Reconciliation Can't Wait

Picture a murder trial, a judge, a jury. You're the defendant, and you are pretty confident. You've never murdered anyone. You've never come close. And if this was a trial on the sixth commandment, do not murder, you're walking out without a stain on your record.

Except today, Jesus is the judge and jury. And he's not asking whether you've pulled the trigger or swung a knife. He's asking you for a name of someone. The co-worker, spouse, friend, child, roommate you've rehearsed an argument with in the shower. And one, of course, you know.

The roommate—the one you freshmen are really in for a treat if you don't know your roommate yet. The upperclassmen are like, phew, got rid of the freshman one. You know, the one who leaves their stuff everywhere and won't clean up. The sibling. You're coming home for Thanksgiving. You don't want to sit next to them. The person in church, when you hear their name, your body tenses up. Somewhere in this room right now, there's a name attached to a grudge that you have. And we're not in the Midwest. We know this isn't Minnesota or Iowa. We don't like paper over it with our passive aggressiveness. And this isn't the bless-your-heart South. This is Montana. We share our grudges openly.

The Law and the Heart

We're making our way through the Sermon on the Mount. And this is Jesus speaking. The Son of God, the one who spoke the universe into being. The one who was sent by the Father and who is with the Father and the Spirit forever. Who was sent by the Father into this world to rescue us. The one who died and rose and sent his Spirit into this world to break the power that is in this world, and now is at work around the world. And Jesus is speaking. Matthew has collected it. He summarized it. He's translated it into Greek. And now we get to hear it in English. And that's amazing. We get to hear the first sermon of Jesus—at least the first sermon we have in Matthew.

Jesus knows what people are saying about him. They think he has a relaxed view of the law God has given Israel. He's already told them false. He did not come to abolish the law, but to fulfill it. The whole law points back to him. He's the one who gets to interpret it, because the whole thing is about him. So this is the first sermon: How do you read the law? It's a sermon from God about the law, given by the person who gave the law.

And all of us need it. We need the push. These words, if you read the Sermon on the Mount and just don't go, "mm," or go, "impossible," you're not reading it close. They just ruin the ease in which you read those Ten Commandments from the Old Testament and you realize, oh, I have murder in my own heart. So let's let the surgeon work and see what happens.

Guilty as Charged

In Matthew 5:21–22, we are guilty as charged: "You have heard that it was said to the people long ago, 'You shall not murder, and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment.'" Now, that's Exodus 20:13, the sixth commandment, backed by Israel's legal system. A murderer stood before a court then and was judged. And when you read the Ten Commandments, what are they? They're mostly prohibitions. Do not do this, don't do that. But they imply the opposite. "Have no other gods before me" is a negative, but it's not just a negative; it demands something on a positive. God must be first in your life. So when the sixth commandment is "do not murder," it isn't just about taking someone's life. There is a positive demand on the other side of it, and it is the way in which you view people.

So here's what the scribes and Pharisees have done. They have taken that command and they've limited it to one thing. Case closed: if you don't spill someone else's blood, you're good. Go home feeling righteous. And Jesus is now going to say, wrong. They don't see the heart behind the command. That's why I think—and this is super important—this is why it says, "You have heard that it was said." He doesn't say "It is written." Hear the difference? "You have heard it was said," not "It was written." He's talking about what they have been taught about the law, not correcting or changing Scripture itself.

"But I tell you that anyone who is angry with a brother or sister will be subject to judgment. Again, anyone who says to a brother or sister, 'Raca,' is answerable to the court, the Sanhedrin, Israel's highest tribunal. But anyone who says, 'You fool!' will be in danger of the fire of hell."

The Seed of Contempt

Look at what Jesus does here. He gets underneath what everyone sees. You know, sin basically is a matter of the heart before it ever becomes a behavior issue. So he starts with the contempt for a person that leads to murder. And that's the target in the text. The anger here isn't like explosive anger all at once; it's the slow, deliberate kind that festers and grows like mold and eventually takes over, and you're like, why am I like this? Insults like Raca and you fool are not things you throw out in the heat of the moment. Raca is Aramaic for empty-headed, worthless. And you fool translates a Greek word where we sort of get our word "moron."

There is a way in which you call someone these words, and you might not do it out loud—you probably won't, especially if you're from the Midwest—but you're thinking it. You're not just describing them; you are positioning yourself above them. You've made yourself the judge, they're the defendant, and you've already reached the verdict. They're just less intelligent, they're less reasonable, they're less worthy of my patience. So instead of saying, "this is a person made in the image of God," you see them as someone smaller than you, someone not worth your time. Jesus says murder starts in your heart the minute you think someone is beneath you.

And notice who we do it to. The word there is brother, sister—not a stranger, but someone Jesus died for. You've decided, "I know that Jesus loves them, but..." Ever have a "but" in your sentence? You decided you get to look down on them anyway. This is family language; this is church language. This is the person two, maybe three rows away from you right now—maybe ten, because you're doing it on purpose. Conflict isn't hypothetical classroom stuff; this is where your feet are, this is where your life is. These are the people you have the opportunity to rub the wrong way, and they have the opportunity to rub you the wrong way. I don't know anyone who lives a conflict-free life unless they're alone, and then you're mostly at conflict with yourself. What would you talk about if you didn't have any conflict in your life?

Conflict with friends, conflict with family, conflict with spouses, conflict with siblings, conflict at work, conflict with your government, conflict against nations, and conflict in the church. People who embrace the faith, built upon self-sacrificial love and forgiveness, often find themselves in disputes. The New Testament reveals that even Christians in the early church wrestled with conflict right out of Christ's resurrection, empowered by the Holy Spirit. The apostle Paul, who spoke about unity so strongly, split with his close friend Barnabas. They were friends, in ministry together, pastored a church together, on staff at Antioch, did missions together, saw miracles together—and they could not get along because of Barnabas' cousin.

Defending the Ego

The church, by its very nature, consists of people—you little sinners. Diverse individuals who carry various backgrounds, expectations, personalities, and methods of relating to one another. And we are a family, and we don't have the luxury of choosing who's in the family.

I just want to point something else out. You know the New Testament was copied over time, right? And some scribes did not like this saying, so they added something. In a lot of manuscripts, they add a qualifier: "angry with your brother or sister without cause." Someone was trying to lighten the burden of the text! But Jesus isn't letting them do that. He's speaking in absolutes. He has no nuance. You're probably looking for an escape at this point: "Where's the nuance? What about this situation or that situation?" But Jesus is purposely making you feel the weight of this thing before you find the exception to the rule. The anger he's naming here is not the kind of anger that defends someone else; it's the kind of anger that defends you. You're so smart, they're so dumb. You're so wise, they're so foolish. You're so reasonable, they're unreasonable. And if you want to throw it in for good measure, that little add-on: "always." If you're in a fight and someone drops the word "always" into a conversation, it's probably the person saying "always," not you. "You're always like this."

Why is this kind of anger so hard to kill? Why does Jesus go after this right off the bat in the very first sermon recorded in Matthew? He could have picked the first commandment, second, third, fourth, fifth, seventh, eighth, ninth, tenth. Why this one first? Because by your nature, and by my nature, we protect ourselves. Your sense of needing to be vindicated, your ego demanding you always get the last word, your self-worth depending on being right—your anger feels justified. You might not say it out loud, but you think, "How dare you treat me like this?" That's exactly why Jesus speaks without nuance. He states it in the most extreme way possible and lets it stand so you feel the weight before it softens: "Anyone who is angry at his brother or sister will be subject to judgment." It should hit you with full strength before you look for the off-ramps.

The Danger of Unchecked Anger

A Cornell sociologist ran the largest survey ever done on one question: How many American adults have completely cut off a family member? Almost 30%—nearly one in three adults. In a room this size, almost 30% have cut off a family member. That's 67 million people. Our culture is training us to treat interpersonal anger as a virtue and to label someone as toxic as a moral duty. And you don't even need modern statistics; look at history. Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr weren't enemies at first; they were friends, lawyers, veterans. Hamilton called Burr unprincipled, dangerous, a contemptuous man not fixed on any morality—constantly in letters he knew would get back to him. In 1804, those words fired off in private led to a public reckoning on a riverbank in New Jersey where Burr shot Hamilton. Nobody planned that murder when they first met. What happened? Jesus describes it: when you say "you fool" repeatedly over time, the contempt does its work, and the trigger is already pulled.

So the question for point one is: Who is the name? The name you always attach to "always" and "never"? As soon as you hear yourself saying the name, you realize this is a confession. You're confessing that there is a slow burn of anger in your heart. Now, if you know your Bible, you might think, "Hey, Jesus flipped tables over! He called the Pharisees a brood of vipers or fools!" But His anger was never for Himself. Even on the cross, as He was mocked and spit on, what did He pray? "Father, forgive them." He gets angry at sin and injustice; He is not angry at personal offenses. He is the supreme example: angry at sin, silent at personal insult. Could you imagine living that way?

How many of you say in an argument, "It's not my fault"? Kids, have you ever said to your parents in a fight with your siblings, "Oh yeah, this is all me, my fault"? No, you've never said that in your life. Adults, when someone asks why you're grumpy, do you say, "Yeah, my fault, it's just me"? No. Why? Because we think we need to be rescued from difficult people, when the reality is that you are the difficult person—you need to be rescued from yourself. The apostle John writes in 1 John 2:9, "Anyone who claims to be in the light but hates his brother or sister is still in darkness." Despising a brother or sister puts you in peril with God. So that's guilty as charged.

Leave Your Gift and Go

In verses 23 and 24, Jesus says: "Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled to them; then come and offer your gift."

There's a "therefore." Jesus applies what He's just said to a concrete scene. Put it in real terms today: You're sitting in this room, worshiping full-throated, Bible in hand, listening to the sermon, and a name pops into your head. You know they are angry with you, and it's your fault. What do you do? Read the sentence again, because it's easy to get backwards. It doesn't say if you remember *you're* angry at your brother. It says the anger is *theirs*. An offense has been done by you. Matthew 18 later says if someone sinned against *you*, go show them their fault. That's a different text. Today's text is: *you* are the reason they have something against you. You are the reason they're angry. You have to go to them. You don't wait.

Doesn't that seem impossible? Paul writes, "As far as it depends on you, be at peace with all people." Jesus says, "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God." Who actually wants to humble themselves, get up mid-service, and leave until they've made it right? Why is this so serious? Why does Jesus say interrupt your worship?

The Root of Bitterness

First, holding an offense has deep roots. The author of Hebrews writes, "See to it that no one fails to obtain the grace of God, and that no root of bitterness springs up and causes trouble, and by it many be defiled." Roots are underground and invisible; you only see what breaks through the surface. The author of Hebrews is trying to stop the root system before it establishes. Paul says, "Be angry and do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger, and give no opportunity to the devil." Unaddressed anger gives the devil an opportunity. You plant a lie because of anger, let it sit overnight, give it a month, and watch how you remember that person. You become an expert in their worst moments and blind to everything good. Bitterness doesn't stay contained; it recruits. That's why Jesus says drop your altar gift and go help them out—not just because you created an offense, but for their sake.

Leave your gift right there mid-ceremony. Think what that means for worship: reconciliation is more important than a financial gift or religious activity meant to soothe your conscience. You could give a million dollars to a Christian organization, but if you can't pick up the phone and call someone who has a beef with you, the Lord doesn't care about the million dollars. He would rather you leave your offering on the ground than receive worship from someone who has left an unaddressed wound in someone else's life. Worship is not private; it has a horizontal cost in how you treat people. Your relationship with God and your relationship with people are a package deal.

In church history, congregations used to practice "fencing the table" before communion. Elders would examine the congregation, and if there was known unresolved conflict, you were asked not to take communion yet—not as punishment, but as mercy: go make it right first, then come to the table. Reconciliation wasn't a nice follow-up to worship; it was the entry requirement. That is the exact opposite of our individualized "worship on a hike at sunrise" culture. Jesus demands that we stop private, unaccountable spirituality.

Settle Matters Quickly

In verses 25 and 26, Jesus gives a second scenario: "Settle matters quickly with your adversary who is taking you to court. Do it while you are still together on the way, or your adversary may hand you over to the judge, and the judge may hand you over to the officer, and you may be thrown into prison. Truly I tell you, you will not get out until you have paid the very last penny."

The first scenario was religious; the second is a legal courtroom with debts, an adversary, and a judge. But the lesson is the same: do it quickly, do it now. Notice the shift in language: verse 23 says "brother," while verse 25 says "adversary"—an enemy. Jesus isn't only telling you to chase reconciliation inside the church; He's telling you to pursue it with an enemy image-bearer. You and your adversary are walking to court, and Jesus says settle now, because once you arrive, the judge decides, the officer executes, and it will cost you everything.

Urgent Reconciliation

Later in the sermon, Jesus pushes even deeper: don't resist an evil person, turn the other cheek, walk the extra mile, pray for those who work against you. As long as your self-worth depends on being honored or vindicated, you won't be able to do this.

In 1991, Warren Buffett's Berkshire Hathaway had a major stake in Salomon Brothers when executives got caught submitting false bids for U.S. treasury bonds. Bad executives sat on the fraud for months hoping it would fade away. When it surfaced, they faced criminal indictment. Another firm, Drexel Burnham Lambert, had done the same thing, stonewalled, and got indicted and destroyed. But Buffett took over as interim chair at Salomon and did the opposite: he went before Congress, fired people, opened the books to regulators, and settled every claim as fast as possible. Seeing the company run toward accountability, the Justice Department didn't charge them. That is the picture of verse 25: two guilty entities walking toward a judge—one settles fast on the way, while the other waits for court and gets thrown in prison. Who is your adversary that you've wronged? Don't wait. Go to them and settle before it hardens.

Power to Forgive

Why can you do this, Christian? You can do this because of the cost God paid to settle your debt. You're the one who couldn't pay, and the One speaking in this text paid your cost. There is real power available to do what Jesus demands. When you realize what Christ has done for you, you don't care about defending your honor or hiding your sin. You go to them as a forgiven person. That same power that raised Jesus from the dead and reconciled you to a holy God is available to help you walk across the room, phone a friend, or tell an adversary, "You're right, I was wrong." You cannot do this on your own—but in His forgiveness, you are set free to try.