Exceeding in Conflict
By Anthony Casperson
7-1-23

I recently finished a video game that I mentioned part of in a sermon for Brushstrokes of a Theonerd not too long ago. That game is Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous. (Don’t worry, I won’t go into too deep of spoilers. And will only speak in vague terms to reach my point.)

Choices in this game really do make a difference to the story that you experience. And while in the midst of playing it, I felt the urge to consider a second playthrough. I wanted to have another angle from which to see the story.

But when I reached the culmination of the tale, I realized that a choice I’d made—one which I’d planned on making long before playing the game because I liked the idea of the reward for making it—had an amazingly terrible consequence. And left me dumbstruck enough that I haven’t touched the post-game DLC, let alone thought about playing it again.

That moment of truth struck me from out of nowhere. And made me see the main antagonist’s role from an entirely different angle.

Throughout the game, you catch glimpses of the antagonist’s background. And maybe, you can see how that relates to their current goals. The last quest or two before the endgame drop even bigger hints. But I still didn’t figure out how it related to my mission. Or why the antagonist seemed to grow so much more venomous after I made this one choice at the beginning of the game’s fifth act.

But it was in the final fight, when the cost of my battle against the antagonist finally came to light, that I realized the full picture. And in that moment, I literally spoke out loud, as if the character could actually hear me, and said, “Why didn’t you tell me that from the beginning?”

I felt terrible. Like I didn’t want to finish the rest of the game. (And if you know me, that’s a pretty big deal.) Because I didn’t want to make the person whom I’d seen as the enemy for so much of the game to suffer the consequences of my choice.

The twenty extra levels of character progression that I gained from the choice was certainly not worth what I had to inflict on the enemy. I wished I could’ve undone it all and suffered whatever it would’ve meant to not make them experience that dreadful ending. (Even though I did everything “right” enough to get a “good” ending of the game.)

Now, I realize that it’s all a bunch of imagination and pixels. Just ones and zeros that don’t actually feel anything. There was literally no cost to any enemy, because they don’t actually exist. But my experience in the moment of revelation showcases a heart in line with the part of the kingdom ethic that Jesus speaks about in our passage for this week’s blog, Matthew 5:38-48, in our “Summer on the Mount” series. (And trust me, I feel weird being a good example for the blog in an area where I know I have some struggles.)

Reaching the end of the first of three chapters that make up the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus has told his audience that those who belong to his kingdom must have a righteousness that exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees. To live in such a manner that doesn’t try to loosen the bounds of God’s commands to find loopholes while pretending to live perfectly in line with the letter of the law. But instead to understand the purpose of God behind the commands. To see who he is, and then live in line with him.

And in our verses, we come to the fifth and sixth “You have heard it said…, but I say…” of the chapter. Both of which have to do with conflict.

We’re not talking about conflict with close loved ones. But rather, with people who are our enemies. The antagonists to our story. “Those people,” if you catch my meaning.

Verses 38-42 give us the fifth saying of Jesus’ sermon. Here, Jesus says that his original audience had heard it said, “An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.” This concept has been a part of judicial systems for ages in the past. Though, we often don’t consider it as the limitation that the law intends to give us.

The law is meant to keep us from valuing our loss as greater than it really is. It’s only an eye—and no more than that—for an eye. Our tendency as fallen humans is to say, “Oh, you took my eye. Well, then I’m gonna rip off half of your face.” Or perhaps, “You hurt my feelings in a public forum on the internet. So, I’m going to knock down your platform and ruin your business.”

Such extremes are wrong. And what the law was meant to keep from happening.

Yet, even in that, people like the rules-lawyering Pharisees used the law to their advantage as they made sure to not miss out on one ounce of “eye” or “tooth” owed to them. It was as if they felt that the law commanded them to exact the whole amount from others. And no less than that.

But Jesus then tells us more about God’s perspective on this law. It’s a limitation, but we can ask for less. And in reality, we’ll find more value from attempting to form a relationship with those who pit themselves against us than we ever would get from retribution for the physical loss. It’s better for us to suffer further loss than to subject others to the same level of fallenness that they forced onto us.

If someone hits you with the most grievous insult possible before inflicting permanent harm—which in Jesus’ time was a slap on the face—don’t add insult to the insult. That only leads to further antagonism. It’ll only make you feel better until the next moment of antagonism hits you. Instead, offer them the other cheek. Draw them close enough to possibly give them another attempt at insult. And do it out of concern for the possibility of reconciliation.

Because no one can reconcile and yet remain at war.

This is who God shows us he is here. The God who saw his greatest creation slap him on the face with each and every one of our sins, yet chose to draw close to us by enfleshing himself in humanity. And he did this in order to take an even greater slap on the face through the cross. But he did it all to offer relationship with us. An offer that many use to slap him on the other cheek with their rejection of his offer for relationship. Yet still, he stands extending goodness to those who choose to be his enemies, right up until judgement finally comes due.

When we find ourselves at odds with an enemy, there is still value to the person they are. A value that our God gives them. So we should too.

It’s why Jesus moves on to the sixth saying in Matthew 5:43-48. His audience had heard it said to love their neighbor, but hate their enemies. While that first part is in the commands of God, the second half isn’t. On another occasion, Jesus even got a Pharisee to admit that the neighbor of the story was the person who showed mercy. And this is even though physically, societally, and philosophically the people in Jesus’ story were on polar opposite sides.

No wonder Jesus says to his audience to love our enemies and pray for those persecuting us. Both of those commands—love and pray—are found to be in a verbal form that means a continual, unending action. For we who belong to the kingdom of God, there should be no end to our seeking the betterment of our enemies, even if it costs us (which is the true meaning of godly love). And prayer upon prayer for God’s blessing in their lives should ever be on our lips.

It’s when we act this way—when we value relationship over possessions, and the personal/spiritual growth of our enemies over whatever loss we suffer for it—that is when we show the spiritual DNA of our Father in heaven. It’s when we’re easily recognized as God’s children, because we’re his spitting image.

God himself sends good things to both sinners and righteous. And it’s a good thing for us all, because without Jesus, we’re all sinners.

But if we’re only good to those who are good to us, if we only love once others prove their love to us, how are we any different from the rest of fallen humanity? Do we not then only reflect the familial bond with our fellow sinners?

Instead, Jesus calls us to reflect the perfection of God. To be mature spiritually, with the image of God obvious in our faces.

We who belong to the kingdom of God should consider the betterment and spiritual advancement of others over any insult. Over any loss.

When we see the antagonists of our story as people with hopes and dreams and fears and pains, we come to find their value. The worth that God placed in them as image-bearers of him. Their humanity.

And that makes them worth suffering any loss or insult. Jesus proved that’s how God sees us when he suffered the cross. And how he sees them as well.

How can we who belong to his kingdom see them in any different of a light?