That's right, Steven Seagal.  He brings something to what Jesus is talking about this week in Matthew 5:38-48.  Jesus is tackling a rule that most of us are pretty familiar with:  "an eye for an eye, tooth for tooth."  Seagal knows all about that.  A majority of his films deal with some sort of vengeance, or the losing of teeth by his enemies, but that's not what I want him for here.

Because the point of Jesus' teaching is clearly that the old rule of retribution isn't good enough, isn't fitting for his kingdom.  So he says famous things here like, "turn the other cheek" and "love your enemies."  He tells us to "go the extra mile" when somebody asks us to go one, and so on.  But it's a hard idea to deal with for different reasons.  When it sounds like Jesus just wants us to give in to everybody, all the time, no matter how evil, most of just don't want to do it.  Then, some of us want to but don't think we can, we don't know how to love those who harm us.  And then, plenty of us want to, and maybe even can do it, but we're not sure if it's right or not.  After all, elsewhere Jesus seems like he's good at drawing boundaries, and not being walked over...and he seems to teach us likewise.  But, here, not so much.

What's Jesus after?  Some will say he's really just teaching his followers a silent defiance.  We turn the other cheek as if to say, "Is that all you got?"  We go the extra mile to say, "Puh, I can do a marathon, you can't hurt me."  As if the goal is to "kill with kindness," to be passive-aggressive almost, to get our revenge by putting up with people's junk.  It's a style of Christian jujitsu, I've heard.  Jujitsu being the martial arts that focus on turning your opponent's speed, strength, and momentum against him/her.  The worse the attack, the better you can turn the tables and get the upper hand.  Much like Mr. Seagal, with his arms flying around and kicks and hip-tosses.  Take a look:

I'm down with that a little bit, because it seems nearer to the silent strength that Jesus exuded.  His way to defy evil and oppression without lifting a finger, and to turn people's accusations on their heads.  But "killing with kindness" just for the sake of getting the upperhand or stealthily besting our opponents still seems vengeful, and might still overwhelm the ultimate goal of loving the persecutor, right?

I mean, think about it and to me the "eye for an eye" idea is pretty innate to most of us.  Somebody knocks you down, you knock them down (or maybe you don't but you want to).  It's the most natural thing in the world.  And why is that?  A friend of mine says maybe it's just been a long-standing guideline for humanity since near the beginning.  At some point very early on, somebody decided this would be a ground-rule:  you hurt me, I hurt you.  And not in a malicious way, but as a teaching tool.  After all, how do you teach a kid who bites all the other kids not to bite anymore?  Usually somebody bites that kid good to say, "hey, this is what biting feels like," in hopes it sinks in and the kid learns.  So, if someone steals or kills, they would receive it right back to experience things firsthand and maybe learn to empathize and stop doing it.  Or where empathy didn't work, an eye for an eye provided a consequence, the threat of punishment to prevent the behavior out of fear or retribution.  It makes some sense, I guess.

Because think what the world would look like without empathy or the fear of retribution.  How would humans fare?  Lives would be on the line.  That sounds scary to some of us, and it's probably part of why Jesus' words against "an eye for an eye" can be freaky.  Because if we followed Jesus' teaching far enough here, it becomes a life-and-death thing:  if we let everybody who ever just felt like slapping us in the face get away with it, anytime they wanted, eventually we'll be beaten to death; if we let people take from us whatever they want whenever they want, even our basic necessities, we're putting ourselves in harm's way; if we let others order our lives for us any way they want, and we bend to their every whim, we risk mortal danger.  Jesus' teaching flies in the face of "an eye for an eye" because it contradicts self-preservation, that instinct for us to try to stay alive and well.  

And rightly so, since an eye for an eye falls so short of actually preserving us or keeping us safe.  It gives us retribution, but can we ever get back some things that have been taken from us?  Can we on our own ever heal some hurts, or undo some experiences?  By no means!  An eye for an eye doesn't begin to deal with the heart-damage that comes with the evil that befalls us.  And it doesn't satisfy, we know that when we see the cycles of violence around the world, and the escalation that usually comes with conflict.  Like, "You took my eye?  Well it was so valuable to me, I'm taking your two arms."  And so the story goes.  No wonder Jesus teaches another way, one that is totally contrary to simple retribution.

So what exactly does Jesus teach, and how are we to be about it?  He says, "Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly father is perfect."  Now, does perfect here mean be perfectionists?  Like we should constantly fret over whether or not we're doing everything right?  Negative.  In the Greek, this perfect gives us a sense of a goal, an endpoint, an ultimate wholeness or fulfillment.  Like the way Eugene Peterson translates Jesus (v. 48):  "In a word, what I'm saying is, Grow up.  You're kingdom subjects.  Now live like it.  Live out your God-created identity.  Live generously and graciously toward others, the way God lives toward you."

It sounds to me that what enables our ability to forgive and love those who strike us is realizing that our deep value and perspective should be shaped by the kingdom of heaven, and Christ Jesus' love for us -- a love that cannot be broken or unmade or assailed by any force, ever.  We can pipe up and say, "Okay, Jesus, but that's easier said than done...sure, I'll just be perfect all of a sudden."  To that I say, don't forget that it's God himself in person, in front of the people, saying this to them.  And he journeyed with the people to show them what that perfection looked like.  And he entered into death, and rendered sin powerless, to lead them and us through to the other side safely. 

It's like Jesus giving the invitation, "Be like me, follow me where I go, I'll show you how.  Come on.  Into your deepest, fullest self."

Ever taken something too far?  Yep.  For me one of the best examples is with pranks.  My motto for many a year was that if somebody pranked me, they better know I'd respond swiftly and terribly, the idea being that then they'd learn never to do it again.  In college fellowship at Clemson Wesley we got into quite a prank war over the course of time, in traditional "boys vs. girls" fashion.  There were several retreats a year, and it started innocent enough, little jokes and gags to pick at each other and flirt or whatever else.  But things escalated like they always do, I don't even know who took it too far to start with, but it came to a head at our year-end retreat to a local camp.

A friend, Ryan, and I were making our way into the middle of nowhere to the camp, and we realized the ball was in our court on the pranks, but we'd forgotten to plan or buy anything.  Lo and behold we came upon the only retailer for some 30 miles, a corner country store in the hamlet of Cleveland, SC.  There wasn't much in the way of prank supplies, until we came to the hunting/fishing section where there were aerosol spray cans of catfish stink bait.  *Ka-ching*  And then we spotted a product that I didn't know existed:  bottled fox urine (for deer luring or something).  So we had our supplies, and a code-name for the prank mission:  Red Fox.

That night when everybody headed to dinner, we doubled back and ransacked the girls' cabin, spraying these substances everywhere, even into the heating unit on the wall.  To give you an idea of the power of the stuff, the trigger-finger that I used on the catfish spray stunk for about 10 days (it's pretty waterproof).  It was heinous.  We were ecstatic.

Until later that night when our fellowship/worship time really sunk in.  It was a spiritual retreat, and the speaker was solid, we shared Communion, and things were going really well.  So well that Ryan and I were feeling ridiculous because we didn't want the excellent tone of the retreat to be overwhelmed by our pranking.  So before we headed back up to the cabins, we let the girls know we'd done something, went ahead and apologized, and vowed not to prank again.

All of that is to say that what started innocent enough, and was meant to be playful and fun anyway, turned pretty sour in the hands of the two of us because we took it way too far.  Don't knock us for what we did.  You've done it, too.  In some context.  Geez, think about sports fans and how warped that kind of devotion can be.  How about the recent story of the poisoning of hundred-year oaks at Toomer's Corner?  A 62-year-old Alabama football fan came and sprayed plant killer on the roots of these two majestic oaks where Auburn fans celebrate victories.  Because Auburn beat Alabama this year.  Egad.

And, speaking of devotees that go way too far, how about the religious ones that get such a bad wrap?  Well that's a part of who we're dealing with today.  In Matthew 5, we've heard Jesus preaching from the mountainside to the crowds.  For the past few weeks it's been pretty good news, the blessings for the common folk, calling the people the "salt of the earth" and the "light of the world."  Jesus, speaking with the authority of Heaven, is building up these folks, one and all.  We might say, where's the down side?  Why's Jesus just buttering them up?

Well we gotta remember the landscape of religious belief in that day.  Then we'll see that he's not buttering them up, he's just offering them some relief.  In a lot of ways, to be one of God's average, everyday followers at the time was horrendous.  For decades, a fistful of elites and the intensely-educated claimed to be the only gate-keepers to God.  The Pharisees, teachers of the Law, chief priests -- they were often the few skilled to read or interpret Scripture, they ruled over the Temple and worship, and their words were pretty binding.  If we're among the people, our access to God comes through them.

And to give you an idea of their attitude, they prized the Law of Moses above all.  They'd had it for thousands of years before Jesus lived, so they had plenty of time to dig into what they thought it meant.  Some of us are familiar with parts of the Law, particularly, say, the Ten Commandments, right?  To take one as an example, think about #4:  "Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy."  I've asked folks today what that means to us, and we interpret it differently.  For some it means we have a special time of worship on the Sabbath, on Sunday mornings.  For others it means you're not allowed to mow the yard or do the laundry on Sunday, because it's Sabbath and you're supposed to "rest."

That's exactly what the Pharisees and rulers and teachers of the Law had done with Scripture for, again, thousands of years.  There were huge traditions built around the simplest lines.  For example, with commandment #4, resting on the Sabbath:

Somebody once said, "Well, if we're going to rest on the Sabbath...how do we define rest?"  And it was decided that rest meant not working, duh.  

But somebody else asked, "So what counts as work?"  Ugh.  It was decided that all sorts of things counted as work like, for instance, carrying a burden.  

Somebody else asked, "What actually counts as a burden?"  So others came up with extensive lists to define different burdens.

For instance, how much milk can be carried on the Sabbath before it is a burden, and work, and breaking the Sabbath?  It was decided.  A gallon?  No.  A mouthful.  Yikes.  And how much wine would be considered a burden (it didn't come in boxes back then)?  A gobletful.  And so on.

How much writing could I do before it was considered work and breaking the Sabbath?  A couple of emails?  Negative.  No more than two letters of the alphabet.  I wouldn't be able to write my name.

Volumes and volumes of this stuff was recorded and enforced.  Breaking Sabbath meant separation from God, and worship, and the people.  If anybody ever took anything too far, the Pharisees and other Law-rulers did.  They lost a view for the heart of things.

So Jesus' word to the whole crowd, not just those special leaders, was blowing the hinges off of things.  He was telling the meek, humble, poor, and beat-down that they were blessed in the kingdom of God, that they were made with purpose and value.  And he wasn't using any Pharisee middle-man to transmit the message.  The good news was offering them some relief.  And with it was a warning to all others against polluting true devotion into religious nonsense.  Plenty of us struggle with taking things to that extreme.  We emphasize what our faith looks like.  We think it's enough to have perfect attendance on Sunday, smuggle Bibles into dangerous countries, sing choir solos, protest civil war abroad, protest domestic injustice, preach every Sunday, etc. etc., fill-in-the-blank.  But all those things without a heart attuned to God turns our devotion into manipulation, control, self-glory, and utter selfishness.

Continuing in Matthew 5:17-20, Jesus draws us away from just what we do towards what goes on in our hearts.

And in doing so he warns everybody not to go too far to the other extreme of faith:  not being devoted at all.  He makes clear that all this standing up to the teachers of the Law isn't to destroy the Law.  It isn't to say, do nothing.  But do it right.  Live into the Law as it was meant to be lived, which is to do far better than the Pharisees who call themselves so holy.

Plenty of us struggle with that opposite extreme.  Have we ever been so scared that we might turn into a Pharisee, or zealot, or crusader (or our parents), that we choose a devotion to nothing?  Have we feared choosing the wrong devotion, or a devotion that excludes too many others?  Whatever the case, Jesus dares us to consider that there could be a true way somewhere in there, a deeper, truer, right devotion.  And that, however rare it might be, is what God desires.  And that is what we were made for.  And that is by far the most difficult option.

It is just easier to be an extremist and twist faith into whatever self-glorifying thing we want.  It is just easier to choose no faith at all.  It is drastically more difficult to pursue true obedience, daily.  Jesus seems to say that our connection to the kingdom of heaven is what's at stake.

So my laptop is a pretty excellent machine, and it's become pretty vital to a lot of what I do.  Starting maybe eight months ago the screen would flicker from time to time, like every other week at first, but gradually it got worse until most recently any tiny vibration would set it off -- every step somebody took through the house or office, every time I started typing, etc.  It was unusable.  It was also out of warranty by like two months (thank you, HP), and Best Buy told me that replacing the screen would cost more than the machine overall.  What to do but take it apart and have a look (mind you, I have no experience with such).

But I did what my brother always says, I "asked the internet" what to do and found some ideas on fixing it.  Pretty soon, this is what I had:

Not a real sterile or professional work environment, but it would do.  I followed the directions, kept track of 37 tiny screws, jiggled and wiggled a couple of plugs that went to the screen, and hoped that did something to help.  In another half hour it was back together, and by gah it powered back on (success number one).  And, what's more (success number two), the screen didn't flicker anymore.

I was on top of the world, ready to start my own laptop business, super glad not to have to spend the money to replace this thing.  But then I went on to read some of the tiny print at the bottom of the internet repair instructions:  "Static electricity can kill your laptop. I recommend wearing an anti-static wrist strap while working with internal parts of your laptop."  I looked into this and, apparently, professionals use special wristbands or floor-mats to stay electrically grounded because even a tiny static charge, the kind you don't even see or feel, can zap the computer.  And then it'd be worth as much as one of these:

Yes.  A brick.  Because static charge "bricks" laptops.  As in, for all its complexity, value, usefulness, etc., the computer would be no better than a paper-weight, a several-hundred-dollar brick, a waste of space.

That's a more current illustration to go with the idea Jesus gives us in Matthew 5:13-20.  He compares the people to salt and light.  He gets into the idea that when salt isn't real salty, it isn't treated as salt but as gravel-dirt for the road; he points out how silly it is to cover a light up so that it doesn't shine.  Jesus uses images of something that is intended for a specific purpose, and holds certain value, because of its very essence; and also something that, when it no longer holds its essence, really ceases to be itself at all.  Salt.  Light.  Us.

Now, right away, let's take a break to realize what Jesus is most definitely not saying.  Be careful.  He does not look on the crowd and say, "Y'all are a bunch of bricks, wastes of space, aren't you?  Have you been living up to your potential?  No.  Where's your worth, your value?  You're tasteless.  Gravel for the road.  Lightless."

We can hear that, yes.  We can certainly agree that most of us don't always feel like we fulfill God's purpose/potential for us.  We know what it is to feel far from any kind of personal meaning.  Or satisfaction.  Far from any feeling of being salty, vibrant, or alive.  We've felt hints of that brick kind of life.  And here is certainly a warning that things can go that way with us.  But Jesus does not call us those names, or conclude our worthlessness.  Listen carefully to his words, let me quote:

"You are the salt of the earth.

You are the light of the world."

Present tense, "You ARE," the truth from the One who knows more clearly than anyone.  We have a warning that we can live bricked if we so choose, but it's not truly who we are or what we're intended for.  And just like last week, Jesus doesn't speak like one exactly trying to persuade us one way or another.  He speaks out of what he knows as reality, and ultimate reality, and leaves us to do the reckoning.

So maybe parting questions are:  why do we choose bricked life sometimes, and in what ways?  Why choose tastelessness as opposed to flavor?  Darkness instead of light?  How does that play out in us?