Matthew 6

Chapter 6 of Matthew's Gospel is very much a series of “do this and not that” set of directives for followers of Jesus. Heavily laced with references to forgoing a reward from our fellows for what we do, it urges us to seek heavenly reward instead. When we donate, we should do so quietly, not ostentatiously; when we pray, we should do so privately; when we fast, we ought not make that an exhibit of our piety; etc. Summarized in verse 19, the principle behind all this is that earthly praise, reputation, honours will disappear and be forgotten; that which is humbly done in the name of Christ redounds to our eternal happiness and can never be expunged.

      Not really a message for the Sadducees, who didn't believe in eternal life, this could almost be an apology for the theology of the Pharisees who would likely have had little quarrel with much of what is attributed to Jesus here, although it should have felt like rebuke to those who had strayed from the admonitions for faith humility.

      The age-old tension between grace and works comes up in a way here in verse 14, after Jesus outlines the contents of a genuine prayer that ends in a plea for forgiveness and for help defending against sinful temptation. Verse 14 is almost in the covenant format: I will do this if you reciprocate with that. As it comes down to us, the Father will forgive us our sins if we forgive those who sin against us, but if we don't forgive them, neither will the Father forgive us. Some have labelled this the limits of grace. If so, it places a specific condition on grace: he who practices grace while alive, receives grace in quantity and in kind. However we practice this day to day, there's no getting away from the principle here that the creator demands grace and forgiveness—peacemaking—from us.

      The entire idea of treasure on earth, treasure in heaven is wrapped up in verse 19-21.

      Verse 22 is enigmatic: “The eye is the lamp of the body. If your eyes are healthy, your whole body will be full of light . . .” and the other way round. Appearing where it does, it strikes me that this must be understood as a figure of speech we call Synechdoche, where we use a part of something to represent the entire something. “Keep your nose out of my business” means keep all of you to yourself, not just the nose. The eye being our paying attention part here suggests that what our whole being pays attention to, immerses itself in, will be critical in our development as followers. Focus on the light (supposedly on the radical doctrine preceding this verse) and the light will dawn in you; focus on the message of the Saduccees and the high priests, for instance, and darkness will fill you – blindness, in other words.

      The idea is reiterated in verse 24: service cannot be fully rendered to two masters at once; you can't follow me and the high priests for instance, at the same time. Focus, people.

      The chapter concludes with a homily on the futility of worry and for me is kind of the most difficult part of the whole. I am a worrier to the point where I have to be medicated from time to time in order to function. “Take no thought for what you shall eat, wear, drink is something I don't worry about too much, but I'm wracked with worry about the future of the human race, the plight of my fellow men, women and children in war-torn places, the corporate destruction of the environment and the earth's ability to sustain us in health and beauty . . . and the list goes on. My attitude tends to be that “somebody better get a lot more worried . . . and active . . . or we'll never solve the problems so many people face on a daily basis.”

      What this last part may do for some is to remind again that the Gospel of Christ is freeing, not binding; it's graceful, not legalistic. Grace frees, legalism binds. Jesus appears to be painstakingly untying the bonds around the hearts and minds of his followers so that the new, the truly fulfilling gospel of forgiveness, freedom and love can take wing. We have a great word in German: verkramft most nearly translates “fettered,” and here again, I appeal to my English teaching background: hyperbole is an exaggeration in the interest of understanding. Of course I will worry, but through these words, my worry will take on a different meaning, a call to act rather than another reason to brood pessimistically about the doom and gloom coming at me over the near horizon.

      Each day has trouble of its own. Don't swallow and suffer indigestion on the entire ball of worry the news brings you; do your best to deal with the immediate needs of each new day. Is that comfort at all for you and me?