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Luke 12:49-56
A Sermon for the Tenth Sunday after Pentecost
Just two weeks ago, on August 6th, the world marked the 80th anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima, which ended Japan’s war on the United States in the Pacific in World War II.
This very weekend world leaders are trying to find a way to end the Russian slaughter in Ukraine and return the thousands of kidnapped Ukrainian children to their families.
In a few weeks, on Thursday, September 11th, Americans will mark the 24th anniversary of four coordinated Islamist terrorist suicide attacks by al-Qaeda against the United States.
And a few weeks after that, October 7th will mark the horrific Islamist massacre of Jews in Israel.
All this and we haven’t even mentioned China’s military build-up.
In our Gospel text today, the question is asked: “Do you think I have come to bring peace on earth? No, I tell you, but rather division” (Luke 12:51).
That text is, of course, talking about peace and war in a cosmic context—about the Lordship of Christ over and principalities and powers. Nevertheless, it raises the question of war and peace because the Gospel is not a word for some inner me, detached from the world. Rather, it’s a word which speaks to our deepest need and calls us into the world.
What then do we say about war?
When we go to the New Testament, we find the Sermon on the Mount says: “Blessed are the peacemakers” (Matthew 5:9). A few verses later there is a section which begins: “You have heard it was said an eye or an eye, a tooth for a tooth” (Matthew 5:38). That is a famous law of retribution we find in the Old Testament. It was an improvement over what had gone before. It established a limit on how you can strike back when attacked.
But then it goes on in Matthew 5:39: “But I say to you, Do not resist one who is evil. But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.”
There it is. What is said here is plain, simple, self-evident, clear: “Turn the other cheek.”
Those good church people who say they live by the Bible, who take simply, directly what the Bible says, must deal with this. Here there is no “right of self-defense.”
What do we do then? Because “no self-defense” leads to massive injustice, massacres, and the slaughter of innocents.
The early church struggled over whether it was possible or not for Christians to be soldiers. To be in the army in the Roman Empire meant you also had to venerate the emperor. It wasn’t the same thing as simply war itself.
We in the Judeo-Christian West are indebted to eminent churchmen, including Augustine and Aquinas, who made the case that there were just wars and developed criteria for engaging in them.
Questions of war and peace were hotly debated at the time of the Reformation, too. In 1527 Luther addressed this question in his sermon: “Can Soldiers, too, be saved?” He said:
“What men write about war, saying that it is a great plague, is all true. But they should also consider how great the plague is that war prevents. If people were good and wanted to keep peace, war would be the greatest plague on earth. But what are you going to do about the fact that people will not keep the peace, but rob, steal, kill, outrage women and children, and take away property and honor? The small lack of peace called war or the sword must set a limit to this universal, worldwide lack of peace which would destroy everyone” (LW 46:96).
And in The Augsburg Confession (1530) the Lutheran reformers wrote (Article 16):
“Christians may without sin occupy civil offices or serve as princes or judges, render decisions and pass sentence according to imperial and other existing laws, punish evil doers with the sword, engage in just wars, serve as soldiers, buy and sell, take required oaths, possess property, be married, etc.”
This bold defense of soldiers and just wars was taken over against other churches, other Christian groups, who prohibited their members from being involved in the world in these ways.
After the Reformation there were others, notably the Dutch lawyer, Hugo Grotius (1583-1645), who developed the case for nation states to have the right of self-defense, and the French philosopher Voltaire (1694-1778), who developed the importance of freedom of speech, freedom of religion, and the separation of church and state.
The right to self-defense, to free speech, freedom of religion, and the right to gather, etc., are the product of common reason developed over centuries of conflicts. It’s not something we derive from the Bible.
What do we say about war and peace today?
First, we take sin seriously. We never get beyond sin. Not us or others. We are not even less sinful that previous generations. And in two hundred years, Christians may look back on us and say how blind our generation was. How could we have done that? Didn’t we see the harm we were doing?
Regarding sin, the witness of Scripture is timeless. Jeremiah 17:9 reminds us: “The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately corrupt.” Isaiah 64:6: “All our righteous deeds are filthy rags.” And Paul: “None are righteous, no not one” (Romans 3:10).
Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, speaking of sin and evil, put the human situation succinctly: “The line separating good and evil passes not through states, nor between classes, nor between political parties either—but right through every human heart—and through all human hearts.”
As Solzhenitsyn showed, those social and political movements that claim to be able to get beyond sin and get rid of evil in toto will only in the end magnify it in unimaginable ways.
Part of our witness as Christians is that the human condition doesn’t change through the centuries. We never get beyond sin. We cannot defeat evil in toto.
What then do we do?
We Lutherans have something distinctive, something other Christians lack—a two kingdoms doctrine. There is no doctrine of two kingdoms in Catholicism, in the Orthodox, or among other Protestants. We have a distinctive contribution to make to the larger Christian world: Luther’s understanding of God’s two kingdoms.
It is as follows: The Lord’s right-hand kingdom is his future, perfect kingdom to come, which comes by his power alone, without our help. The right-hand kingdom is God’s way of salvation—by the cross and resurrection alone. In this his peaceable kingdom to come, death shall be no more (Revelation 21:4), and the lion will lie down with the lamb (Isaiah 11:6).
In the Lord’s right-hand kingdom, reason has no role. In fact, Luther said that reason in the right-hand kingdom is a whore. It’s like what Paul says: Jews demand signs and Greeks seek wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified, a scandal and foolishness. We can’t think into or see into God’s ways. His ways are not our ways.
But in God’s left-hand kingdom in this world, the Lord works through reason and the sword to restrain evil and drive us to the foot of the cross. The Lord’s left-hand kingdom is our daily life. Here the Lord works through common reason and the sword to restrain evil.
Both kingdoms are the Lord’s. Both kingdoms are God’s ways of working.
As Christians we live simultaneously in both kingdoms. In Baptism we die with him and are raised to live in his kingdom of life forever. In the Lord’s Supper we receive his forgiveness and proclaim his Lordship, his victory, his feast to come.
In our daily life we have work to do but not as “kingdom builders.” As Luther said: The Gospel cannot legislate for the world, nor the world for the Gospel.
Our job is more modest. It is to restrain evil that life may endure and others may hear the Good News, be baptized into his death, and raised to live in his kingdom where sin and death are no more.
How do we live in this God’s left-hand kingdom? We come back again to Romans 13:10: “Love does no harm to the neighbor.” We ask: What does harm? Reason is given for the purpose of sorting out life. That’s a matter of using commonsense distinctions between good and evil and greater and lesser evils.
We look at war using reason, knowing we will make mistakes. We have no superior knowledge and no zone of purity. What we know is this: We know our need of a savior and the Savior we need. We live by forgiveness, by the cross. That means saying “No” to living by some kind of fantasy.
We live knowing that “underneath are the everlasting arms” (Deuteronomy 33:27). The arms of him who died and rose for the ungodly. He says: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you” (John 14:27).
Amen