Daily Office readings do not always tie together thematically, but today’s are one of the exceptions. In this case all three speak about the duties and obligations of being one of God’s people. Duty and obligation are hard words; inevitably they bring up visions of self-sacrifice and imposition of another’s needs ahead of my own. Certainly, many conceptualizations of traditional religious practice seem to emphasize self-denial—monastic celibacy comes to mind—and are profoundly suspicious of pleasure in any corporeal manifestation. But is this, in fact, an accurate picture of what God expects from me?
In the Exodus passage, God dictates to his people (through Moses) the specifications for creating a sacred sanctuary and, within it, the ark of the covenant. Everything is minutely spelled out—even the “voluntary” gifts that are to fund construction of the tabernacle. God’s relationship with the Israelites throughout the Hebrew Testament is highly contractual: in exchange for worship and obedience, in often very specific forms, God gives special protections, land, and good fortune. There is a sense of mutual obligation, of duties owed by both sides to the other. When the Israelites rebel against God’s commandments, he withdraws his protection; when God appears to be breaking his promises to the Israelites, they withdraw their devotion to him. This passage is no different: God tells them to put “the testimony that I shall give you”—the tablets with the Mosaic contract, the Ten Commandments—into the ark, and then states that “from between the two cherubim that are upon the ark of the testimony, I will speak with you of all that I will give you in commandment for the people of Israel.” Do this, and I will do that. Another contract, another covenant.
We often “bargain with God.” Just do this for me, God, and I’ll be good, I promise… I’ll start going to church again… I’ll give to charity… just do this one thing for me. Too often, we then reject God because he didn’t “keep” the bargain. I did everything I was supposed to do, God… I went to church… I put money in the collection plate… I said my bedtime prayers… but my father still got sick, my wife left me, I lost my job—you broke our deal, God, so I don’t trust you anymore, I don’t believe in you anymore. Is my duty, then, contingent on a quid pro quo? Is God’s grace available only to me if I am faithful to the agreement, whatever that agreement is?
Paul, in his letter to the Colossians, also describes what the duties and obligations are of anyone professing to be “raised with Christ.” There’s a laundry list of behaviors that I shouldn’t do and that I should do and on the surface this too seems to be a case of do this and you’ll get rewarded with this.
But there’s something profoundly different going on here. Paul’s point is not to generate a list of proscribed behaviors (at least, not his central point—Paul is a bit of a prude and a nag and can’t resist moralizing), but to describe the effect of accepting God’s grace. Instead of it being a contractual relationship, it is now a causal relationship. “In these [the bad behaviors] you once walked, when you lived in them. But now put them all away…” God, in the person of Christ, is the agent of change and not merely a party to a contract for change. God’s grace becomes something I put on, like spiritual clothing to warm me, protect me, guard me from contamination and dirt. The binding virtue of all those he speaks of is love—love of God, certainly, but also love of and for each other. For Paul, then, my paramount duty and obligation as a Christian is to love.
How, then, do I love? It all sounds so easy, like one big happy hippie-fest of peace, love and flowers—is that all there is to it? The passage from Matthew’s gospel reminds me that following Christ, living the way of Jesus, is far from easy; love itself is far from easy and by its very nature exposes me to all sorts of hurt and injury. Only those I truly love can truly hurt me. What does it take to love God? It takes a total commitment, a willingness to do like Simon Peter and Andrew who “[i]mmediately… left their nets and followed him,” or like James and his brother John who “[i]mmediately… left the boat and their father, and followed him.” No question of putting affairs in order, packing up a change of clothes and a toothbrush, or saying goodbye to mom and the family—this was an immediate, total, complete calling.
So love, Christian love, is not a half-way thing. It cannot be rescinded, it cannot be bargained for. It is what God’s grace, living in me, demands of me. My duty is to love as Christ loved me, an impossible obligation, perhaps, but God’s grace is also forgiving. Thank God for that!
