In 1927 Mahatma

Gandi, addressing a Christian group, said, "If I had to face only

the Sermon on the Mount and my own interpretation of it, I should not

hesitate to say, 'O yes, I am a Christian ' But negatively I can tell

you that much of what passes as Christianity is a negation of the Sermon

on the Mount."

Today's Gospel

presents a paradox. Love of enemies, compassion, mercy and forgiveness

appear as the core of Jesus' teaching in Luke's "Sermon on the Plain,"

with slight variations from Matthew's "Sermon on the Mount."

If love of enemy is a critical test of whether one is a Christian or not,

I'm not sure there's enough evidence yet in my life that I have passed

the test. It's one of the main reasons why I seldom tell people that "I

am a Christian". Quite frankly, there's a very strong judgmental

part of me. It has to do with "being Christian".

I know how

hard it is for me to love my enemies, to do good to those who hate me,

to bless those who curse me, to pray for those who abuse me. I fall short

so often in putting this aspect of Jesus' teaching into practice. And

yet, this teaching of Jesus is really at the heart of what it means to

be his disciple. It should be the distinguishing characteristic of a genuine

Christian.

The compelling

piece for me in the Gospel are the words of Jesus when he says: "(God)

is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked." Luke writes: "Be

merciful as your heavenly Father is merciful," and only then will

you be sons and daughters of God. Love of enemies is the defining characteristic

of God's family. How many Christian communities, ours included, make Jesus'

teaching on love of enemy a critical test of membership? There's much

truth to what Gandi said in 1927. "Much of what passes as Christianity

is a negation of the Sermon on the Mount."

In his book

entitled "Reaching Out," Henri Nouwen tells a story told by

a friend of his who is an actor. It's symbolic of much of the world in

which we live. It seems that while rehearsing the most moving scenes of

love, tenderness and intimate relationships, the actors were so jealous

of each other and so full of apprehension about their chances to 'make

it,' that the back-stage scene was one of hatred, harshness and mutual

suspicion. Those who kissed each other on the stage were tempted to hit

each other behind it, and those who portrayed the most profound human

emotions of love in the footlights displayed the most trivial and hostile

rivalries as soon as the footlights had dimmed. Much of our world is similar

to the acting stage on which peace, justice and love are portrayed by

actors who cripple each other by mutual hostilities.

Nouwen asks

what for me is a deafening question: "How many of us don't feel an

inner apprehension when we hear our own pains in the story of those who

ask our help?"

In response

to his own question, Nouwen offers a profound insight: "But maybe

it is exactly this paradox that can give us our healing power. When we

have seen and acknowledged our own hostilities and fears without hesitation,

it is more likely that we also will be able to sense from within the other

pole toward which we want to lead not only ourselves but our neighbors

as well. The act on the stage of our life will probably always look better

than what goes on behind the curtains, but as long as we are willing to

face the contrast and struggle to minimize it the tension can keep us

humble by allowing us to offer our services to others, without being whole

ourselves" (Reaching Out, Nouwen, Henri J.M., Doubleday & Company,

Inc., 1975).

A Japanese

master named Nan-in once received a university professor who came to inquire

about Zen. Nan-in served tea. He poured his visitor's cup full, and then

kept pouring. The professor watched the overflow until he could no longer

restrain himself. 'It's overflowing", he said to the Japanese master.

"No more will go in!" "Like this cup," Nan-in said,

"you are full of your opinions and speculations. How can I show you

Zen unless you first empty your cup?"

There's something

filling our cups today which needs our attention. It's cultural violence.

It flows into our homes and flashes each night on our TV sets. It's found

in movies, music and video games. It's in our gyms and on our ballfields.

It's overflowing. The "cup" of cultural violence has become

part of the landscape of our lives. The Book of Proverbs (16:29) tells

us that "A violent man lures his neighbor astray and leads him by

a way that is not good." It's another way of saying that violence

begets violence. And when that happens, we are all losers.

Most of us

were probably stunned to hear the news that an act of violence took place

at an elementary school recreational basketball game here in Fayetteville.

As a parent and coach in the league, I couldn't help but be concerned.

A referee at a recreational basketball game for 6, 7 and 8 year olds allegedly

slashed a coach, who required 17 stitches, following a heated argument

after a game. Where does it end? And how did it begin in the first place?

Jesus rejects

a culture of violence characterized by a tit-for-tat mentality. He proposes

instead a strategy for breaking the cycle of evil. Most of us are too

busy to slow down long enough to examine some its roots. And when we do,

the weeds are endless and the stones so big it's seems to be an impossible

task to face. Confronting the sources of violence in our culture requires

the courage of looking more carefully within our own hearts, our own thoughts,

and the patterns of our own lives. Just as we can't force a plant to grow

but can take away the weeds and stones which prevent its development,

so we cannot force anyone to such a personal and intimate change of heart.

Jesus couldn't do this for the disciples of his time. And he can't'do

for his disciples today unless we are empty enough to receive the power

of his Spirit. We can only offer the space where such a change can take

place. But changes can't take place if our opinions, our prejudices and

our judgements keep overflowing our cups.

The hurt and

pain many of us keeped tucked away deep inside us is perhaps the best

starting point for us. Our hurts and pains, like our opinions and judgments

of others, can often imprison us whether we want to acknowledge that or

not. When we are able to let go of our own pain and hurt and opinions

which can spawn hostility toward others, we become empty and thus can

be filled with "the good measure" of God's love and mercy Jesus

speaks about. He tells us a very revealing truth: "the measure we

give will be the measure we get back". The hard sayings in the teaching

of Jesus are within our reach, but often not within our grasp.

And so, rather

than saying "I am a Christian," I prefer to see myself as a

disciple of Jesus who is at best, a wounded healer. Transforming ones

pain and hurt into growth and strength is not an easy task. It takes hard,

inner work to empty our cups of the "brew" which can lead to

hostility. As one who knows what it is to receive God's generous mercy

and love, I want to be an instrument of God's reconciling love in whatever

way I possibly can.

I didn't know

that my "sermon preparation" last week would require some unexpected

action I couldn't imagine doing. I heard the tough teaching of Jesus in

Luke 6 challenging me in a surprise-filled and unexpected way. When I

heard the news that a referee slashed a coach at a youth basketball game,

I felt compelled to go and visit him in prison. I wasn't there as an attorney

or a judge or even as a basketball coach. Though I was at the gym the

previous night and saw the start of the now infamous game, I went to the

Fayette County Jail as a disciple of Jesus, a minister who is at best,

a wounded healer. I came with an "empty cup". I was there to

listen. The only gift I had to offer the man was a "friendly space"

in which to talk about what happened and, in the process, seek with me

the forgiving, reconciling, healing love of God in Christ.

Later in the

week, a similar experience happened again. After receiving a confidential

call from a man who actually saw what happened, the same hard teaching

of Jesus gave me the courage to be in contact with the coach recuperating

from a slash he received earlier in the week. I called him because I knew

he was hurting. And I knew that the pain was less from the wound of a

pocketknife than it was from the hurt of being prohibited by the Basketball

League of any further coaching this season. He's banned from even watching

his own son play. I needed to listen to him. My cup was empty. I sensed

his pain as he told his story. And I felt for his family, especially his

son.

It's not easy,

as disciples of Jesus, to put into practice his command we hear in Luke

6: "Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful. Do not judge, and

you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned.

Forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you."

It takes a willingness to risk and an openness to being vulnerable. It

takes an empty cup.

The root of

Christian love is not the will to love, but the faith that one is loved.

Love is not simply an emotion. It is a fundamental attitude that seeks

another's good and responds to his or her need.

We who are

disciples of Jesus are, at best, wounded healers. Our own woundedness

can become the very gift God uses as a source of healing in surprise-filled

and unexpected ways. Grace can be found in the most unlikely of places,

if our cups aren't full.

Bob Hudak,

parent, coach and priest in Fayetteville, Georgia.

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