From Matthew’s Gospel:
[Jesus said] “If another member of the church sins against you, go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone. If the member listens to you, you have regained that one. But if you are not listened to, take one or two others along with you, so that every word may be confirmed by the evidence of two or three witnesses. If the member refuses to listen to them, tell it to the church; and if the offender refuses to listen even to the church, let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax-collector.”
(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Matthew 18:15-17 (NRSV) – June 19, 2014)
If Jesus stands for anything, he stands for community, for the ability of people graced by God to reconcile with one another despite their differences. Yet even he acknowledges that there are times when reconciliation is impossible, that there are people who will not engage in constructive dialog, will not compromise, and will not modify their behavior. His advice is to let such a person go: “Let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax-collector.”
We do a terrible job of following Jesus’ directions in many things, this one most of all. We, church members and church leaders, are so afraid of decline that we try to please everyone so that not only do we not let those go who really ought to go, we actively hang on to them. We try to please everyone for fear of losing anyone when we really should lose a few someones. As a result, we have an epidemic of “niceness” in the church.
By being “nice,” we allow dysfunctional persons to get away with behavior that would be unacceptable in any other organization, group, or workplace. Adult church members are allowed to act in ways that would get children expelled from school, and all the “nice” people look the other way or try to placate them. But we aren’t called to be “nice;” we’re called to love. Sometimes loving both a person and a community means letting go of the person to preserve and safeguard the community, letting “such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax-collector.”
An article published in The Huffington Post a couple of years ago (April 2012) is popping up again on social media sites like Facebook. It reports on a study of over 580 clergy from 39 denominations:
An online study published in the March issue of the Review of Religious Research found 28 percent of ministers said they had at one time been forced to leave their jobs due to personal attacks and criticism from a small faction of their congregations.
The researchers from Texas Tech University and Virginia Tech University also found that the clergy who had been forced out were more likely to report lower levels of self-esteem and higher levels of depression, stress and physical health problems.
And too few clergy are getting the help they need, said researcher Marcus Tanner of Texas Tech.
“Everybody knows this is happening, but nobody wants to talk about it,” Tanner said in an interview. “The vast majority of denominations across the country are doing absolutely nothing.” (David Briggs, Silent Clergy Killers: ‘Toxic’ Congregations Lead to Widespread Job Loss)
I recently read the profile of a congregation in search of a pastor. A survey of the membership was included and, interestingly, the majority had said they wanted a clergy person who would “make creative use of conflict” rather than avoid it. That’s refreshing, but it makes one wonder if they truly mean it and raises the question: what’s lurking underneath that response?
I also wonder why, when Jesus has given us a perfectly good model for dealing with conflict, we think we need to get creative about it. Maybe what we need to do is get back to basics, back to following Jesus’ instructions.
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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.
Until I undertook a little bit of Greek language study, I always thought Jesus’ pronouncements of woe were angry condemnations, predictions of doom, and certainly they can be that. On the other hand, they can be understood as something very different. The Greek word translated as “woe” is ouai which can also (and perhaps more properly) be translated as “alas.” The word is onomatopoeic, representing a deep sigh of sorrow or resignation. Perhaps Jesus is not so much condemning as mourning.
“O great,” I think, reading this story. “Here’s one of those fairy tales that make the story of Jesus so unbelievable for some people.” Let’s face it, a fish with a silver coin in its mouth that’s just enough to pay the taxes levied by the authorities ranks right up there with Jack’s magic beans, the goose that laid golden eggs, and Rapunzel’s spinning wheel that made gold from straw. It has all the markings of the fantastic and none of the real.
Confession: For years I have found Paul’s writing tedious. I read it because the early church reached consensus that his letters would be considered divinely inspired and the contemporary church has mandated that we read his stuff in the Daily Office and Eucharistic lectionaries. But I read it carelessly, not paying much attention. 
I sort of remember something from New Testament class at seminary that Paul would compose his letters by dictation to a secretary and then add greetings in his own handwriting. What I can’t remember is whether this verse (which seems such a strange intrusion into the text of the letter to the Galatians) in which he comments on the quality of his penmanship is taken by scholars to be proof of genuine Pauline authorship or as evidence that the letter wasn’t truly written by him. I know it’s one or the other. Whatever . . . it’s in the accepted canon of the New Testament.
I was listening to the radio yesterday. A golf club president was being interviewed about a professional golfer who had been killed in an air craft incident. I don’t golf or follow the game, so I have no idea who was being profiled, and that’s not relevant here. What is relevant is that the person being interviewed used the euphemism “he passed” to reference the golfer’s death. 
I have to admit that on first reading this, I had no idea what Qoheleth is saying here! Not the slightest. 
We got up this morning to the startling news that a major political figure had been defeated in his party’s primary by a candidate supported by what I would call an extremist fringe element of the party, a group which has gained more say and more influence in the party than it should have. I didn’t write a lectionary reflection until late in the day because, political news junkie that I am, I spent the morning listening to the radio pundits and perusing the on-line publications. Over and over I found the commentators using hyperbolic metaphors — earthquake, tornado, disaster, calamity — and asserting that the defeat was entirely unforeseen. “Wow!” I thought, “They sound like Qoheleth in today’s reading from Ecclesiastes!”
My stepfather was a good man with faults. That is probably a description that could apply to millions of people, probably most people — good with faults. Whether he would be classed by Qoheleth as “righteous” or as “wicked” — or perhaps somewhere in between — I have no idea. What I do know is that he enjoyed himself. 
