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Mathew 9: 10–23
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May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable
in your sight, O Lord our strength and our redeemer. Amen.
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For all of us, I think, this has been a tough week. It’s been tough
to see thousands in the streets protesting against police brutality,
as a man who suffered that brutality was buried. It’s been difficult
to hear discussions all over the place against racism. And the news that
the Covid pandemic continues to rage in our midst is concerning, to say
the least. So right away, as I read the long Gospel passage from Mattthew
for today, the word that jumped out at me was that word
‘compassion’. Matthew says that when Jesus saw the crowds
“he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless,
like sheep without a shepherd.” And I could picture us, this week,
in that crowd.
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Surely, this week we have all felt helpless as we learned of situations we
hardly created, but now feel responsible for. Surely, this week we have
felt troubled to be reminded of social inequities all around us –
housing and health care inequities, education disparities, wage gaps.
And just when we thought we couldn’t shelter in place for one more
day, to hear that Covid infection rates around us are still rising has
been deeply troubling, because we miss each other. We miss having contact
with all the people we love. So it was comforting in that passage from
the Gospel of Matthew to hear that Jesus was suffering compassionately
right alongside us – not just for victims of police brutality or
victims of racism or victims of Covid disease, but for all of us in our
pain and our confusion.
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For that’s what that word ‘compassion’ means. It means to
suffer with. And time after time, when Jesus saw someone suffering or
hurting, his merciful heart went out to that one and he healed
him . . . or he sent her demons
packing . . . or he opened their blind eyes.
In his mercy, he simply wouldn’t let anyone suffer alone.
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Nor would he let his disciples stand by without lending a hand. He wants
them to practice mercy too. So he commissions the twelve disciples to
cure every disease, cleanse every leper and cast out every demon they
encounter. Then he sends them out in his name – with his own
authority – empowering them to do as he has asked them to do –
to heal and to cleanse and to comfort.
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Now, you would think that Matthew would mention some of the disciples’
special qualifications for this high calling – the gentle nature of this
one or the past experience of another. But he doesn’t mention a single
credential. He just gives us their names. It’s from other contexts
that we know that most of them were ordinary commercial fishermen, that
one was a tax collector, another would betray him, and yet another, in
Jesus’ hour of need, would deny he ever knew him.
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Will Willimon, the down–to–earth Methodist Bishop, recalls
meeting with a group of elementary school children in his church, as they
discussed this same passage, Jesus commissioning the twelve for ministry.
Willimon pointed out to the children that these disciples were really
very ordinary people. Peter was impetuous and shortsighted, constantly
making mistakes. Judas stole from the common purse. And when the going
got rough, they all left Jesus and fled into the darkness.
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“What does that tell you about Jesus, from the people he chose?”
Willimon asked the children.
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The kids sat in silence for some time. Then one of the young boys
responded: “I suppose it shows us that Jesus was a lousy judge of
character,” he said.
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And that, of course, is the point. Jesus chooses people to help him who are
ordinary people, weak people, prone to failure and misunderstanding. And
right there lies our hope.
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For we, too, are called to ministry, and merciful ministry at
that – no matter how unqualified we think we are – because
Jesus knows something about growing us up, about helping us become all
we can be. And – wouldn’t you know – he uses our own mistakes,
our own missteps to do it.
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You see, every time we take a wrong turn – and go to God asking
for forgiveness – a wellspring of gratitude for God’s gentle
mercy rises up inside us. This doesn’t happen just once or twice.
It happens over and over again. And in that rhythm of making mistakes,
asking forgiveness and finding mercy we learn something. We grow closer
to God. We trust him more. Until finally we have something to offer,
something to pour out compassionately for our brothers and sisters.
For we’ve been there. We know how it feels.
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That’s why John Newton, a former slave trader, could write the
ever–popular hymn ‘Amazing Grace.’ He knew something
of the power of God’s grace and mercy to transform the human heart.
That’s why Dorothy Day, who once lived in poverty herself, could
dedicate her life to helping the poor. That’s why former addicts can
help others struggling with addiction today. Those who have experienced the
mercy of God are his most authentic ambassadors, his most effective apostles.
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I learned this all over again a few days ago. Sick at heart at some of the
racist experiences various people were recounting on television, I finally
turned the television off and went down to Lowes to see if their garden
shop had brought in any new plants over the weekend. I was looking for
the lift that beautiful flowers always bring me.
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As I drove into the parking lot I noticed a mother and her little daughter
sitting on the grass by the entrance. They were Latinas, and I wondered
if they were waiting there for a ride. But it wasn’t until I was on my
way home, driving out of the parking lot that I realized why they were
there. For now there was a teen–age boy, obviously part of the family,
standing there with them. And he was holding a hand–lettered cardboard
sign that said, “Lost my job. We’re hungry. Please help.
God bless you.”
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Sometimes God has to hit me over the head with the message. I rolled down
my window and gave him some money. And instantly my sad feelings, my
troubled feelings, my harassed and helpless feelings, lifted. I got it.
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Jesus said it best, “Blessed are the merciful. For they will be
shown mercy.”
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Amen
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