There is a story by Graham Greene
called The Heart of the Matter. It takes place during the Second World War in an unnamed
British colony in Africa. Greene does a very
effective job of showing what a difficult cultural experience
it was for everyone involved. Those who felt the oppression of British rule, of course, but also the peculiar discomforts of the British working in this
foreign land. There was much talk about the weather – far too hot and humid and
sunny for the English,
except during the rainy season, six months when they all fear they may drown.
There was the malaria, which seemed to be an
inevitability for anyone who was there long enough, and apparently no treatment for it except quinine. So, lots of gin and tonics. And there was the overwhelming level of distrust – which
went in every direction, and this is where we see the real problem.
The distrust, the constant tendency to be suspicious of
others’ motives, the lack of understanding, and the resentment that every group
seemed to have for the others, all contributed to a sort of sinister
atmosphere.
One of these British officers is named Scobie. He has been there 15 years, an unusually
long time and, consequently, the other Englishmen regard him as suspect. Because they wonder
how anyone could have survived in this place for so long. They know how hard it is. They
know that many men have come and gone, corrupted by their experiences to a
greater or lesser degree. And so they are very interested in, and suspicious of, Scobie. They spread rumors about him and all the corrupt
things they imagine he has done. Yet Scobie is
so disciplined he never allows himself to react to the rumors in the smallest way.
It seems
that Scobie has managed to survive because of his discipline. He knows where the
fault lines are, and he is
always conscious of steering clear of them. He goes to the officer’s club in the early evening but
refuses a drink because he will be on duty that night. He diligently reports every infraction of the rules, dotting every I and
crossing every T. In fact, Scobie is even careful when he writes to his wife,
lest he put down anything on paper that would be,
even in the smallest sense, a lie. He would simply be unable to sign his name
to a written document that contained any untruth.
If he errs it is on the side of omission. Every
interaction of his life is handled as though he were under oath on the witness
stand.
But one day he does something unusual. In a certain way it
is wholly consistent with his character. Yet, in another way and at the same time, it is completely out of character for Scobie. He has a
moment of sympathy for a man who broke a rule for
what seemed to be a good reason. Rather than submit an honest report about a rules
infraction, Scobie hides it.
He doesn’t do it for a bribe – even though he was offered one, he refused it. He only does it
because it feels like the humane thing to do. But, after he does this, a strange thing
unfolds.
It is as though this one action has punctured a hole in
Scobie’s moral cloak. And he is no longer able to guard himself from the evil in the atmosphere, the
opportunities for sin that always hover around him. One small act leads to
another slightly larger act, then another even larger act. And Scobie is
drowning.
It is as though he has lost his moral compass, because Scobie’s compass was only upheld
by a perfect submission to the rules. Unfortunately for Scobie, it is not in
the nature of humans to be perfect.
Presbyterians have no illusions about that. We are
aware that our nature is fallible, that there is a weakness built into us that
makes us liable to do the wrong we would try to avoid, and to fail to do the
things we know we ought to
do. It is not for nothing that we confess our sinfulness
when we gather together each Sunday. We stand in need
of God’s forgiveness. Every day.
Given that, the words we hear Jesus say in this part of his sermon to his disciples
and the crowds listening to him seem incredible.
You thought it was hard when he called you salt. Now he
calls you to tear out your
eye. You were surprised when he said he had not come to abolish the law and its
hold over us but rather to fulfill the law. Now he seems to be showing just how
hard it might be.
If you are angry, you will be liable to judgment. If you
insult someone you will be liable to the fires of hell. Jesus takes the laws
they already know and raises the stakes to the nth degree.
And that seems to be what Scobie is doing also. He has created a ten-foot fence around the faults he might be liable
to commit. He strives to live a perfectly upright life in every way.
He fails.
It takes a rather long time, but he eventually fails. And
when he does, he has not a compass, an anchor, nor a lifeboat. He is utterly adrift at sea, and will, without doubt, drown.
It doesn’t work. It simply never works when you aim for faultlessness.
Scobie holds his failure close. It is indelibly marked in
his memory as the day he lost his integrity. Once he had crossed over the line,
that ten-foot fence he had created, he just didn’t know anymore where the
boundary lines were.
The story of Scobie is a tragedy,
because he is a good man. The reader sympathizes with him as we watch him
falter and falter again. We watch him grow more
confused about everything around him. He goes to his monthly confession and he
says to the priest, “All through this month I have
done the minimum.” In a moment of insight he says, “I don’t know how to
put it, Father, but I feel – tired of my religion. It seems to mean nothing to
me.” Yet the priest finds no real fault in him and seems to have nothing much
to offer. He assigns him his Hail Marys and Our
Fathers and dismisses him.
Scobie is a man who has always
tried to avoid doing wrong. His downfall, perhaps, is that he has not thought
enough about doing right. He has not paid attention to the heart of the matter.
And the heart of the matter is that we are created in the
image of a loving God. For
Christians, Jesus is our model for what it means
to be made in God’s image.
The heart of the matter is that in Christ we receive forgiveness for our trespasses, yes, but
also the Spirit that allows us to grow in grace.
This is
what Jesus wants us to see:
To avoid the wrong is the bare minimum. To seek the good is to live into our identity
as the image of God.
This is the heart of the matter:
To accept God’s forgiveness for our wrongs yet to strive
anew for the good.
To know ourselves as humble and
frail creatures yet to seek to be like Christ.
To turn, once again, from sin and to center ourselves in
God’s love.
In the words of Moses: God sets before us blessings and curses, life and death. “Choose life,” he says. Choose life.
It is a choice that we all have. When we keep our focus on
the edges, the boundary lines, we are keeping our focus on sin, failure, death.
But when we look to Jesus, his words and actions, we see all the possibility there is for us. We see the possibility of life in
all its fullness.
When all is said and done, that is the heart of the matter.
Photo by Nedelcu Catalin: https://www.pexels.com/photo/hand-drawing-a-heart-on-the-steamy-car-window-15316723/
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