February 23, 2025 – The Seventh Sunday After Epiphany

The Rev. Mary Davis

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, my strength and my Redeemer. Amen.

In the early 1990’s, my husband and I attended graduate school at Columbia University in New York City. One of the real gifts of living in married student housing on the upper west side of Manhattan was that we lived directly across the street from Riverside Park, which followed the shoreline of the Hudson River. So every day, I would lace up my shoes for a morning run through the tree-lined, traffic-free path of the park.

That is, until one day when along my route, I was mugged.

It happened early in the morning, during a remarkably strange moment in time when there just happened to be no one around. The park was usually filled with plenty of dog walkers, joggers, and people out for a stroll. But at this one particular moment there was no one around. I was jogging alone with my thoughts and my headphones on, when two men came out of nowhere and grabbed me by the shoulders. (My speed was definitely no defense!) A park bench on one side of me made it impossible to escape in one direction, While the two men cornered me and made it impossible for me to go any other direction.  I was trapped, and they aggressively demanded my money.

But rather than fear, what struck me first in that moment was the absurdity of their request. Runners – at least not any that I knew of – never hit the road with cash in their pockets. And foolishly, I felt compelled to educate them on this point. So I told them straight out that I was out for a run and that of course, I didn’t have any money.  Not surprisingly, perhaps, my argumentative side caught their attention. It clearly wasn’t at all what they were expecting.

But they were still determined not to leave their encounter with me empty handed, so their plan B was demanding that I give them – and this will definitely date me – my yellow sports Walkman, a cassette player, which I was running with. I wasn’t particularly opposed to giving them the Walkman, in exchange for my life, but what I wanted – – what I really cared about – – was the tape inside.

Now remember, this was back in the day, before Apple music, Pandora or Spotify, when making a playlist was really tedious work. To copy songs you had to use a tape-to-tape recorder, forward or rewind one tape to find the beginning of your favorite song, then wait for it to record all the way through, and then repeat that process over and over again until 90 minutes of music (45 minutes on each side!) was complete. It took HOURS. Days, even. And before my husband and I moved to New York City from Nashville, he had lovingly put all of our favorite country music songs on to this mix tape, which was inside of that yellow Walkman. Sure, I would hand over that Walkman. But not that tape!

So I offered them the deal. I told them, “You can have the Walkman, But I want to keep the tape that’s inside.” Then I ridiculously followed with, “It’s country music, you won’t like it.”

Now I’ve said some really stupid things in my life before . . . but even as I said these words, I shocked myself at how dimwitted I sounded. But at the same time, I clearly flustered these two men who were out to do me harm, because they immediately began trying to figure out how to open the latch of my Walkman to figure out how to give [this crazy woman] me my tape. But they couldn’t figure out how to open the latch, so I demonstrated for them how to do it, releasing the tape into my hand, and I gave them the Walkman back. With that, they took off.

Later that day, I received a call from the precinct detective asking if I would come down to the station to identify the men who had been caught. There, I found out that they had beaten every other person they’d robbed that morning. Everyone, but me.

Now, I could be wrong, but I have always suspected that the reason they didn’t harm me was because I had engaged them in conversation – yes, it was a crazy conversation, but it was a conversation nonetheless.  I’d looked them in the eyes, and even acknowledged that I wouldn’t want to subject them to my country music selections.

Wrong or right . . . radically reckless or brilliantly creative . . . however you see this exchange between me and my attackers, it is probably the closest – maybe the ONLY – example in my life of living out Jesus’ teaching from Luke’s Gospel this morning. “Do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you. Love your enemies.”

Now, I have to say that today’s passage is perhaps one of the most difficult, and most misinterpreted and misunderstood truths that Jesus teaches his followers. You see, Jesus was NOT talking about being naïve or about allowing ourselves to be a passive victim, or a non-reactive doormat. And, Jesus was NOT teaching that bullies should have the right of way either. Rather, the essence of Jesus’ teaching is simply ‘Do not retaliate violence with violence.’ Because Jesus abhors violence in response to evil. But at the same time, Jesus abhors passivity. Jesus is teaching us that there is a different way.

In a world that undoubtably includes bullies, aggressors, evil, and people who wish to do us harm, what Jesus is teaching us is how to be in the world as Love. Active love. There’s nothing passive about it. Love is patient. Love is kind. Love isn’t envious or boastful. It doesn’t dishonor others or seek its own way. Love keeps no record of wrongs. Holds no contempt. No judgment. No distrust. No disdain. And of course, love like this will never make it inside of a sentimental Hallmark card, because it is difficult and gritty . . . and sacrificial. Which always leads us back to Jesus, who lived out that love.

Remember, toward the end of Jesus’ life when Judas, one of his closest friends and a disciple, was about to betray Jesus? They had been together for years, were devoted to each other, until Judas threw all of that away to turn Jesus over to the Roman authorities. It was the ultimate betrayal, and I can only imagine how utterly painful it was for Jesus to face that. Betrayal by a close friend has to be the WORST kind of pain. The deepest wound. But what did Jesus do? He loved Judas. He fed him bread and wine, and sat at the table with him. He tied a towel around his waist, poured water in a basin, and washed Judas’ feet. No punches thrown. No name calling. No “how could you?” Do good to those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. In the face of evil and betrayal, Jesus loved.

Love like this, in a world like this, almost seems foreign. Alien, even. If we dared to love like this it would create a world where there’s no “us” or “them.” Where there are no boxes. No closets. No borders. No walls. No measuring. No counting. No judging. No competing. And, shockingly, when you get right down to it, what all of that adds up to is perfect “freedom.” Freedom to be seen and known as God’s beloved creation and the freedom to see and know OTHERS as God’s beloved creation as well.  Freedom is the gift of God for all who follow the way of Love.

Loving the way Jesus loved requires nothing short of transformation for us. It requires practice. It requires creativity. It requires a bold trust in God’s power.  And of course, I have failed at it more times than I can count through my attitude, my words, and my actions. I have been the betrayer. I have been the bully. I have been the aggressor. I have been blind to the needs and brokenness of others. So it is with raw honesty that I confess what I have done, and confess what I have left undone. But mercifully, because of God’s perfect love, we get to try again, and again, and again.

In so many ways, love like this IS other-worldly. But I know that every time we respond with love in this world that anticipates and expects hate, force, violence, or judgement, we are ushering in that new world. I’m trying to learn this way of love. And I’m happy that you’re trying with me.

Now, looking back, if only I could retrace my steps that morning in Riverside Park . . . and “do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you” . . . This time, I think I’d tell those two men, “It’s country music. You might like it. Take the tape.”

Radically reckless. Brilliantly creative . . . LOVE.

Amen.

Year C  –  Seventh Sunday After Epiphany   –   February 23, 2025   –  The Rev. Mary Davis