Katherine speaks:
Why, sir, I trust I may have leave to speak,
And speak I will. I am no child, no babe.
Your betters have endured me say my mind,
And if you cannot, best you stop your ears.
My tongue will tell the anger of my heart,
Or else my heart, concealing it, will break,
And, rather than it shall, I will be free
Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words.
If you know your Shakespeare — thank goodness for the internet, because I don’t — you’ll recognize this as a passage from The Taming of the Shrew (Act 4, Scene 3).
For a long time, my understanding of the word shrew was limited to Webster’s Dictionary’s second definition: an ill-tempered, scolding woman. Please do not report me to the bishop for being sexist. It turns out the first definition refers to a small, insect-eating, mouse-like creature. Some weigh as little as a penny. Not very big.
Somewhere along the way, the name of this tiny, noisy creature became a term for an ill-tempered, scolding person—and Shakespeare gave us perhaps the most famous shrew of all. When a shrew gets agitated, it makes a rapid-fire eek-eek-eek-eek sound, as if it were firing a tiny little machine gun. I suppose Shakespeare thought that’s what Katherine sounded like when she got agitated.
My research tells me there’s no masculine version of the shrew, but I can picture someone like Ove from A Man Called Ove embodying one. Just a real grouch.
So, we have the grouch and the shrew—those who are ill-tempered, and when they get irritated, they sound like tiny little machine guns, letting everyone know exactly how they feel. Thank goodness I am never like that.
Throughout his earthly ministry, Jesus offers teachings that are not only difficult to follow but also seem contrary to our natural inclinations. There is the business of loving your neighbor, which we will attempt, but love of your enemy… don’t you think Jesus is asking a bit too much there? Do unto others as you would have them do unto you is great until it starts costing us; then we may have to rethink it a bit. And as for the Beatitudes—blessed are the poor, the meek, the peacemakers—they can certainly seem a little too radical at times. However, today’s Gospel reading is something we can all get behind. It’s as if Jesus is giving us permission to be the grouch or the shrew we know we have every right to be.
“If another member of the church sins against you, go and point out the fault.” Hallelujah. I can get behind that. And when I do, if I’m honest, I hope that person doesn’t repent, because then I can break out my tiny little machine gun and tell everybody. Even better, in most cases, I have such confidence in how right I am that I can actually dispense with that first step and go straight to telling other people. Then I can build my sides, my team, and stock up on ammunition. I can hit the person who offended me with both barrels and then some. No need for peacemakers here. I have been given permission, by Jesus, to embark on this most holy war.
We like this teaching of Jesus a lot because it gives us room to vent our righteous anger and flip over a few tables. Or does it?
When I served in Montana, I ran an after-school program in one of the communities. The kids who attended were not church kids, and they went to high school across the street. They were great kids, but sometimes a little rough around the edges.
I had them for a couple of hours once a week. We gave them a meal and a safe place. I told them they were always welcome, but their attendance would cost them 10 minutes, and those 10 minutes were mine. They agreed, and I taught them the Christian message in creative ways.
It would never work with our kids here at Saint Matthews, but one message sparked a full-on rebellion from that group.
I took a paper box and, on the lid, I attached a large picture of a cockroach with blue painter’s tape. There were about a dozen kids that day, and I told them there was likely someone in their lives who was an irritant. Perhaps someone they truly disliked or who had hurt them, and that this exercise was designed to help them release the frustration and stress they experienced.
The cockroach, I said, represented this evil person in their life, and they should pour all their disdain for that person into the image of the roach. We had some good laughs as they pictured the person. Then I handed the kid nearest to me a butcher’s knife. “Take out your frustrations,” I said. And they all did. They stabbed that poor cockroach so many times that it was a shredded mess by the end.
When they were suitably vented, I peeled off the blue painter’s tape and removed the picture of the cockroach. What I had failed to tell the kids was that beneath the cockroach image was another image of Jesus. It, too, was a shredded mess, and outrage erupted. “You didn’t tell us.” “That’s not fair.” “I never would have.”
Perhaps putting a sharp butcher knife in the hand of an angry teenager and telling them to work out their frustrations wasn’t the wisest pastoral move, but I would wager they still haven’t forgotten that lesson.
We read our gospel today, and we can become the shrew or the grouch. We can go after someone with our tongue the same way those kids went after that cockroach. We can shred our enemies and firmly believe we are within our Christian rights. Yet when we do, we forget Jesus’ words: “Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.” (Matthew 25:40) From the greatest to the least, from the person you love to the one you hate, whatever you do to them, you do to Jesus.
When we study Scripture, we can study individual passages, but when we interpret it, we must do so through the lens of Scripture as a whole. One part will not negate another. Because that is the case, Jesus is not telling us we have the right to go after the person who offends or hurts us. So what could He possibly be saying in our Gospel?
The answer lies in the motivation. If we read this passage to give ourselves the right to strike out at the cockroach, our motivation is vengeance. Through the lens of Scripture, we know that vengeance is not our department. The Psalmist writes,
Refrain from anger, and forsake wrath! Fret not yourself; it tends only to evil. (Psalm 37:8)
St. Paul tells us in his letter to the Romans, “Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.’” (Romans 12:19) So if the passage isn’t permission for personal vendettas, what then? What should the motivation be? The answer is found in our Gospel lesson. It’s the one sentence that is easily dismissed: “If the member listens to you, you have regained that one.” The motivation is at the heart of Jesus’ entire ministry: reconciliation. Jesus reconciled us to God so that we might be reconciled to one another.
Yes, there will be people who irritate you, and there will be people who genuinely hurt you. Being reconciled does not mean you have to go and be best friends forever, that you have to forget, or even pretend you weren’t hurt, nor does it mean you have to allow the offender back into your life. However, it does mean, at the very least, you will release the desire to go out and stab cockroaches. It means you won’t allow the other person’s sin to cause you to sin or to dictate who you will become. If the offender chooses not to be reconciled, that is between them and God. However, what is between you and God is your actions, your heart, and your life.
Finally, if you are the offender, which you know you can be, don’t be so pigheaded that you can’t accept fault, for you are under the same obligation, and an even greater one, to work toward reconciliation.
Throughout the history of the Church, there have been great persecutions. Persecutions in which thousands were put to death for their faith—for refusing to renounce Jesus. For every one great capital “S” Saint who somehow found wonderful words to denounce their executioners and profess the faith, there were hundreds of others who were kind, simple people. They didn’t have great knowledge, so no one was going to listen to what little they had to say. Like all the rest, these Christians were given the option in plain language: Renounce your faith or die. In response, they gave a simple reply that spoke volumes: I am a Christian. I am a Christian.
When faced with an evil person or someone who is simply disagreeable to you, your first thought is often anger, which can turn to vengeance—a shrew, a grouch, a knife-wielding cockroach killer. In those moments, don’t surrender yourself to such thoughts. They’ll happen. That doesn’t make you a bad person. Just don’t let them hang around. Say to yourself, “I am a Christian.” That doesn’t mean the evil didn’t happen; it doesn’t mean you have to keep taking it, and it doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. However, “I am a Christian” does mean the other will not be allowed to rule your life, and—as hard and painful as the work may be—you will work toward reconciliation.
Jesus said, “Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.” This is not a formula. This is not simply two or three church folk hanging out together. Instead, it is a reconciled community where Jesus, the one who reconciled us to the Father, is present, healing and restoring our brokenness.
Let us pray: Most Holy Virgin Mary, help us to heal the broken bonds within our families, our friendships, and all our other relationships. Help us to love others the way that Christ loves us with self-sacrificing love. Intercede for us, O Holy Daughter, Spouse, and Mother, so that through the mercy of God, the chains of division will be broken, uniting us once again as you are ever united to the Most Holy Trinity. We ask this in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
