When a Sinner Refuses to Listen

Jesus appears to give a four-step procedure that leads to the excommunication of an unrepentant sinner (Matt 18:15–17).
 

Step one: a disciple confronts another disciple who is sinning (obviously, a sin that is known to both of them). If the disciple “listens to him” (a vague response that could mean several things—from a respectful hearing to repentance), he or she has regained that disciple. If the sinner refuses to listen (whatever that means), then proceed to step two: bring in one or two more “witnesses” to rebuke the sinner. If the sinner refuses to listen to them, then move on to step three: take the matter before the church. Finally, if the sinner still refuses to listen to them, go to step four: “Let him be to you as a gentile and a tax collector” (v. 17). Following the progression (from individual confrontation to group involvement), it sounds as if Jesus were giving instructions to the church to excommunicate an unrepentant sinner, reading “to you” in this case as a plural pronoun.

 
But for those of us who read Greek, we know that’s not what Jesus was teaching here. The second-person pronoun of step four is singular. Jesus wasn’t giving advice to the church, instructing the assembly to kick out the rebel. Rather, throughout this passage Jesus was giving advice to one individual about another individual. In other words, Jesus didn’t teach the entire church to shun the unrepentant sinner. Rather, he told the concerned disciple to treat the disciple who refused to listen like a “gentile and a tax collector.” But what does that mean?
 
We could answer the question with a question: How did Jesus treat gentiles and tax collectors? Both groups were marginalized as outsiders in Jewish society. Bringing the kingdom of heaven to earth, Jesus treated outsiders like insiders, willing to go to the house of a Roman soldier and heal his slave or to eat with a bunch of tax collectors and “sinners” (8:5–7; 9:10). Despite the Pharisees’ objection, Jesus ate with “sick” sinners because they needed a physician (9:11–12).
 
Indeed, the Pharisees needed to learn a lesson from Hosea. According to the prophet, God wants mercy more than sacrifice (v. 13, quoting Hos 6:6). Therefore, when it comes to notorious sinners who refuse to listen to righteous people, the way of Jesus was to show them mercy. Besides, Jesus’s instruction concerning how to treat sinners who refuse to listen comes immediately after his teaching about recovering lost sheep—those who wander from the fold of God (Matt 18:12–14). In fact, he gave similar instruction to the twelve when he sent them out to recover “the lost sheep of Israel” (10:6). To restore the “harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd” (9:36 NRSV), Jesus sent his disciples to heal the sick—just like the Roman centurion’s slave—and proclaim that the kingdom of heaven “has come near,” going home with those who invite them to their table (10:6–13)—even lost sheep like tax collectors and sinners.
 

- written by Rodney Reeves, from Devotions on the Greek New Testament: 

52 Reflections to Inspire and Instruct

Ancient Wisdom for Contemporary Christians (3)

We could say that human beings are fundamentally erotic creatures. Unfortunately—and for understandable reasons—the word “erotic” carries a lot of negative connotations in our pornographied culture. Thus Christians tend to be allergic to eros (and often set up stark contrasts between eros and agape, the latter of which we hallow as “Christian” love). But that cedes the goodness of desire to its disordered hijacking by contemporary culture. In its truest sense, eros signals a desire and attraction that is a good feature of our creaturehood. Instead of setting up a false dichotomy between agape and eros, we could think of agape as rightly ordered eros: the love of Christ that is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Spirit (Rom. 5:5) is a redeemed, rightly ordered desire for God. You are what you desire.
 
This teleological aspect of the human person, coupled with the fundamental centrality of love, generates Augustine’s third insight: because we are made to love the One who made and loves us—“we love because he first loved us” (1 John 4:19)—we will find “rest” when our loves are rightly ordered to this ultimate end. But Augustine also notes the alternative: since our hearts are made to find their end in God, we will experience a besetting anxiety and restlessness when we try to love substitutes. To be human is to have a heart. You can’t not love. So the question isn’t whether you will love something as ultimate; the question is what you will love as ultimate. And you are what you love.
 

- James K. A. Smith, You Are What You Love: The Spiritual Power of Habit, 2016.

Ancient Wisdom for Contemporary Christians (2)

A second theme worth noting is Augustine’s locating of the center or “organ” of this teleological orientation in the heart, the seat of our longings and desires. Unfortunately, the language of the “heart” (kardia in Greek) has been co-opted in our culture and enlisted in the soppy sentimentalism of Hallmark and thus equated with a kind of emotivism. This is not what the biblical language of kardia suggests, nor is it what Augustine means. Instead, think of the heart as the fulcrum of your most fundamental longings—a visceral, subconscious orientation to the world. So Augustine doesn’t frame this as merely an intellectual quest. He doesn’t say, “You have made us to know you, and our minds are ignorant until they understand you.”
 
The longing that Augustine describes is less like curiosity and more like hunger—less like an intellectual puzzle to be solved and more like a craving for sustenance (see Ps. 42:1–2). So in this picture, the center of gravity of the human person is located not in the intellect but in the heart. Why? Because the heart is the existential chamber of our love, and it is our loves that orient us toward some ultimate end or telos. It’s not just that I “know” some end or “believe” in some telos. More than that, I long for some end. I want something, and want it ultimately. It is my desires that define me. In short, you are what you love.
 
- James K. A. Smith, You Are What You Love: The Spiritual Power of Habit, 2016.

Ancient Wisdom for Contemporary Christians (1)

The work of St. Augustine, a fifth-century philosopher, theologian, and bishop from North Africa who captured this holistic picture of the human person early in the life of the church. In the opening paragraph of his Confessions—his spiritual autobiography penned in a mode of prayer—Augustine pinpoints the epicenter of human identity: “You have made us for yourself, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.”
 
Packed into this one line is wisdom that should radically change how we approach worship, discipleship, and Christian formation. Several themes can be discerned in this compact insight. Augustine opens with a design claim, a conviction about what human beings are made for. This is significant for a couple of reasons.
 
First, it recognizes that human beings are made by and for the Creator who is known in Jesus Christ. In other words, to be truly and fully human, we need to “find” ourselves in relationship to the One who made us and for whom we are made. The gospel is the way we learn to be human. As Irenaeus once put it, “The glory of God is a human being fully alive.”
 
Second, the implicit picture of being human is dynamic. To be human is to be for something, directed toward something, oriented toward something. To be human is to be on the move, pursuing something, after something. We are like existential sharks: we have to move to live. We are not just static containers for ideas; we are dynamic creatures directed toward some end. In philosophy we have a shorthand term for this: something that is oriented toward an end or telos (a “goal”) is described as “teleological.” Augustine rightly recognizes that human beings are teleological creatures.
 

- James K. A. Smith, You Are What You Love: The Spiritual Power of Habit, 2016.

Love Orients Us toward the End Goal

As Blaise Pascal put it in his famous wager: “You have to wager. It is not up to you, you are already committed.” You can’t not bet your life on something. You can’t not be headed somewhere. We live leaning forward, bent on arriving at the place we long for.
 
The place we unconsciously strive toward is what ancient philosophers of habit called our telos—our goal, our end. But the telos we live toward is not something that we primarily know or believe or think about; rather, our telos is what we want, what we long for, what we crave.
 
To be human is to be animated and oriented by some vision of the good life, some picture of what we think counts as “flourishing.” And we want that. We crave it. We desire it. This is why our most fundamental mode of orientation to the world is love. We are oriented by our longings, directed by our desires. We adopt ways of life that are indexed to such visions of the good life, not usually because we “think through” our options but rather because some picture captures our imagination.
 
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, the author of The Little Prince, succinctly encapsulates the motive power of such allure: “If you want to build a ship,” he counsels, “don’t drum up people to collect wood and don’t assign them tasks and work, but rather teach them to long for the endless immensity of the sea.” We aren’t really motivated by abstract ideas or pushed by rules and duties.
 

- James K. A. Smith, You Are What You Love: The Spiritual Power of Habit, 2016.

Love is A Virtue

If we think about this in terms of the quest or journey metaphor, we might say that the human heart is part compass and part internal guidance system. The heart is like a multifunctional desire device that is part engine and part homing beacon. Operating under the hood of our consciousness, so to speak—our default autopilot—the longings of the heart both point us in the direction of a kingdom and propel us toward it. There is a resonance between the telos to which we are oriented and the longings and desires that propel us in that direction—like the magnetic power of the pole working on the existential needle of our hearts. You are what you love because you live toward what you want.

If you are what you love and if love is a virtue, then love is a habit. This means that our most fundamental orientation to the world—the longings and desires that orient us toward some version of the good life—is shaped and configured by imitation and practice. Then discipleship is a rehabituation of your loves. This means that discipleship is more a matter of reformation than of acquiring information. The learning that is fundamental to Christian formation is affective and erotic, a matter of “aiming” our loves, of orienting our desires to God and what God desires for his creation.
 
Calibrating the Heart: Love Takes Practice
 
If the heart is like a compass, an erotic homing device, then we need to (regularly) calibrate our hearts, tuning them to be directed to the Creator, our magnetic north. It is crucial for us to recognize that our ultimate loves, longings, desires, and cravings are learned. And because love is a habit, our hearts are calibrated through imitating exemplars and being immersed in practices that, over time, index our hearts to a certain end. We learn to love, then, not primarily by acquiring information about what we should love but rather through practices that form the habits of how we love. These sorts of practices are “pedagogies” of desire, not because they are like lectures that inform us, but because they are rituals that form and direct our affections.
 

- James K. A. Smith, You Are What You Love: The Spiritual Power of Habit, 2016.

 

You Are What You Love (2)

Paul’s remarkable prayer for the Christians at Philippi in the opening section of his letter to them: “And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless for the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ—to the glory and praise of God” (Phil. 1:9–11). Notice the sequence of Paul’s prayer here. If you read it too quickly, you might come away with the impression that Paul is primarily concerned about knowledge. Indeed, at a glance, given our habits of mind, you might think Paul is praying that the Christians in Philippi would deepen their knowledge so that they will know what to love. But look again.
 
In fact, Paul’s prayer is the inverse: he prays that their love might abound more and more because, in some sense, love is the condition for knowledge. It’s not that I know in order to love, but rather: I love in order to know. And if we are going to discern “what is best”—what is “excellent,” what really matters, what is of ultimate importance—Paul tells us that the place to start is by attending to our loves. There is a very different model of the human person at work here. Instead of the rationalist, intellectualist model that implies, “You are what you think,” Paul’s prayer hints at a very different conviction: “You are what you love.”
 

- James K. A. Smith, You Are What You Love: The Spiritual Power of Habit, 2016.