Enemy

 It’s “love your enemy” Sunday, y’all. The most uncomfortable words ever to come out of Jesus’ mouth.

This teaching happens immediately after last week’s Gospel passage–the Sermon on the Plain, Luke’s version of the Beatitudes. Jesus is still standing on flat land, on eye level with everyone standing around him. The words he just said really dressed down a few key groups of people–the wealth hoarders, the food hoarders, and Jesus’ perpetual frenemies, the Pharisees. If any of those words describe you, should you bother to stay to hear more? And if none of those words describe you, if you are in the groups Jesus just called blessed–the poor, the food insecure, and the mourning–now what? If Jesus tells me that I’m blessed and woe will come to you, does that make you my enemy? And, if so, how am I supposed to treat you?

Bringing up the word “enemy” in a spiritual circle is a great way to halt a conversation. That word makes us very uncomfortable, and that discomfort is coming from a fundamentally good place. We all want to live in a world where no one is at odds and we live in peace. And if that’s not possible, we want to live in a world where we just ignore each other. Talking about “enemies” makes us feel like bad people. Only bad people are so divisive and antagonistic as to have “enemies”. That part of us, that part that shies away from those feelings because we’re scared of being called bad, struggles with lots of Bible stories. When the Psalmist writes that God prepares a table before him in the presence of his enemies, we cringe. Even on a terrible day, when the Psalmist begs for God’s help because his enemies are hurting him, we still recoil at that word. All stories that involve warfare–and that’s a whole lotta stories–make us wince, not just at the violence involved, but at the idea that God’s people have “enemies”. What are we supposed to do with that word?

It’s a word that most of us can’t relate to until we’ve experienced some incredible pain. An innocence-robbing moment. And then, in the words of Taylor Swift, “Now that I’m grown, I’m scared of ghosts…And now that I know, I wish you’d left me wondering.” I couldn’t relate to the word “enemy” until a family member relapsed into alcoholism. And then biblical teaching about our enemies became a little too real. I’m honestly happy for you if you see yourself as a person with no enemies. But if you live on this spinning rock long enough, at some point someone will break your heart. And tragically, the ones most likely to do that are the ones we love the most.

That’s Joseph’s story. One of thirteen children born to a man named Israel, and the great-grandchild of the man who was told he’d be the father of the nations, Joseph may have blended into the background. But he stood out, as a beloved son of the woman his dad loved the most, and his conspicuousness made him the target of his brothers’ rage. And when their dad gifted Joseph a fancy sweater, those eleven older brothers lost it, staged a scene to make it look like he was killed, and then sold him into slavery. I personally take great comfort in knowing that if anyone understands what it’s like to be in a dysfunctional family, it’s my biblical ancestors. I’d say they wrote the book on it, but they actually wrote 66 books.

Years and much suffering later, Joseph is doing much better. He’s the adviser to Pharaoh, and his wise dream interpretation saved all of Egypt from famine. Egypt has enough grain to get by, and then some. But back in his homeland, Joseph’s estranged family is starving. A few of his brothers travel to Egypt to beg for food, and come face to face with karma, or rather, the brother they sold to a slave caravan. Joseph has every opportunity, and every reason, to tell his brothers to take a long walk off a short pier. But instead, he cries and hugs them. Because he didn’t want revenge anywhere near as much as he wanted his family back.

Jesus teaches everyone around him something similar, about how we need love much more than we need hostility, but he adds another layer to this conversation. Because it’s not lost on Jesus that oppression is real, people who want to hurt you are real, and that loving your enemy has to include loving yourself, too. This is a “show, don’t tell” kind of teaching, so I’m going to need an audience volunteer.

Before urging us to act loving toward even those who have harmed us the most, Jesus tells us that if someone strikes you on the cheek, turn the other also. This might be the single most misunderstood verse in the entire Bible. Because this teaching is also in Matthew, I’m going to make the same assumption he did in writing his Gospel, that it’s a strike on the right cheek. The first thing you need to understand is that this is a right-handed society. Sorry lefties. It doesn’t matter which one is stronger, you only use your right hand in public. Your left hand is your bathroom hand. So if I’m hitting on the right cheek, and I can only use my right hand, then this isn’t any old hit…it’s a backhanded slap. Maybe that hurt if I’ve got a mean right hook (which I don’t), but that’s not the point here. This slap isn’t for hurting, it’s for humiliating. It was degrading. It was the way you were supposed to hit a slave. Someone you saw as beneath you. This slap puts you in your place.

Jesus knew that the folks he was talking to were being dealt backhanded slaps. They needed help. He teaches them, if someone hits you like that, don’t start a fist fight. You’ll only get hurt even more. Instead, use nonviolent resistance, and turn your head. Your aggressor has to use their right hand, so they can’t backhand you anymore because now you’re facing the wrong way. You’ve issued an ultimatum: your aggressor has to either stop hurting you and walk away, or, if they insist on hitting you again, they have to hit you with the front of their hand. A glove slap, if you will. It’s the way you challenge a rival to a duel at dawn. It’s how you hit your social equal. Either way, your dignity is restored, and your aggressor is going to think twice before they hit you again.

The second piece of advice runs in the same vein, but it’s much cheekier. “If someone takes your coat, don’t withhold your shirt.” This is something that would happen in court: if you were deep in debt and couldn’t repay your lender, they could sue you, and hold your property as collateral. But a poor person doesn’t have any collateral except for the bare essentials. A very poor person wore just two layers of clothing–a coat, an outer garment, and a shirt, an inner garment–and might not have any more garments hanging in their closet. And the law allowed that a lender could hold that outer garment, your coat, as collateral if you had nothing else and you weren’t making your payments on time. Y’all, imagine the chaos if credit card companies were allowed to start taking your clothes. So Jesus says–if your lender is so greedy that they literally take the shirt off your back in court, then don’t hold back, take off that other layer, too, and streak in court. Isn’t the Bible fun when you know what it’s saying? It was a great public shame to see a person’s naked body aside from a very short list of exceptions, and, as with the slap situation, you will have made your point without using violence, and your aggressor will think twice before they take another coat as collateral.

The bottom line is this: in this life, no matter how careful you are, and no matter how nice you are, you will encounter people who hurt you, and even people who hurt you just because they could. The biblical shorthand for such a person is “enemy”. You don’t have to like that word. But if it applies to your situation, love that person by holding them accountable for their behavior, and showing them a better way. This is the way of Christ.

Amen.