February 16, 2020
I came across a Billy Collins
poem recently. It’s entitled, “Another
reason why I don’t keep a gun in the house:”
The neighbors' dog will
not stop barking.
He is barking the same
high, rhythmic bark
that he barks every time
they leave the house.
They must switch him on on
their way out.
The neighbors' dog will
not stop barking.
I close all the windows in
the house
and put on a Beethoven
symphony full blast
but I can still hear him
muffled under the music,
barking, barking, barking,
and now I can see him
sitting in the orchestra,
his head raised
confidently as if Beethoven
had included a part for
barking dog.
When the record finally
ends he is still barking,
sitting there in the oboe
section barking,
his eyes fixed on the
conductor who is
entreating him with his
baton
while the other musicians
listen in respectful
silence to the famous
barking dog solo,
that endless coda that
first established
Beethoven as an innovative
genius.
With no small amount of humor,
Collins spells out his experience of an everyday irritant and how he manages to
change his view.
He starts out – The
neighbors’ dog will not stop barking.
He begins by blaming the neighbors – they must switch him on on their
way out. But blaming changes nothing.
All he can do, in the second stanza, is come back to – The neighbors’
dog will not stop barking.
His next move is to try to
shut the barking out – he closes all the windows. Then he tries to force it out – he turns on
Beethoven full blast. He cranks up the
volume to overpower the offending sound.
Still he can hear the barking, barking, barking.
Then there is a shift – and
now I can see him sitting in the orchestra/his head raised confidently as if
Beethoven/had included a part for barking dog.
The dog is no longer an
intruder. He has been integrated into
Collins’ imagination. The dog has a
part to play. He is no longer simply
making noise, but has a voice that was intended by the composer. Even when the
symphony stops, the dog continues barking – as intended by Beethoven – that
endless coda that first established/Beethoven as an innovative genius.
Collins could have reacted
with violence. Remember the title? Another reason why I don’t keep a gun in
the house. Instead, he changes his
view. The problem is not with the
neighbors or even with the dog. The
problem is in his own mind. That is where the solution is as well.
I believe this is what Jesus
is doing in this section of the Sermon on the Mount. He is getting us to see that the real problem
is inside. He is intensifying the old
commandments as a way of forcing us inward, where the real work – and the real
solution – is. Jesus has already called
us to this work of change in his initial preaching – Repent; the kingdom of
heaven has come near. “Repent,” does not
merely mean confess. The Greek word, “metanoia,”
means to change your mind, to get beyond your present way of thinking.
To aid us in this work, Jesus
has laid out six anti-theses – “You have heard that it was said…But I say to
you…” Jesus does not cite universal
laws. Rather he employs specific images
– what New Testament scholar, Robert Tannehill, whom I read back in seminary,
calls “focal instances” – to jar us, to bring us up short, to make us think, and
to reconsider what we might normally do.
You have heard that was
said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not murder’; and ‘Whoever murders
shall be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you that if you are angry with a
brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment; and if you insult a brother
or sister, you will be liable to the council; and if you say, ‘You fool,’ you
will be liable to the hell of fire...
You have heard that it was said, “You shall
not commit adultery.” But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with
lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart. If your right eye
causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away; it is better for you to lose
one of your members than for your whole body to be thrown into hell…
Again, you have heard that it was said to
those of ancient times, “You shall not swear falsely, but carry out the vows
you have made to the Lord.” But I say to you, Do not swear at all…
In each case, to a greater or
lesser extent, Jesus takes a command and intensifies it to force us to look within,
to examine our hearts on the matters of anger and lust and speech. The problem is not with that person who did
something to irritate you, the problem is in here – in the mind. The problem is not with woman (or man) who
dresses just a little too seductively, the problem is in here – in the mind. That is where we must turn our attention if
we want to get to the root of the problem. If, as Dallas Willard says, we want
to change into the kind of people who naturally do what the law requires, then
the first step is to become aware of what is going on inside us.
One of the precepts of
Buddhism is to avoid ingesting anything – such as alcohol or drugs – that might
cloud the mind or cause carelessness. This
gets a lot of discussion among Buddhists in the West. Is it ever OK to drink alcohol? Is it OK to drink as long as you don’t get
drunk? Is it OK to drink as long as you don’t drink in front of children?
Sharon Salzberg has written
that she too wondered, so she asked a Burmese teacher she was working
with. She expected he would say, “It’s
fine in moderation.” Or, “It’s OK if your grandmother offers you a glass of
wine, so you don’t hurt her feelings.”
What he said instead was, “If someone ties you down and pours it down
your throat and you don’t enjoy it, then it’s OK.”
Sharon said her first thought
was, “Well, that’s kind of severe!” But
then she thought she ought to take her teacher seriously, so she gave up
alcohol for a few years. My initial reaction was the same as Sharon’s, but,
since he’s not my teacher, I didn’t give up alcohol. Nevertheless, this picture is now in my
mind. When it comes to me, it makes me
stop and consider the effect that alcohol has on me. I’m a one beer guy, so I’ve never drunk a
lot. But now I am more conscious of how
alcohol makes me feel, how it clouds my mind, and how it might compromise my
judgment. I still drink alcohol, but I
am more likely now to decide that I prefer a clear mind for the evening, so I
skip even the one beer.
If it is possible with
alcohol use, could the same mindful examination be done with anger? With lust? With
speech? With revenge? Could the same be
done with hatred?
If Lent not did not start in
10 more days, next Sunday we would get another reading from the Sermon on the
Mount (rather than for Transfiguration Sunday) – one that would include Jesus’ not
antitheses on retaliation, but also – and, for my money, the one that is most important
– on enemies.
You have heard that it was
said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you,
Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be
children of your Father in heaven, for he makes his sun to rise on the evil and
the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. (Mattthew 5:43-45)
We’d like to think that
everything that Jesus has been telling us about dealing with other people
applies only to those who are close to us, those we love, those who are near
and dear to us. Yet, if we do that, how
will we be any different than others?
Everybody loves those who love them. Everyone acknowledges those who
belong to their own family. Even
atheists do it. The challenge is to
think beyond and to go beyond that – to love as God loves – to treat everyone
equally – to act in a way that benefits even those who do not wish us well.
We might think, “Well, that’s
kind of severe!” Then how do we do
it? We begin with prayer.
You may not have anyone whom
you consider an enemy or someone you consider a threat. But maybe you have someone you feel you are
in competition with. Maybe it’s a competitor at work, someone who seems always
to get the big promotion, the big sale, the big honor at the end of the
year. Or maybe it’s another student,
someone who is smarter and better looking and more athletic and more
popular. Or maybe it isn’t actually
someone far away. Maybe it is really a
brother or a sister with whom you feel like you are in competition.
Whoever they are, pray for
them. Pray for their success. Pray for their health and happiness. Pray that they may experience more success
and more joy. If you’re not ready to do
that, pray for yourself in your inability to pray for them. Wherever you are, no matter how far-fetched
or impossible this seems, start with prayer.
Then, see if it makes a
difference. This is not magic. I don’t believe in magic. But I believe in the power of God to turn
hearts and minds around – if not the heart and mind of that person, then at
least my own heart and mind.
Jesus concludes this section
– Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect. This seems a much bigger challenge than
attaining a righteousness greater than the scribes and Pharisees! Yet, the word, ‘perfect,’ in Greek connotes
not an ideal, but an end, a purpose. If
you live in this way, if you live the transforming life of love, Jesus seems to
say, you will be fulfilling the purpose God made you for, the purpose that God
gave the law for, and the purpose God sent him for.
Henri Nouwen was a Roman
Catholic priest from Holland and a professor of pastoral theology, first at
Yale and then at Harvard. When I was in
seminary, he was an influential writer regarding pastoral ministry and about
spiritual life. Late in his career, he
gave up his tenured chair at Harvard and moved to Daybreak, the L’arche
community in Toronto for people with developmental disabilities. Nouwen spent the last 10 years of his life
there.
Shortly after his move to
Daybreak, Nouwen wrote a book for his nephew – “Letters to Marc about
Jesus.” There he speaks of the
importance of following Jesus’ command to love our enemies. Henri Nouwen writes:
I find it difficult to
conceive of a more concrete way to love than by praying for one’s enemies. It makes you conscious of the hard fact that,
in God’s eyes, you’re no more and no less worthy of being loved than any other
person, and it creates an awareness of profound solidarity with all other human
beings. It creates in you a
world-embracing compassion and provides you in increasing measure with a heart
free of the compulsive urge to coercion and violence. And you’ll be delighted to discover that you
can no longer remain angry with people for whom you’ve really and truly
prayed. You will find that you start
speaking differently to them or about them, and that you’re actually willing to
do well to those who’ve offended you in some way. (p. 62)
This may sound
impossible. It may sound like it is
beyond us. It is certainly beyond our
present way of thinking. It might be
easier just to make sure we don’t keep any guns in the house. But Jesus, the Master Teacher, is instructing
us and inviting us to go beyond our way of thinking into his way of thinking,
beyond our minds into his mind, into the mind of Christ.
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