If you’ve ever been in a position of authority, say as a parent, or a teacher, a supervisor or even as a priest, you’ve probably had the experience of someone coming to talk to you about somebody else. And not in an appreciative way, to say “you know I just wanted to tell you that so-and-so is so kind, loving and generous, and has never done anything at all that I can object to, and this is so marvelous to me that I just had to come and talk to you about it.” I’m sure that happens, too, although, come to think of it, it’s hard for me to remember a specific instance. But I’m talking about those occasions when someone comes to talk to you about another person with, what do they call it?—“concern.” They’ll start out, “you know, I really like so-and-so—he’s always so cheerful, and is such a hard worker, and I really like that terrific thing that he does with…the stuff—so I don’t want you to think that I’m criticizing him—but…
And of course it’s what comes after the “but” that is what they really came to tell you about, and it is almost always because they feel offended in some way and are hoping that you will do something to control or correct or even punish that other person they’re complaining about. The implied message is clear: because they are having a problem, it is now supposed to be your problem, too, and your job is to solve it.
It shouldn’t really surprise us that this happens. Most of us are not fond of conflict and would rather not face it directly. We learned as children that when our big brothers are coming into our room and playing with our things and then going away and leaving a big mess for us to clean up, the easiest way to deal with it is to go tell Mom or Dad. And often enough, our parents decided that the easiest thing for them to do was to step in, decide who was in the wrong, and force a resolution, complete with a ceremonial apology (“now tell your little brother you’re sorry”), and a stern warning about the consequences of doing it again in the future.
And if that happens, it is enough to satisfy us. We aren’t particularly concerned that our older brothers now resent us as whiny little tattletales—we got our problem solved. This approach is reliable enough that we can be all grown up and still be approaching our adult conflicts in the same way.
But as ordinary and human as this approach to conflict is, it’s not innocent. It may bring relief to the one who accuses, but the accused often ends up feeling mistreated and resentful. It doesn’t bring about any deeper understanding of the hurt that took place, nor any true reconciliation. And so resentments will simmer away beneath the surface, only to break out again with greater force the next time a conflict occurs. This approach also creates and holds in place a distorted kind of authority, one that is not loved and respected for its wisdom, courage, compassion and justice, but one that is feared and flattered for its power to discipline, punish, and show favor.
Matthew is the only one of the four gospels where Jesus gives practical instruction about the nuts and bolts of living in the organization that will carry on his mission. The Jesus of Matthew’s gospel has really high hopes for his church. It is to be the new Israel, a city on a hill, the light of the world and the salt of the earth. It is given a Great Commission to go out to all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. But as for its internal affairs, what Jesus wants to talk about is how to handle hurts and conflicts among its members.
It is really too bad that so many people think of the church as a place where people are nice to each other all the time, and nobody ever disagrees. Because the church is like any other community made up of human beings. It is a place where people are coming with their defects of character and their childhood wounds, as well as their deepest longings and loftiest aspirations. So it is a place where people make mistakes, where they have misunderstandings, and hurt each other, sometimes quite profoundly. What makes the church different, according to Matthew, is not that people don’t have fights, but that it is also a place where people do not hide from each other when they conflict, or try to get some authority to intervene on their side. It is a place where people learn to speak the truth to each other in love, and where they learn to listen, to take responsibility, and to be reconciled.
You may have noticed that Jesus’ instruction about dealing with the church member who has sinned against you has only one goal, and it is a modest one. His language may be reminiscent of a legal proceeding, but Jesus says nothing about reaching a verdict, or about a punishment to fit the crime. The aim, at each step of this escalating scale of confrontation is just to get that person to listen to you. “If the member listens to you”, he says, “you have regained that member.” Let’s think about that for just a moment: what kind of words would you have to say, that would win over the one who did you wrong, if he or she could only just really take them in?
Well they would have to be true words. They would have to be the simple truth about what was done, without exaggeration or accusation as to motive. And they would have to be heartfelt. When you can show me the hurt you feel, not as emotional drama, but in a way that is direct, and upright, and vulnerable, that has real power. And they would have to be loving words, spoken with appreciation for the relationship we share, and holding out hope to repair it.
Now maybe you’ve had the experience of being spoken to in this way by a spouse or a friend, and finding some well-defended place within you opening up to receive what is spoken. Maybe in that moment you saw your behavior toward that person in a new way, through their eyes, and recognized with a shock of dismay that something you had said or done dishonored the connection between you. Many of us can remember being on one side or the other of a conversation like this. Some of us may have even seen it happen in a group of three or four. But how many of us have ever belonged to a church where this could happen in the presence of everyone? What kind of church could place a wrongdoer in the middle of the assembly, say on a morning like this one, and speak to him in a way that is not intended to vilify or threaten, to convict or to punish, but only to open a place in his heart where he could really listen to what was being said? Can we imagine belonging to a community that had the trust, honesty, and compassion to deal with its problems in that way?
Yet that is the kind of place Jesus calls his church to be. He promises that in such a congregation we would learn an extraordinary freedom, where we could work things out without making rules for everything or relying on coercive authority. He says that in a community like this, founded on hard-won forgiveness, the prayers that are offered in harmony will have extraordinary power. He says that he himself will be among them, the living presence of the forgiving victim. In such a church, says Jesus, it will become possible to really love each other, and so to act together to do the will of God on earth as it is in heaven.
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