Gen 12:1-9; Ps 33:1-12; Rom 4:13-25; Mt 9:9-13, 18-26
Have you ever been in a situation where you didn’t know the rules or expectations? You know there are some and you know you don’t know what you’re supposed do or say – the sort of situation where you feel really self conscious, uncomfortable, anxious, and like you really don’t belong? I still remember from 35 years ago, the first time a whole fish was placed in front of me in a fancy restaurant where I was eating with people I didn’t really know. I had no idea what to do – head, tail, bones… and of course I started all wrong and things sort of went from bad to a total mess. Some people, walking into a church service, can kind of feel like that – like a fish out of water, like they don’t really belong. Clearly there seems to be a right way, an expected way to do things, but you don’t know it. Have any of you been in that kind of situation…
Now, you and I know that that is not what church is all about - but it sure is many people’s experience:
- that there’s a right way to do things and a not OK way;
- that following the rules, the pattern, is a sign of belonging; and
- that just like political correct language, there’s a religiously correct way of saying things.
And over time people can come to believe, even unconsciously, that those folks who get it right are holier, better, or somehow closer to God – more righteous. Listen to Jesus say ‘no’ to that way of thinking, of being, and of being with each other.
Jesus and his disciples are sitting at dinner with a whole collection of tax collectors and sinners. Now the righteous ones, the ones who cared a lot about doing things in the right way, couldn’t understand why Jesus would eat with folks who clearly were known sinners and collaborators with the Romans and probably extortionists. In our day it might be like Jesus having supper with a whole group of panhandlers, squeegie kids, and maybe even pimps, loan sharks and prostitutes. When the righteous ones saw this, this asked "why." Just as we might ask: why are living Christian communities so rarely filled with society’s ‘successful ones’? Why is Jesus still found at the margins, rather than the centers of power, wealth, success and status? Maybe on this Sunday we could ask if Jesus might not likely be found wandering about the Gay Pride parade rather than in a suit and tie [or pearls] at an altar rail? Now this is not to say that the altar rail or the way we do things does not have meaning and power. But it is to say, that they are not the true heart of it. The heart of it lies in Jesus’ teaching, as important today as it was then:
Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’
[Sacrifice being the temple practice of the day] The desire of God’s heart is mercy. It’s compassion and loving kindness. That is the heart of Hosea’s teaching [the prophet Jesus was quoting that day] and it’s at the heart of Jesus’ path, and our path. However, it is clearly not at the heart of our culture’s way of life, or path for success, happiness or security.
Now, mercy, compassion, loving kindness is not just Jesus’ teaching. It is his way of life. Our gospel reading is not just about the inclusiveness of his table fellowship. It’s not just about the moment when I say: this is God’s table and all are welcome at this table. It’s not just about welcome, it is also about full inclusion in the blessings and life of the table. It’s about walking the talk, not just learning it, or getting it right in a prayer or sermon. So our gospel text says:
While he was saying these things to them, suddenly a leader of the synagogue came in -
a respected one, a suit and tie one, comes in. But he is not full of his position and learning coming to challenge Jesus. No, he is full of distress. His daughter has died. He is frantic with a father’s grief, a parent’s love. And so he kneels before Jesus. And just as Matthew followed Jesus, so we’re told "Jesus got up and followed him."
But then again, the flow of events is interrupted by mercy. We’re told:
Then suddenly a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years
came up [to Jesus].
Now in the social customs of that day, this woman would be not just sick, but a cast out one. She was ritually impure, unable to touch or be touched by anyone because anyone or anything she touched would be impure. So this invisible, cast out one takes her heart in her hands and dares to reach out, from behind so no one would notice and get mad or push her away. She dares to reach out and touch the fringe, just the very edge, of Jesus’ cloak. Now Jesus is never surreptitious. He lives in the full light and loving gaze of the Holy. So he turns and "sees her" – imagine what those words mean: being seen by Jesus – known, no secrets hidden, all desires known, seen with the eye of God. And does Jesus speak judgement, or resentment for being interrupted, or lay out requirements for her to jump through? No, he says:
"Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well."
Take heart, be encouraged, let your heart be full. You are my daughter; you are part of my family, under my protection, carrying my name, of my house. You have a place of belonging for all time. You are my daughter. Your faith - the same faith that set Abram and Sarai on their journey, the same faith that Paul sets at the heart of the gospel, that faith has made you well.
And just in case we haven’t got mercy’s power fully into our bones, our text keeps going. It moves us through the crowd of mourners at the synagogue leader’s house who don’t just doubt Jesus’ power, but actively laugh at him – like many in our day do, and like those crowds gathered around the cross. But the power of compassion embodied in Jesus, moves on undeterred. Inside the leader’s home, Jesus reaches out to touch the little girl’s hand. And in that touch, she is restored to the fullness of life that flows without ceasing from the heart and wisdom of our universe – from that day to this - God’s steadfast love and everlasting mercy broken and poured out for God’s beloved creation – all of it – no one, no part of it excluded [except those who exclude themselves.]
Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’
In a million different ways and in the unique way that God calls you: go and learn mercy – it is God’s deepest desire for us all.
In closing, in case there are those who think mercy is too sentimental or individualistic to put at the core of our life of faith, let me point towards the follow-up sermon that flows from this one – the one on justice. Listen to New Testament scholar, Dominic Crossan’s words from his latest book: "God and Empire: Jesus against Rome, Then and Now." His proposal is:
That justice and love are a dialectic – like two sides of a coin that can be distinguished but not separated. We think of ourselves as composed of body and soul, or flesh and spirit. When they are separated, we have a physical corpse. Similarly with distributive justice and communal love. Justice is the body of love, love the soul of justice. Justice is the flesh of love, love is the spirit of justice. When they are separated, we have a moral corpse. Justice without love is brutality. Love without justice is banality.
So it is really important that we, each and together, take heart and: Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ Then, from that place, with our hearts full, we can we join up with our psalmist today and authentically with all of ourselves:
Sing to our creator a new song with all the music in our souls for all the earth is full of the steadfast love – the mercy of the LORD.
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