Have you heard about the “Nones”? No, I’m not talking about the women who make vows to a religious order; I’m talking about the people who, when surveyed on the question of what religion they practice, identify as atheist, agnostic, or simply “nothing in particular.” They are the “Nones,” one of the fastest-growing segments of the American religious scene. Over the past decade, as Catholics have seen a slow decline in membership and Protestants experienced a more precipitous drop, the Nones, meanwhile, are on the rise. In the most recent Pew Research survey, conducted last year, the Nones accounted for 26%—one quarter—of adults in the U.S.; while 63% identify as either Catholic or Protestant. That’s a drop from 75% of U.S. adults in 2007 who identified as either Catholic or Protestant, with the Nones making up just 16%. Today they are 26%, and increasing. And as you might expect, when that population is segmented by generation, the younger you are, the more likely you are to be counted among the Nones. In fact, 36% of millennials—my generation—are religiously unaffiliated. We grew up inside the religion of our parents, and then when we reached adulthood, we promptly left. Most of us have, anyway.

Now I bet you’re thinking, “Well that’s terrible news!” Maybe. Maybe it is. As someone who has affiliated with the capital-I Institutional Church, and whose livelihood depends on it, I probably have a right to worry. No one wants to dwell on such trends, and what they mean for our churches—what they would mean for St. Paul’s. But rather than wringing our hands over silver-bullet solutions, or playing the generation blame game, allow me to suggest an alternative. Perhaps the rise of the Nones should be an opportunity for the church to do some soul-searching. It’s obvious that the church has failed to make a case for its continued relevance.

Now I am not a social scientist, so I can’t give you data about why exactly the Nones are on the rise, and I’m sure there are a variety of factors at play, but all the same I have a hunch about what’s behind it all: rather than preaching the Gospel, in all its fullness and depth and rigor, we have opted for a feel-good milquetoast “gospel” that gives nothing, costs nothing. A gospel that means nothing. And a gospel that means nothing will not make disciples. Because if church is nothing more than validating everything that I already do so I can live my life as I very well please, then thanks but no thanks. It’s just not worth our time. We may as well just stay home, and sleep in on Sunday morning.

But the Gospel of Jesus is not a feel-good gospel that asks nothing of us; on the contrary, it asks everything. No aspect of our lives is exempt from its scope; it does not leave us where we are, but calls us toward a higher life than the one we are presently living. This is the nature of the Gospel that Jesus is preaching in Matthew chapter five, in his Sermon on the Mount. In each of the four statements that we hear today, Jesus repeats the phrase “You have heard it said … but I say to you.” He does so in order to drive home his teaching, and take his listeners far deeper into the Law of God than they had ever been willing to go.

As a Jew preaching to fellow Jews, Jesus understood that observance of the Torah—the Law—was paramount; just before the verses we hear today, Jesus says that he has come not “to abolish the Law or the Prophets;” but “to fulfill them.” But just when his audience thought they knew what it meant to observe the Law, Jesus comes and ups the ante. You think you’ve kept the Law that says “Do not murder” simply because you haven’t murdered anyone? Think again, says Jesus. Murder is not limited to outward action, but finds its origin within the heart. Likewise with adultery—do you think, asks Jesus, that just because you have not touched another person you have kept this commandment, even with all the lust that resides within your heart? Think again. How about swearing oaths—do you think, asks Jesus, that simply swearing an oath makes you a truthful person, even with all the duplicity and prevarication lodged deep within your heart. Think again.

In his sermon, Jesus shows us how deep the Law goes, so that we can know the depths from which we are saved. It turns out that I am breaking all of the commandments all the time, even when I think that I’m keeping them. And what extraordinary lengths do we go to justify our actions! This is where Jesus’ teaching on divorce is key. While on the surface it seems Jesus is simply teaching that divorce is wrong, or only permissible in certain circumstances, in reality there is something deeper going on. In Jesus’ day, a man could divorce his wife simply by presenting her with a certificate. But the economic, physical, and psychological upheaval she would experience as a result would be disastrous. For those men who would justify such harm by appealing to the Law, Jesus says no. You cannot keep the Law by pushing another person into harm’s way, or into sin. The Law goes far deeper than that. It goes into the depths of the human heart.

But the most striking part of today’s Gospel, at least for me, is the way Jesus commands us to respond to temptation: as if through physical violence.

“If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away … And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away.”

For starters, these verses prove that no one is actually a biblical literalist, because no reader of the Bible is cutting off their hands and gouging out their eyes. But just because Jesus is using hyperbole to drive home his point, that doesn’t mean that he isn’t deadly serious. Sin does not begin with acts. It begins with intentions residing in the heart. Adultery doesn’t just happen without context, as if there weren’t hundreds or thousands of thoughts and words and actions that precede it. Those moments are what need to be cut off at the root, before they have a chance to grow. The Law goes so much deeper than we can see. Thankfully Jesus doesn’t preach that we should “be ourselves” or “live our truth.” Instead, he calls us to be salt and light—and shows us the kind of life that salt and light are made of.

In showing us the depth of the Law, Jesus shows us the depth of our need. For we are sinners, even when we think we aren’t—even when we’ve convinced ourselves that we are right. As we listen to Jesus’ sermon and follow in his way, let us remember that we do not do it of our own strength. We cannot be more loving, more kind, less lustful, less hateful, less duplicitous by our own strength. We can only be those things by the strength of God, because in our weakness we can do nothing good without the power of Christ within us. It is God who gives the growth; it is Christ who makes us whole. He does not leave us to our own devices, but leads us on toward a higher life in him.

And if that Gospel message is compelling to us in any way, then something tells me it will also be compelling to the world; and maybe, just maybe, it’s even compelling enough to keep us from joining the ranks of the Nones.

Amen.

February 16, 2020