Genesis 21:8-21 and Psalm 86:1-10, 16-17 | Jeremiah 20:7-13 and Psalm 69:7-10, (11-15), 16-18 | Romans 6:1b-11 | Matthew 10:24-39
Near the end of the last century, a document came out of Rome, written by Pope John Paul II, called Evangelium Vitae. This encyclical, which, when translated, is entitled The Gospel of Life, is one of the most important writings of the church in generations. One of the many powerful ideas contained in this work was a strong judgment against the world in which we live, which John Paul designated “a culture of death”. The truth of a statement like this is as undeniable as it is terrifying. From endless wars to abortion on demand to state-sponsored genocide to deportation to inhumane working conditions, this document calls out the many ways that we have courted and created a culture of death, and if we’re honest with ourselves, we can’t pretend otherwise. Sylvia Plath once wrote a poem that included the line, “Dying is an art; I do it well.” That’s us. Over the course of the thousands of years that we’ve spent on this planet, we may not have figured out how to feed the hungry or conquer our selfish desires, but we’ve become almost expert at coming up with new ways to destroy ourselves.
Of course, to talk about the culture of death is only half of the story, and only half of the message. There is also, as Evangelium Vitae reminds us, the gospel of life. In the midst of a culture of death, the word of God speaks a promise of life. In the lectionary texts for this week, the apostle Paul in the book of Romans and his Lord Jesus Christ in the gospel of Matthew both speak to this promise even as they engage the reality of death and our responses to that reality.
One way that we might respond to death in all its forms is with fear. In Matthew 10, Jesus is sending his disciples out into a scary world. And so, Jesus wants to alleviate their fears before he sends his disciples on their mission. “Do not be afraid,” he says, “of those who can kill the body but cannot kill the soul.” Jesus knew that the disciples would have a lot of enemies, angry men and women who wouldn’t take kindly to the gospel of a carpenter’s son, and who would likely want to stone the messenger rather than hear a word that challenged them to change their ways.
Jesus also knows that we’ll have enemies. Ours might have different names. We don’t have to fear the Sanhedrin, or the Pharisees, or the Zealots of first century Palestine. Our enemies have names like cancer, or hunger, or war, shadowy realities that can become all too substantial with one doctor’s visit, or sudden unemployment, or a sneak attack from out of the blue. These things, and many more like them, can kill the body, and it is in our nature to fear them, because they seem so much bigger than us.
Jesus understands our fears. But he also knows that there is a greater reality, that we don’t always see in our moment of crisis. And so he calls us back to it with some powerful words. “Rather be afraid of the one who can destroy both body and soul in hell”. There is a spiritual reality that trumps anything we might be subjected to here on earth, and it is this reality that should take precedence in our lives. It’s natural to be afraid, but when our fears eat away at our faith, when they consume the trust we have in God, these fears–whether they’re fears about death or suffering or discomfort or ridicule–will have destroyed us completely. Rather, Jesus says, put your energy and your thoughts and your anxieties at the feet of the one who watches over you, at the one who alone has the power over death and life, the first one to know whenever the lifeless body of a half-cent sparrow hits the ground, and cares for his children like the treasures he created them to be. Death is scary, but God is good. Jesus wants us to remember that. He knows it won’t be easy, but he promises that he’ll help us out.
There is a second response that our world stereotypically adopts when confronted with the grim reality of death. We admit that it‘s coming, that we can‘t do anything about it, and we live as if there were no tomorrow. When this leads to a hope-filled trust in the God who controls the future, this is good. More often than not, however, this sort of perspective leads to reckless abandon, and irresponsible or immoral behaviors that only make things worse. It may have been this kind of context that Paul was addressing in Romans chapter 6, even if it arose out of a different motivation.
The Church at Rome was coming to grips with the fact that they had been given new life in Christ. This should have led to a new appreciation for the gospel of life. It should have led to lives that glorified God in everything, to practices and behaviors that brought praise to the God who had saved them. Their lives should have been a celebration of the resurrection of Jesus Christ, a celebration that pointed forward to what God would ultimately do in bringing them to their eternal home.
Instead, Paul says, they were wallowing in death. Their forgiveness had been mistaken as a license to sin. Instead of living life, they were embracing the death that this world tells them is their ultimate purpose, the death of the spirit through sinful practices. This is why Paul asks this question: “We died to sin. How can we live in it any longer?” Living in sin isn’t life at all, he says. It’s certainly not the kind of life that Christ came to bring to us. Living in sin is death. Living in our sin, holding on to our old ways, is death. And the church, when it refuses to accept the new life that Christ is holding out, and when it instead tries to hold on to the past, is a culture of death.
Paul knew that the Church was called to something better, a new kind of response to the ever-impending threat of death. Paul knew that the Church, the community redeemed by Christ, wasn’t meant to respond to death fearfully, to cower in the presence of this fast approaching reality. He also knew that the Church wasn’t meant to respond to death by trying to cheat it through reckless, sinful living.
Instead, Paul tells us, the Christian response to death, to the darkness and the sin and the corruption that mark this world, is to die. This is the ultimate act of radical, revolutionary faith. Christians are called to stand up in the face of death, to clothe ourselves with the power of Christ, and to die. Before you get my meaning wrong, let me explain. This isn’t a call to suicide. It’s not even a call to a daredevil existence. When Paul says, that the Christian is called to die, he’s not talking about death by the world’s rules. He’s talking about a letting go of the old self. He’s talking, in his own words, about dying to sin. See, death has a power over us that we’ve freely given to it. Every time we sin, we give death a little more power, and we become a little more dead to the reality of who God made us to be. Before long, death and sin have such a grip on us, our fears and our escapist practices have become such a part of who we are, that our only hope is death, followed by rebirth, the complete destruction of our sinful selves followed by a re-creation of a new kind of being, the sort of person that gives glory to God. And this isn’t something we can do ourselves. This is something that can only happen through baptism in the name of the Heavenly Father, the Son of God, and the Holy Spirit that has been sent to us. We die in baptism. We are buried with Christ in baptism. We are clothed in the righteousness that is in his heart, and our sinfulness, our corruption, our body of death is no more. We rise up out of our baptismal grave a new creation, like Adam and Eve before the fall, a creation full not of death or fear or sin, but full of the love of God, of the righteousness of Christ, and the power of the Holy Spirit.
This is how we’re called to face death, the great intruder, the unwelcome guest. We’re called not to ignore it, or to fear it, or to run away from it, but to let God give it a new meaning. And that’s exactly what he has done through his son Jesus Christ. When we die to our old self in baptism, when we attach ourselves to the death of Christ on the cross, then death no longer has mastery over us. What awaits us isn’t the darkness of the grave, but the hope of resurrection, the glory of life in Christ Jesus, and an eternal home in his heavenly kingdom.