part, to the stress that proceeds from pandemic fatigue. Sacrificial love seems an impossibility right now. The more stoic among us might attempt to “keep calm and carry on,” but my guess is that we’re all on edge, wondering if we’ll ever return to what we remember as normal.

Interestingly, we’re still “all in this together,” but the feeling has changed from when we first used that phrase. Perhaps now, we don’t want to be “all in this together,” especially when we feel alienated from protesters or anti-protestors, or worse, from family members or friends. Sacrificial love is our long game for addressing the social and interpersonal challenges of the pandemic. Is there another application we can consider that better illustrates its potential for healing and transformation?

Early in the pandemic, I read what was then Sam Wells’s most recent book entitled The Nazareth Manifesto, an interpretation and sifting not only of passages such as today’s Gospel, but to the whole of Jesus’ call to discipleship. Sam, who writes eloquently and lives daringly as the rector of the vibrant Church of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, Trafalgar Square, in London, spends large portions of The Nazareth Manifesto describing Christian mission and ministry, discipleship marked by sacrificial love, in four different expressions – working for, being for, working with, and being with.

  • “Working for,” he says, sees us using our own gifts, skills, and resources to address a person’s problems on their behalf: someone needs help; we rescue.
  • “Being for” he describes as orienting one’s life toward the wellbeing of others, without actually making direct contact with those others or engaging in any material actions to enhance their wellbeing – keeping our distance, in other words. The sacrifice is minimal.
  • “Working with” he defines as seeking to help others address their problems by using critical awareness to activate a coalition between one’s own skills and resources, the skills and resources of those in need, and the skills and resources of third parties with an interest in these issues and their outcomes. As an example, when COVID vaccines were made available in the Region of Waterloo, Christians Together Waterloo Region was asked by our regional government to co-sponsor an online forum to address vaccine hesitancy among the approximately 250 Christian communities, churches, and parishes in Waterloo Region. The Region brought together the skills and resources of religious leaders, civic leaders, pharmacists, medical doctors, regional staff, and the all-important techies (to keep us all online and interacting). Not surprisingly, it was pronounced a success by all involved in its planning and execution. “Working with.”
  • “Being with” is something quite different, and for me best expresses the power of sacrificial love. “Being with” is mission and ministry that is “never in isolation,” Sam Wells writes. “Being with never defines a person or situation as a problem, but seeks both as goal and means to enjoy the uniqueness of a person, seeing that person or persons themselves as the principal source and activator of their own wellbeing.” Sitting down, spending time, exchanging life stories with those who come to the picnic table on our church’s front lawn allows us to be with each other and see and get to know each other simply as beloved children of God. There is no agenda other than to “be with” one another, to learn from one another, to make connections, to love one another.

Sam Wells sees “being with” as the true expression of God’s will and of God’s heart. He looks at the Hebrew bible and sees God’s enduring presence among the people of Israel as the cardinal example of God’s “being with” people. And he looks at Jesus’ incarnation, Jesus’ sitting at the picnic table that is our world, and through that kinship and through that love, so present, deep and healing, effecting our salvation.

Passages of scripture such as today’s Gospel, Jesus’ hard teachings, are given to disturb and provoke us to sacrificial love in the most unlikely contexts. But they are also given to shape our discipleship in such as way as to imitate Christ.

Where is the sacrifice in sacrificial love? It is in making room individually and as a parish community for the radical call to love our neighbour as much as we love ourselves; to simply “be with” our neighbour. But there is nothing trivial in this call, because love for our neighbour and love for one another, will inevitably set our feet on the path of seeking justice from those people and those institutions that cause or contribute to suffering, hurt, and brokenness in our world. Christ’s radical call in today’s Gospel is not just a hard teaching, it is a call to use love, even for enemies and abusers, as the agency for seeking justice, making peace, and, in the fullness of time, moving toward reconciliation. Sacrificial love, costly love, Christian love, in which Christ is truly present, in our world now, neighbour to neighbour, as we answer his call to discipleship.

The Reverend James Brown