My reading of The Sermon On The Mount most recently focused on the present historical context. Imagine being on that hillside with the Galilean.
Just imagine.
There are a number of possible reasons for your presence.
You might be a disciple, one of the chosen ones. Your attendance, in that case, was more or less mandatory. If you are expected to help spread the message, you’d best learn it first-hand.
You might be there for personal reasons. You may have heard that this mysterious stranger had been going around healing the sick and that bunion was beginning to bother you.
You might have been curious. News probably travelled quickly in that region of the world.
You might have been a pharisee coming to check out the competition.
You might have been a politician thinking that this fellow’s followers might be a good group to latch onto.
You might have been a seller of goods attracted to any crowd that might make you rich.
Your boss might have sent you.
You might have heard that this stranger hated the Samaritans as much as you did.
You might have slipped in to seek righteousness, disguised, in order to avoid the wrath of your neighbors and the ruling elite.
Whatever the reason, the Galilean gave you a bitter pill to swallow. Can you imagine the chill you might have felt when he said the following?
“You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”
Oh hell.
That’s when the crowd might have thinned.
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