Matthew 5:21-37 Good, Better, Best
You have heard that it was said to people long ago, “You shall not murder, and whoever murders will be subject to judgment.” But I tell you that everyone who is angry with his brother without a cause will be subject to judgment, and whoever says to his brother, “Raca,” will have to answer to the Sanhedrin. But whoever says, “You fool!” will be in danger of hell fire.
In 1955, shortly before he died in a car accident, James Dean finished filming the movie he’d most be remembered for, Rebel Without A Cause. Can’t say that I’ve ever seen it, or any James Dean movie for that matter. But apparently he was pretty good in it. He only made three movies; two of them were released after his death, and both were nominated for Oscars. What he was good at was playing the angry teenager, angry for no reason, a rebel without a cause, rebelling just to rebel. But that’s something all teenagers could relate to, and anybody who remembers being a teenager once, and maybe you don’t even have to remember; you can still relate, even if you’re not the rebel you once were, being angry and not being exactly sure just why. Rebel without a cause, angry and striking back just because.
Somehow, rebels without a cause always think they have plenty of cause. James Dean made it seem right to be so angry, because life is unfair. Society is so unfair. And he felt things so passionately, how could he not get angry at unfairness? Isn’t it good to be passionate about something, about anything?
There is such a thing as righteous anger. Just look at how angry Jesus got when he saw the moneychangers and merchants inside God’s holy Temple. He knocked over their tables. He drove them out of the Temple. He used a whip to drive the animals out, and I don’t think he used it gently, and maybe not just on the animals. He was angry. But he had a cause. His cause was the absolute holiness of God’s house, where every single brick and stone was dedicated to the glory of the almighty God, and served a single purpose: to allow sinful mankind an opportunity to approach God in repentance and be saved. And men were turning it into a den of thieves, a place where wicked, greedy, heartless criminals felt safe to practice their lives of crime and enjoy the fruits of their wickedness. They weren’t just merchants doing business; they were cheats taking advantage of others right inside God’s house, where the smell and the sight of sacrificed animals was a constant reminder of what God feels about sin and what we deserve for even the smallest of sins.
That is a picture of righteous anger, anger with a cause, the Son of God whose anger never crossed the line we so easily trespass. Our anger is selfish, self-centered, vengeful. It’s proud, saying, “How dare they?” just because of who I am, me. How dare anyone treat me, me of all people, so unfairly? Pride. It’s a blind anger because it becomes totally oblivious to any way that I myself might possibly have acted unfairly. Even when it has a cause, a righteous one, the cause can quickly become nothing more than an excuse, and righteous indignation becomes a safe haven for selfish and vengeful retribution.
Jesus tells us today that anger without a cause is the same as murder. Anger without a cause makes you a rebel, not against the unfairness of society, but against God and his righteous law. Good thing I’m not a rebel. Good thing my own anger always has a cause, at least I think so. But what I think isn’t what matters. What matters is what God thinks, that absolutely righteous almighty God whose holiness Jesus stood up for in the Temple. “Be perfect, because I, the Lord your God, am perfect,” he tells us.
And Jesus is his Son. Like Father, like Son. In our text today, a continuation of the Sermon on the Mount that began with the Beatitudes a couple weeks ago, Jesus gives us a better idea of just what it mean to be perfect. If you asked, most people would say they are good people. They may do some bad things once in a while, but not really bad, and they always have a cause, an excuse, some sort of justification. Rebel without a cause? Not me.
Some people, such as the Pharisees, would describe themselves as better, not just good but better than everyone else. We might not go quite that far, but we’re better than average, aren’t we? That’s something to be proud of. But when every single person you’ve ever met has been a sinner who deserves God’s condemnation for their entire life of sin and crime and rebellion, being better than average isn’t good enough. If Jesus was here in the flesh this morning, right here in God’s house with us, we couldn’t blame him if he started looking around for a whip to drive every single one of us out of God’s house and said, “How dare you turn my Father’s house into a refuge for your comfortable life of selfishness, greed, lust, anger, pride, and deceit?”
Good isn’t good enough. Better is worse because it’s a very low bar to measure up to, mixed with a dose of pride. Jesus presents to us, not good or better, but best. The perfect. He does so for three reasons (that I can think of). One, so we never think we have earned God’s favor and salvation ourselves. Secondly, so we look to Jesus and see the perfect, the Son of God in whom the Father was always well pleased, who gives us salvation. As he said in the verses right before our text, “I did not come to abolish the law, but to fulfill it.”
Some people think of Jesus as this gentle, patient, compassionate guy who would just say to sinners, “You sinned? Oh, don’t worry about it. You’re forgiven. No big deal. God’s law? No big deal. Let’s just pretend the Ten Commandments don’t apply anymore.” Jesus was very patient and compassionate, and usually gentle, but not because the law didn’t matter to him, but because he had the remedy to our sin and rebellion, his own blood. You can’t think the law didn’t matter to him unless you think that suffering and dying the most agonizing death imaginable didn’t matter to him. “Crucifixion? No big deal.” Doing his Father’s will always in everything mattered more to him than his own life. The law mattered to him so much that he would tell us even a single unrighteous thought would truly deserve the fires of hell. But his compassion was so great that he was willing to leave his heavenly throne, subject himself to the law in this life, and die for our sins. He did not abolish the law. He fulfilled it himself. He kept it for himself and for us.
He wasn’t just good or better, but the best that has ever set foot on this earth. And the third reason he preached these harsh standards of perfect righteousness in his Sermon on the Mount, is so that we might be the best we can be, for him who died for us.
So we look at the Ten Commandments and we read, “You shall not murder.” Okay, I’m good so far; I haven’t killed anyone. I’m better than average because I haven’t hurt or harmed anyone (who didn’t deserve it), recently. But I’ve still sinned. I still need forgiveness for every sinful thought that’s passed through my mind and every angry word that’s passed my lips. I have that forgiveness by God’s grace in Jesus Christ, and now I won’t be satisfied until I rise up to what he would call best, perfection in thought, word, and deed, not for my own pride and satisfaction, but to honor him as he deserves.
Rid your mind of anger without cause. There is such a thing as righteous anger, anger with a cause that meets God’s standards. But even when we have a good reason, it’s easy for our anger to cross the line into rebel without a cause territory, senseless anger, selfish and self-righteous anger.
Jesus goes on to angry words, like Raca and Fool. Calling someone a fool is hateful and hurtful, even much of the time when they deserve it. What about raca? What does that mean? Well, it’s an insult. One that’s bad enough that we really don’t need to translate it. If you’ve ever heard someone get mad at you and curse you in a foreign language, you really don’t need a precise translation to get the gist of these words of anger.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. That’s not really true; words hurt a lot. And words of anger are still evil and sinful even if the other person doesn’t care what you say or think and has words just as bad that they’re hurling at you.
Our gospel lesson today, that the sermon is based on, was a long one, and we could spend a whole sermon on each of these perfect laws that Jesus explained, laws that all go beyond good (Do not commit adultery, do not break your wedding vows by getting a divorce, do not slander, do not break any sworn promise at all), beyond better (be a better spouse, be more truthful and dependable in all things), all the way to best: Jesus Christ himself, the one who fulfilled all these laws perfectly for us and for our salvation. And I was planning on preaching on all of them, but we’re halfway down page four of my sermon, and I’m barely finishing up on “Do not be angry without a cause.”
The Sermon on the Mount reminds us that even though Jesus was compassionate, patient, kind, and forgiving to a degree we can’t imagine and can never duplicate, he was also God’s Son, the Righteous One, the absolutely Righteous One, for whom anything less than the best–perfection– isn’t good enough. His standards are God’s standards. And now that he has saved us, he looks to us to be the kind of people he redeemed us to be. Even if we still can’t be perfect in this life, live for him who died for you. Imitate him whose example is unmatchable perfection. Serve him and love him whose whole life was a service of love to you. And do it by loving, serving, and living for one another according to the light of God’s law of love. In Jesus Christ. Amen.
You have heard that it was said to people long ago, “You shall not murder, and whoever murders will be subject to judgment.” But I tell you that everyone who is angry with his brother without a cause will be subject to judgment, and whoever says to his brother, “Raca,” will have to answer to the Sanhedrin. But whoever says, “You fool!” will be in danger of hell fire.
In 1955, shortly before he died in a car accident, James Dean finished filming the movie he’d most be remembered for, Rebel Without A Cause. Can’t say that I’ve ever seen it, or any James Dean movie for that matter. But apparently he was pretty good in it. He only made three movies; two of them were released after his death, and both were nominated for Oscars. What he was good at was playing the angry teenager, angry for no reason, a rebel without a cause, rebelling just to rebel. But that’s something all teenagers could relate to, and anybody who remembers being a teenager once, and maybe you don’t even have to remember; you can still relate, even if you’re not the rebel you once were, being angry and not being exactly sure just why. Rebel without a cause, angry and striking back just because.
Somehow, rebels without a cause always think they have plenty of cause. James Dean made it seem right to be so angry, because life is unfair. Society is so unfair. And he felt things so passionately, how could he not get angry at unfairness? Isn’t it good to be passionate about something, about anything?
There is such a thing as righteous anger. Just look at how angry Jesus got when he saw the moneychangers and merchants inside God’s holy Temple. He knocked over their tables. He drove them out of the Temple. He used a whip to drive the animals out, and I don’t think he used it gently, and maybe not just on the animals. He was angry. But he had a cause. His cause was the absolute holiness of God’s house, where every single brick and stone was dedicated to the glory of the almighty God, and served a single purpose: to allow sinful mankind an opportunity to approach God in repentance and be saved. And men were turning it into a den of thieves, a place where wicked, greedy, heartless criminals felt safe to practice their lives of crime and enjoy the fruits of their wickedness. They weren’t just merchants doing business; they were cheats taking advantage of others right inside God’s house, where the smell and the sight of sacrificed animals was a constant reminder of what God feels about sin and what we deserve for even the smallest of sins.
That is a picture of righteous anger, anger with a cause, the Son of God whose anger never crossed the line we so easily trespass. Our anger is selfish, self-centered, vengeful. It’s proud, saying, “How dare they?” just because of who I am, me. How dare anyone treat me, me of all people, so unfairly? Pride. It’s a blind anger because it becomes totally oblivious to any way that I myself might possibly have acted unfairly. Even when it has a cause, a righteous one, the cause can quickly become nothing more than an excuse, and righteous indignation becomes a safe haven for selfish and vengeful retribution.
Jesus tells us today that anger without a cause is the same as murder. Anger without a cause makes you a rebel, not against the unfairness of society, but against God and his righteous law. Good thing I’m not a rebel. Good thing my own anger always has a cause, at least I think so. But what I think isn’t what matters. What matters is what God thinks, that absolutely righteous almighty God whose holiness Jesus stood up for in the Temple. “Be perfect, because I, the Lord your God, am perfect,” he tells us.
And Jesus is his Son. Like Father, like Son. In our text today, a continuation of the Sermon on the Mount that began with the Beatitudes a couple weeks ago, Jesus gives us a better idea of just what it mean to be perfect. If you asked, most people would say they are good people. They may do some bad things once in a while, but not really bad, and they always have a cause, an excuse, some sort of justification. Rebel without a cause? Not me.
Some people, such as the Pharisees, would describe themselves as better, not just good but better than everyone else. We might not go quite that far, but we’re better than average, aren’t we? That’s something to be proud of. But when every single person you’ve ever met has been a sinner who deserves God’s condemnation for their entire life of sin and crime and rebellion, being better than average isn’t good enough. If Jesus was here in the flesh this morning, right here in God’s house with us, we couldn’t blame him if he started looking around for a whip to drive every single one of us out of God’s house and said, “How dare you turn my Father’s house into a refuge for your comfortable life of selfishness, greed, lust, anger, pride, and deceit?”
Good isn’t good enough. Better is worse because it’s a very low bar to measure up to, mixed with a dose of pride. Jesus presents to us, not good or better, but best. The perfect. He does so for three reasons (that I can think of). One, so we never think we have earned God’s favor and salvation ourselves. Secondly, so we look to Jesus and see the perfect, the Son of God in whom the Father was always well pleased, who gives us salvation. As he said in the verses right before our text, “I did not come to abolish the law, but to fulfill it.”
Some people think of Jesus as this gentle, patient, compassionate guy who would just say to sinners, “You sinned? Oh, don’t worry about it. You’re forgiven. No big deal. God’s law? No big deal. Let’s just pretend the Ten Commandments don’t apply anymore.” Jesus was very patient and compassionate, and usually gentle, but not because the law didn’t matter to him, but because he had the remedy to our sin and rebellion, his own blood. You can’t think the law didn’t matter to him unless you think that suffering and dying the most agonizing death imaginable didn’t matter to him. “Crucifixion? No big deal.” Doing his Father’s will always in everything mattered more to him than his own life. The law mattered to him so much that he would tell us even a single unrighteous thought would truly deserve the fires of hell. But his compassion was so great that he was willing to leave his heavenly throne, subject himself to the law in this life, and die for our sins. He did not abolish the law. He fulfilled it himself. He kept it for himself and for us.
He wasn’t just good or better, but the best that has ever set foot on this earth. And the third reason he preached these harsh standards of perfect righteousness in his Sermon on the Mount, is so that we might be the best we can be, for him who died for us.
So we look at the Ten Commandments and we read, “You shall not murder.” Okay, I’m good so far; I haven’t killed anyone. I’m better than average because I haven’t hurt or harmed anyone (who didn’t deserve it), recently. But I’ve still sinned. I still need forgiveness for every sinful thought that’s passed through my mind and every angry word that’s passed my lips. I have that forgiveness by God’s grace in Jesus Christ, and now I won’t be satisfied until I rise up to what he would call best, perfection in thought, word, and deed, not for my own pride and satisfaction, but to honor him as he deserves.
Rid your mind of anger without cause. There is such a thing as righteous anger, anger with a cause that meets God’s standards. But even when we have a good reason, it’s easy for our anger to cross the line into rebel without a cause territory, senseless anger, selfish and self-righteous anger.
Jesus goes on to angry words, like Raca and Fool. Calling someone a fool is hateful and hurtful, even much of the time when they deserve it. What about raca? What does that mean? Well, it’s an insult. One that’s bad enough that we really don’t need to translate it. If you’ve ever heard someone get mad at you and curse you in a foreign language, you really don’t need a precise translation to get the gist of these words of anger.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. That’s not really true; words hurt a lot. And words of anger are still evil and sinful even if the other person doesn’t care what you say or think and has words just as bad that they’re hurling at you.
Our gospel lesson today, that the sermon is based on, was a long one, and we could spend a whole sermon on each of these perfect laws that Jesus explained, laws that all go beyond good (Do not commit adultery, do not break your wedding vows by getting a divorce, do not slander, do not break any sworn promise at all), beyond better (be a better spouse, be more truthful and dependable in all things), all the way to best: Jesus Christ himself, the one who fulfilled all these laws perfectly for us and for our salvation. And I was planning on preaching on all of them, but we’re halfway down page four of my sermon, and I’m barely finishing up on “Do not be angry without a cause.”
The Sermon on the Mount reminds us that even though Jesus was compassionate, patient, kind, and forgiving to a degree we can’t imagine and can never duplicate, he was also God’s Son, the Righteous One, the absolutely Righteous One, for whom anything less than the best–perfection– isn’t good enough. His standards are God’s standards. And now that he has saved us, he looks to us to be the kind of people he redeemed us to be. Even if we still can’t be perfect in this life, live for him who died for you. Imitate him whose example is unmatchable perfection. Serve him and love him whose whole life was a service of love to you. And do it by loving, serving, and living for one another according to the light of God’s law of love. In Jesus Christ. Amen.
