Sermon on the Mount Final - Passages

Joy and Hope: On the Sermon on the Mount, University of Notre Dame

“Then he looked up at his disciples and said:

Blessed are you who are poor,

for yours is the kingdom of God.

Blessed are you who are hungry now,

for you will be filled.

Blessed are you who weep now,

for you will laugh.

Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and

defame you on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely

your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets.

But woe to you who are rich,

for you have received your consolation.

Woe to you who are full now,

for you will be hungry.

Woe to you who are laughing now,

for you will mourn and weep.

Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what their ancestors did to the false prophets.”

Luke 6: 20-26

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.”

Matthew 6: 25-33

“Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves. You will know them by their fruits. Are grapes gathered from thorns, or figs from thistles? In the same way, every good tree bears good fruit, but the bad tree bears bad fruit. A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a bad tree bear good fruit. Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. Thus you will know them by their fruits.”

Matthew 7: 15-20

“From this it is evident that in the same woman a good Christian loves the being that God has created, and that he wishes her to be transformed and renewed, while he hates the corruptible and mortal relationship and marital intercourse. In other words, it is evident that he loves her insofar as she is a human being, but that he hates her under the aspect of wifehood. And he also loves an enemy, not insofar as he is an enemy, but insofar as he is a human being; he loves him in such a way that he wishes for him the same good fortune that he wishes for himself. This means that he wishes him to be corrected of his faults, to become a new man, and thus to enter the kingdom of heaven. [...] Consequently, the disciple of Christ must hate the things that are transitory in those persons whom he wishes to come with him to the things that endure; the more he loves those persons, so much the more must he hate those things.”

St. Augustine, Commentary on the Lord’s Sermon on the Mount

“Therefore, whenever necessity compels us to reprove or rebuke someone, we ought to proceed with piety and caution. First of all, let us consider whether the man's fault is such as we ourselves have never had, or whether it is one that we have overcome. Then, if we have never had such a fault, let us remember that we are human, and could have had it. But, if we have had it and are rid of it now, let us remember our common frailty, in order that mercy—and not hatred—may lead us to the giving of reproval or rebuke. In this way, whether the rebuke occasions the amendment or the worsening of the man for whose sake we are giving it (for the result cannot be foreseen), we ourselves shall be secure through our singleness of eye. But, if on reflection we find that we ourselves have the same fault as the man we are about to rebuke, let us neither reprove nor rebuke him; rather, let us bemoan the fault, and induce that man to a like effort, without asking him to submit to our correction.”

St. Augustine, Commentary on the Lord’s Sermon on the Mount

“The ninth step of humility is that a monk controls his tongue and remains silent, not speaking unless asked a question, for Scripture warns, ‘In a flood of words you will not avoid sinning’ (Prov 10:19), and, ‘A talkative man goes about aimlessly on earth’ (Ps139[140]:12).

The tenth step of humility is that he is not given to ready laughter, for it is written: ‘Only a fool raises his voice in laughter’ (Sir 21:23).

The eleventh step of humility is that a monk speaks gently and without laughter, seriously and with becoming modesty, briefly and reasonably, but without raising his voice, as it is written: ‘A wise man is known by his few words.’”

St. Benedict of Nursia, The Rule of St. Benedict

“That Soul: And o true medicine, Humility, grant me your help, for pride has broken me in many vices, inflicting many scars on me. Now I'm escaping to you - so take me up!

Humility: O all you Virtues, lift up this mournful sinner, with all her scars, for the sake of Christ's wounds, and bring her to me.

Virtues: We want to bring you back - we shall not desert you, the whole host of heaven will rejoice in you: thus it is right for us to sound our music.

Humility: O wretched daughter, I want to embrace you: the great surgeon has suffered harsh and bitter wounds for your sake.”

St. Hildegard of Bingen, Ordo Virtutum

“Chastity: In the mind of the Highest, o Satan, I trod on your head, and in a virginal form I nurtured a sweet miracle when the Son of God came into the world; therefore you are laid low, with all your spoils, and now let all who dwell in heaven rejoice, because your womb has been confounded.

Devil: You don't know what you are nurturing, for your womb is devoid of the beautiful form received from man; in this you transgress the command that God enjoined in the sweet coupling; so you don't even know what you are!

Chastity: How can what you say affect me? Even your suggestion smirches it with foulness. I did bring forth a man, who gathers up mankind to himself, against you, through his nativity.”

St. Hildegard of Bingen, Ordo Virtutum

“Although he energetically urged the friars to lead an austere life, he was not pleased by an overstrict severity that did not put on a heart of compassion and was not seasoned with the salt of discretion. One night a friar was tormented with hunger because of his excessive fasting and was unable to get any rest. When the devoted shepherd realized that danger threatened one of his sheep, he called the friar and put some bread before him. Then, to take away his embarrassment, Francis himself began to eat first and affectionately invited him to eat. The friar overcame his embarrassment and took the food, overjoyed that through the discrete condescension for his shepherd he had avoided harm to his body and received an edifying example of no small proportion. When morning came, the man of God called the friars together and told them what had happened during the night, adding this advice: ‘Brothers, in this incident, let the charity and not the food be an example to you.’ He taught them besides to follow prudence as the charioteer of the virtues, not the prudence which the flesh recommends, but the prudence taught by Christ, whose most holy life expressed for us the model of perfection.”

St. Bonaventure, The Life of St. Francis

“When he pronounced or heard the name ‘Jesus,’ he was filled with joy interiorly and seemed to be altered exteriorly as if some honey-sweet flavor had transformed his taste or some harmonious sound had transformed his hearing. It happened in the third year before his death that he decided, in order to arouse devotion, to celebrate at the Greccio with the greatest possible solemnity the memory of the birth of the Child Jesus. So that this would not be considered a type of novelty, he petitioned for and obtained permission from the Supreme Pontiff. He had a crib prepared, hay carried in and an ox and an ass led to the place. The friars were summoned, the people came, the forest resounded with their voices and that venerable night was rendered brilliant and solemn by a multitude of bright lights and by resonant and harmonious hymns of praise. The man of God stood before the crib, filled with affection, bathed in tears and overflowing with joy. A solemn Mass was celebrated over the crib, with Francis as deacon chanting the holy Gospel. Then he preached to the people standing about concerning the birth of the poor King, whom, when he wished to name him, he called in his tender love, the Child of Bethlehem.”

St. Bonaventure, The Life of St. Francis

“What is meant by a ‘pure heart’ is this: one that is watching and pondering what God says and replacing its own ideas with the Word of God. This alone is pure before God, yes, purity itself, which purifies everything that it includes and touches. Therefore, though a common laborer, a shoemaker, or a blacksmith may be dirty and sooty or may smell because he is covered with dirt and pitch, still he may sit at home and think: ‘My God has made me a man. He has given me my house, wife, and child and has commanded me to love them and to support them with my work.’ Note that he is pondering the Word of God in his heart; and though he stinks outwardly, inwardly he is pure incense before God. [...] Therefore leave the angels up there in heaven undisturbed. Look for them here on earth below, in your neighbor, father and mother, children, and others. Do for these what God has commanded, and the angels will never be far away from you.”

Martin Luther, The Sermon on the Mount

“We cannot be justified or saved through the teaching of the Law, which only brings us to the knowledge of ourselves, the knowledge that by our own ability we cannot properly fulfill an iota of it. Once we have become Christians through Baptism and faith, we do as much as we can. Still we can never take our stand before God on this basis, but we must always creep to Christ. He has fulfilled it all purely and perfectly, and He gives Himself to us, together with His fulfillment. Through Him we can take our stand before God, and the Law cannot incriminate or condemn us. So it is true that all must be accomplished and fulfilled even to the smallest dot, but only through this one Man.”

Martin Luther, The Sermon on the Mount

“Thus a prince may wear golden chains and a mantle of sable. But if he is pious, he is such a tormented and miserable man under that mantle of sable that you could not find his equal in any monastery. In this way you can go through all the offices and stations. Wherever you find a pious man or woman, you do not have to go looking for a monk or a nun. For such a person is already enough of a monk and is following a harder routine than the whole hooded and tonsured crowd. Before God all the monks and hermits are foolishness in comparison with one pious child, servant, or maid who is obedient and faithful in the performance of his duty. Just do what a pious man or woman should do, and you will have a rule more stringent than the rules, the cowls, and the tonsures of Francis and all the monks, which are more likely to cover a villain than a pious Christian.”

Martin Luther, The Sermon on the Mount

“Well, let us imagine that within us is an extremely rich palace, built entirely of gold and precious stones; in sum, built for a lord such as this. Imagine, too, as is indeed so, that you have a part to play in order for the palace to be so beautiful; for there is no edifice as beautiful as is a soul pure and full of virtues. The greater the virtues the more resplendent the jewels. Imagine, also, that in this palace dwells this mighty King who has been gracious enough to become your Father; and that He is seated upon an extremely valuable throne, which is your heart. This may seem trifling at the beginning; I mean, this image I’ve used in order to explain recollection. But the image may be very helpful—to you especially—for since we women have no learning, all of this imagining is necessary that we may truly understand that within us lies something incomparably more precious than what we see outside ourselves. Let’s not imagine that we are hollow inside. And please God it may be only women that go about forgetful of this inner richness and beauty. I consider it impossible for us to pay so much attention to worldly things if we take the care to remember we have a Guest such as this within us, for we then see how lowly these things are next to what we possess within ourselves. Well, what else does an animal do upon seeing what is pleasing to its sight than satisfy its hunger by taking the prey? Indeed, there should be some difference between them and us.”

Teresa of Ávila, The Way of Perfection

“It’s very necessary that this fear be deeply impressed within the soul. Such fear is easy to obtain if there is true love together with a great inner determination, as I have said, not to commit an offense against God for any created thing, even though afterward the soul may sometimes fall because we are weak and have no reason to trust ourselves. When we are more determined we are less confident of ourselves, for confidence must be placed in God. When we understand this that I said about ourselves, there will be no need to go about so tense and constrained; the Lord will protect us, and the habit acquired will now be a help against offending Him. The need instead will be to go about with a holy freedom, conversing with those who are good even though they may be somewhat worldly. For those who, before you possessed this authentic fear of God, were a poison and a means of killing the soul will afterward often be a help to your loving a praising God more because He has freed you from that which you recognize as a glaring danger. If previously you played a part in contributing to their weaknesses, now by your mere presence you contribute to their restraint; this happens without their having any idea of paying you honor.”

Teresa of Ávila, The Way of Perfection

“But the ability to keep silent is something you can learn out there in the company of the lily and the bird, where there is silence and also something of divinity in that silence. There is silence out there, and not only when everything keeps silent in the silence of night, but also when a thousand strings are in motion all day long and everything is a sea of sound, as it were—and nonetheless there is silence out there: each one in particular does it so well that not one of them, and none of them all together, do anything to break the solemn silence. There is silence out there. The forest keeps silent; even when it whispers, it is nonetheless silent. For the trees, even where they stand most closely together, keep their word to one another—which human beings do so infrequently, despite having given their word that “This will remain between us.” The sea keeps silent; even when it rages loudly, it is nonetheless silent. At first, you perhaps hear incorrectly, and you hear it rage. If you rush away bearing that message, you do the sea an injustice. On the other hand, if you take your time and listen more carefully, you will hear—how amazing!—you will hear the silence, for uniformity is of course also silence. When the silence of evening descends upon the countryside, and you hear the distant lowing of cattle from the meadow, or you hear the familiar voice of the dog from the farmer’s house, it cannot be said that this lowing or the dog’s voice disturbs the silence—no, this is a part of the silence, it has a secret, and thus a silent, understanding with the silence; it increases it.”

Søren Kierkegaard, The Lily of the Field and the Bird of the Air

“If the place assigned to the lily is really as unfortunate as possible, so that it can be easily foreseen that it will be totally superfluous all its life, not be noticed by a single person who might find joy in it; if the place and the surroundings are—yes, I had forgotten it was the lily of which we are speaking—are so ‘desperately’ unfortunate, that not only is it not visited, but is avoided: the obedient lily obediently submits to its circumstances and bursts forth in all its loveliness. We human beings—or rather, a human being in the lily’s situation—would say: ‘It is hard, it is unendurable, when one is a lily and is as lovely as a lily, then to be assigned a place in such a location, to have to bloom there, in surroundings that are as unfavorable as possible, that are as if calculated to annihilate the impression of one’s loveliness. No, it is unendurable. It is of course a self-contradiction on the part of the Creator!’ That is how a human being, or we human beings, would certainly think and speak if we were in the lily’s place, and then we would wither from grief. [...] Even if the situation that the lily encounters at precisely the moment it is to spring forth is as unfortunate as possible, is so unfavorable that as far as it can judge in advance with something close to certainty, the lily can predict that it will be snapped off at that very instant, so that its coming into existence becomes its downfall—indeed, so that it seems as if it only came into existence and became lovely in order to perish: the obedient lily submits to this obediently; it knows that such is God’s will, and it springs forth. If you saw it at that moment there would not be the least indication that this unfolding was also its downfall; it sprang forth in such rich, beautiful fashion, so richly and beautifully did it go forth—for the whole thing was just a moment—it went to its downfall in unconditional obedience. [...] And truly, confronted with one’s downfall, to have the courage and the faith to come into existence in all one’s loveliness: only unconditional obedience is capable of this.”

Søren Kierkegaard, The Lily of the Field and the Bird of the Air

“This council exhorts Christians, as citizens of two cities, to strive to discharge their earthly duties conscientiously and in response to the Gospel spirit. They are mistaken who, knowing that we have here no abiding city but seek one which is to come, think that they may therefore shirk their earthly responsibilities. For they are forgetting that by the faith itself they are more obliged than ever to measure up to these duties, each according to his proper vocation. Nor, on the contrary, are they any less wide of the mark who think that religion consists in acts of worship alone and in the discharge of certain moral obligations, and who imagine they can plunge themselves into earthly affairs in such a way as to imply that these are altogether divorced from the religious life. This split between the faith which many profess and their daily lives deserves to be counted among the more serious errors of our age. Long since, the Prophets of the Old Testament fought vehemently against this scandal and even more so did Jesus Christ Himself in the New Testament threaten it with grave punishments. Therefore, let there be no false opposition between professional and social activities on the one part, and religious life on the other. The Christian who neglects his temporal duties, neglects his duties toward his neighbor and even God, and jeopardizes his eternal salvation. Christians should rather rejoice that, following the example of Christ Who worked as an artisan, they are free to give proper exercise to all their earthly activities and to their humane, domestic, professional, social and technical enterprises by gathering them into one vital synthesis with religious values, under whose supreme direction all things are harmonized unto God's glory.”

Second Vatican Council, Gaudium et Spes

“Poverty is a strange and elusive thing. I have tried to write about it, its joys and sorrows, for thirty years now; and I could probably write about it for another thirty without conveying what I feel about it as well as I would like. I condemn poverty and I advocate it; poverty is simple and complex at once; it is a social phenomenon and a personal matter. Poverty is an elusive thing, and a paradoxical one. We need always to be thinking and writing about it, for if we are not among its victims its reality fades from us. We must talk about poverty because people insulated by their own comfort lose sight of it. So many good souls who visit us tell us how they were brought up in poverty, but how, through hard work and cooperation, their parents managed to educate all the children--even raise up priests and nuns for the Church. They contend that healthful habits and a stable family situation enable people to escape from the poverty class, no matter how mean the slum they may once have been forced to live in. The argument runs, so why can’t everybody do it? No, these people don’t know about the poor. Their concept of poverty is of something as neat and well-ordered as a nun’s cell. Yes, the poor will always be with us—Our Lord told us that—and there will always be a need for our sharing, for stripping ourselves to help others. It is—and always will be—a lifetime job. But I am sure that God did not intend that there be so many poor. The class struggle is of our making and by our consent, not His, and we must do what we can to change it.”

Dorothy Day, “A Strange and Elusive Thing,” Sojourners

“The cross of Jesus and the lynching tree of black victims are not literally the same—historically or theologically. Yet these two symbols or images are closely linked to Jesus’ spiritual meaning for black and white life together in what historian Robert Handy has called ‘Christian America.’ Blacks and whites are bound together in Christ by their brutal and beautiful encounter in this land. Neither blacks nor whites can be understood fully without reference to the other because of their common religious heritage as well as their joint relationship to the lynching experience. What happened to blacks also happened to whites. When whites lynched blacks, they were literally and symbolically lynching themselves—their sons, daughters, cousins, mothers and fathers, and a host of other relatives. Whites may be bad brothers and sisters, murderers of their own black kin, but they are still our sisters and brothers. We are bound together in America by faith and tragedy. All the hatred we have expressed toward one another cannot destroy the profound mutual love and solidarity that flow deeply between us—a love that empowered blacks to open their arms to receive the many whites who were also empowered by the same love to risk their lives in the black struggle for freedom. No two people in America have had more violent and loving encounters than black and white people. We were made brothers and sisters by the blood of the lynching tree, the blood of sexual union, and the blood of the cross of Jesus. No gulf between blacks and whites is too great to overcome, for our beauty is more enduring than our brutality. What God has joined together, no one can tear apart.”

James Cone, The Cross and the Lynching Tree

“‘Deep incarnation’ directs this good news into the whole natural world. As Ambrose of Milan preached in the fifth century, ‘In Christ’s resurrection the earth itself rose.’ The reasoning runs like this. This person, Jesus of Nazareth, was composed of earthly matter; his body existed in a network of relationships drawn from and extending to the whole physical world. If through death and resurrection this ‘piece of this world, real to the core,’ as Karl Rahner writes, is now forever with God in glory, then this signals the beginning of redemption not just for other human beings but for all flesh, all material beings, every creature that passes through death. The evolving world of life, all of matter in its endless permutations, will not be left behind but will likewise be transfigured by the resurrecting action of the Creator Spirit. The same Colossians hymn that recognizes Christ as ‘firstborn of the dead’ also names him ‘the firstborn of all creation’ (Col 1:15). Christ is the firstborn of all the dead of Darwin’s tree of life.”

Elizabeth Johnson, Is God’s Charity Broad Enough for Bears?

“In Cone’s words, ‘the cross and the lynching tree interpret each other.’ It was recognizing this connection that to this point had helped me maintain my faith—for at least I knew that Jesus was one with the Black crucified and not with our white crucifiers. But again, with each new lynching following the last, just knowing this was no longer enough. Fortunately, the gospel story that Jesus preaches and incarnates does not stop with the cross. Inasmuch as the cross does indicate Jesus’s utter identification with the oppressed, it is not a static identification. In other words, the fact that Jesus identifies with the oppressed is not a sanctification of oppression, as if it is only in being oppressed that one can find God. Rather, Jesus’s identification with the oppressed is an identification with them in their struggle to survive and thrive in the face of the crucifying realities that threaten and destroy their lives. Thus the cross is not the end, but a revelatory point on the way to new life, new reality. It reveals where the movement toward God’s future begins. And if it must begin in crucifying realities, it does not end there. For again, the cross was not the end of Jesus’s story, and therefore it did not defeat God’s promise for a more just future.”

Kelly Brown Douglas, Resurrection Hope

“There is one overmastering problem that the socially and politically disinherited always face: Under what terms is survival possible? [...] In the midst of this psychological climate Jesus began his teaching and his ministry. His words were directed to the House of Israel, a minority within the Greco-Roman world, smarting under the loss of status, freedom, and autonomy, haunted by the dream of the restoration of lost glory and a former greatness. His message focused on the urgency of a radical change in the inner attitude of the people. He recognized fully that out of the heart are the issues of life and that no external force, however great and overwhelming, can at long last destroy a people if it does not first win the victory of the spirit against them. ‘To revile because one has been reviled—this is the real evil because it is the evil of the soul itself.’ Jesus saw this with almighty clarity. Again and again he came back to the inner life of the individual. With increasing insight and startling accuracy he placed his finger on the ‘inward center’ as the crucial arena where the issues would determine the destiny of his people.”

Howard Thurman, Jesus and the Disinherited

“This is how Jesus demonstrated reverence for personality. He met the woman [caught in adultery (John 8: 1-11)] where she was, and he treated her as if she were already where she now willed to be. In dealing with her he ‘believed’ her into the fulfillment of her possibilities. He stirred her confidence into activity. He placed a crown over her head which for the rest of her life she would keep trying to grow tall enough to wear. Free at last, free at last. Thank God Almighty, I’m free at last. The crucial question is, Can this attitude, developed in the white heat of personal encounter, become characteristic of one’s behavior even when the drama of immediacy is lacking? I think so. It has to be rooted in concrete experience. No amount of good feeling for people in general, no amount of simple desiring, is an adequate substitute. It is the act of inner authority, well within the reach of everyone. Obviously, then, merely preaching love on one’s enemies or exhortations—however high and holy—cannot, in the last analysis, accomplish this result. At the center of the attitude is a core of painstaking discipline, made possible only by personal triumph. The ethical demand upon the more privileged and the underprivileged is the same.”

Howard Thurman, Jesus and the Disinherited

“It is useless to try to make peace with ourselves by being pleased with everything we have done. In order to settle down in the quiet of our being we must learn to be detached from the results of our own activity. We must withdraw ourselves, to some extent, from effects that are beyond our control and be content with the good will and the work that are the quiet expression of our inner life. We must be content to live without watching ourselves live, to work without expecting an immediate reward, to love without any instantaneous satisfaction, and to exist without any special recognition.”

Thomas Merton, No Man Is an Island

“We have assumed the name of peacemakers, but we have been, by and large, unwilling to pay any significant price. And because we want the peace with half a heart and half a life and will, the war, of course, continues, because the waging of war, by its nature is total—but the waging of peace, by our own cowardice, is partial. So a whole will and a whole heart and a whole national life bent toward war prevail over the velleities of peace. In every national war since the founding of the republic we have taken for granted that war shall exact the most rigorous cost, and that the cost shall be paid with cheerful heart. We take it for granted that in wartime families will be separated for long periods, that men will be imprisoned, wounded, driven insane, killed on foreign shores. In favor of such wars, we declare a moratorium on every normal human hope—for marriage, for community, for friendship, for moral conduct toward strangers and the innocent. We are instructed that depravation and discipline, private grief and public obedience are to be our lot. And we obey. And we bear with it—because bear we must—because war is war, and good war or bad, we are stuck with it and its cost.

But what of the price of peace? I think of the good, decent, peace-loving people I have known by the thousands, and I wonder. How many of them are so afflicted with the wasting disease of normalcy that, even as they declare for the peace, their hands reach out with an instinctive spasm in the direction of their loved ones, in the direction of their comforts, their home, their security, their income, their future, their plans—that twenty-year plan of family growth and unity, that fifty-year plan of decent life and honorable natural demise.

‘Of course, let us have peace,’ we cry, ‘but at the same time let us have normalcy, let us lose nothing, let our lives stand intact, let us know neither prison nor ill repute nor disruption of ties.’ And because we must encompass this and protect that, and because at all costs—at all costs—our hopes must march on schedule, and because it is unheard of that in the name of peace a sword should fall, disjointing that fine and cunning web that our lives have woven, because it is unheard of that good men and women should suffer injustice or families be sundered or good repute be lost—because of this we cry peace, peace, and there is no peace. There is no peace because the making of peace is at least as costly as the making of war—at least as exigent, at least as disruptive, at least as liable to bring disgrace and prison and death in its wake.”

Daniel Berrigan, “The Price of Peace,” in Essential Writings

“The cross is laid on every Christian. The first Christ-suffering which every man must experience is the call to abandon the attachments of this world. It is that dying of the old man which is the result of his encounter with Christ. As we embark upon discipleship we surrender ourselves to Christ in union with his death—we give over our lives to death. Thus it begins; the cross is not the terrible end to an otherwise god-fearing and happy life, but it meets us at the beginning of our communion with Christ. When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die. It may be a death like that of the first disciples who had to leave home and work to follow him, or it may be a death like Luther’s, who had to leave the monastery and go out into the world. But it is the same death every time—death in Jesus Christ, the death of the old man at his call. Jesus’ summons to the rich young man was calling him to die, because only the man who is dead to his own will can follow Christ. In fact every command of Jesus is a call to die, with all our affections and lusts. But we do not want to die, and therefore Jesus Christ and his call are necessarily our death as well as our life. The call to discipleship, the baptism in the name of Jesus Christ means both death and life. The call of Christ, his baptism, sets the Christian in the middle of the daily arena against sin and the devil. Every day he encounters new temptations, and every day he must suffer anew for Jesus Christ's sake. The wounds and scars he receives in the fray are living tokens of this participation in the cross of his Lord. But there is another kind of suffering and shame which the Christian is not spared. While it is true that only the sufferings of Christ are a means of atonement, yet since he has suffered for and borne the sins of the whole world and shares with his disciples the fruits of his passion, the Christian also has to undergo temptation, he too has to bear the sins of others; he too must bear their shame and be driven like a scapegoat from the gate of the city. But he would certainly break down under this burden, but for the support of him who bore the sins of all. The passion of Christ strengthens him to overcome the sins of others by forgiving them. He becomes the bearer of other men's burdens—‘Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ’ (Gal. 6:2). As Christ bears our burdens, so ought we to bear the burdens of our fellow-men. The law of Christ, which it is our duty to fulfil, is the bearing of the cross. My brother’s burden which I must bear is not only his outward lot, his natural characteristics and gifts, but quite literally his sin. And the only way to bear that sin is by forgiving it in the power of the cross of Christ in which I now share. Thus the call to follow Christ always means a call to share the work of forgiving men their sins. Forgiveness is the Christlike suffering which it is the Christian’s duty to bear.”

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, The Cost of Discipleship

“Genuine love is always self-forgetful in the true sense of the word. But if we are to have it, our old man must die with all his virtues and qualities, and this can only be done where the disciple forgets self and clings solely to Christ. When Jesus said: ‘Let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth,’ he was sounding the death-knell of the old man. Once again, who can live a life which combines chapters 5 and 6? Only those who have died after the old man through Christ, and are given a new life by following him and having fellowship with him. Love, in the sense of spontaneous, unreflective action, spells the death of the old man. For man recovers his true nature in the righteousness of Christ and in his fellow-man. The love of Christ crucified, who delivers our old man to death, is the love which lives in those who follow him. ‘I live; yet no longer I, but Christ liveth in me’ (Gal. 2:20). Henceforth the Christian finds himself only in Christ and in his brethren.”

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, The Cost of Discipleship

“We have listened to the Sermon on the Mount and perhaps have understood it. But who has heard it aright? Jesus gives the answer at the end. He does not allow his hearers to go away and make of his sayings what they will, picking and choosing from them whatever they find helpful, and testing them to see if they work. He does not give them free rein to misuse his word with their mercenary hands, but gives it to them on condition that it retains exclusive power over them. Humanly speaking, we could understand and interpret the Sermon on the Mount in a thousand different ways. Jesus knows only one possibility: simple surrender and obedience, not interpreting it or applying it, but doing and obeying it. That is the only way to hear his word. But again he does not mean that it is to be discussed as an ideal, he really means us to get on with it.”

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, The Cost of Discipleship