The Sermon on the Mount begins and ends by looking at the Sermon in its fullness. First, Jesus establishes what reality we live in, one in which those who appear to be the least blessed (the spiritually destitute, the mourning, the persecuted) are actually the most blessed. If that is the seemingly upside-down reality in which we live, then the seemingly upside-down life described in the rest of the Sermon is indeed possible; in fact, it’s the only way to truly experience life.
From here, Jesus gives us a variety of pictures with which to construct a mural of what kind of life we will end up living when we follow Jesus – not just call ourselves Christians, but really follow him: Salt. Light. A city on a hill. Fire. Prison bars. Amputated eyes and hands. Birds. Lilies. A speck of dust. A log. A narrow city gate. A broad city gate. Sheep. Wolves. Grapes and figs. Healthy trees and unhealthy trees. Stone. Sand. A well-built house, and a poorly-built house flattened by natural disaster.
Like a master artist, Jesus weaves these into a tapestry that, when we step back and take it all in, grabs our hearts at the sight of what a joyful, peaceful life this is, but a costly one, too. The community that follows Jesus up the hill to learn from him what it looks like to live life in all the abundance God intends for us, will be like a city on a hill. It can be seen by many, from any direction, and from miles away. The community that is not consumed by anger, consumerism, worry, and judgment will be plainly evident, even from a distance. Because it is such an upside-down way of living in the eyes of the world, this Christ-centered, Sermon-on-the-Mount-centered community cannot help but draw attention to itself. A city on a hill cannot be hidden any more than someone would light a lamp just to hide it under a bowl. Being the city on a hill is not a matter of finding the best, most creative, most innovative ways to leave our mark on the world around us. It is a matter of putting the Sermon into practice. When that happens, heads will turn. No doubt about it.
Then, toward the end of the Sermon, Jesus draws our gaze to that city again. “Enter through the narrow (city) gate,” he says. “It’s small, the road to get there is difficult, and very few find it.” So, this city on a hill is easy to see, yet hard to find. Everyone has glimpsed it. Few have entered in. Here is the bitter irony at the heart of the Sermon on the Mount. The life prescribed in it is unmistakably visible in its joy. And yet, entering into that life is the hardest thing in the world. Yes, the very hardest. Laying down our anger, desires, worry, and judgments. Loving our enemies. Not needing recognition for the good things we do. Seeing who is really blessed and well off in God’s reality. There’s nothing more difficult, and more joyful, in the whole world.
We cannot stick our heads in the sand and pretend Jesus expects something else of us. Claiming ignorance is not an option, because a city on a hill cannot be hidden. We’ve all glimpsed it, even though we struggle to find it. Fortunately, Matthew 5-7 is a perfect map. If we will read the map again and again, until it truly imprints itself upon us – who knows, perhaps the narrow gate can be found after all.