10th Sunday Year A

See Commentary on Matthew 9:9-13


Homily 1 – 2005 

Jesus was criticised for choosing to mix with people whom others would never think of mixing with – people whom they saw as sinners.  Jesus defended his behaviour.  For Jesus, sin (and virtue) is essentially a matter of the heart.  External behaviour is not necessarily a clear indication of where the heart is at.  Remember the Sermon on the Mount: If your virtue goes no deeper than that of the scribes and the Pharisees, you will never get into the kingdom of heaven.

These days, if you work for the Taxation Department, you might be treated cautiously, but not called a sinner.  On the other hand, at least in orthodox circles, if you have divorced and re-married, if you live with your partner without being married, if you adopt a homosexual lifestyle, you run the risk of being accused very clearly and very quickly as a sinner.  What does Jesus say? I think he says: You could well be sinners! Certainly in his Sermon on the Mount, he identified something of that sort of behaviour as destructive.  But, even if you don’t break any of these laws, can you claim you are not a sinner?  By and large, that was the claim of many of the scribes and Pharisees.  Jesus was particularly critical of that attitude.

So, where was Jesus at?  Where is Jesus at?  Jesus mixed with sinners, whether the clearly labelled variety, the tax-collectors of the time, or the blindly self-righteous ones, the Pharisees, or the faithless, competitive, exclusive, jealous, self-centred group of close disciples, the apostles.  Jesus seems to take it for granted that, one way or another, when it comes to the direction of our hearts, most, if not all, of us, are probably sinners.  His response?  Not to point the finger, or to exclude, but to draw close to, in the hope of setting free.

What is wrong, after all, with sin?  Among other things, it negates, or at least it limits, our fullness of life, our freedom to be truly and life-givingly human, our capacity to love, our sense of inner meaning and peace.  And because he loves us, he moves close in the hope of setting us free from all that negativity. He could do that because he wasn’t somehow frightened, or insecure; he didn’t care how others labelled him.  He could do it because he loved, It is the sick who need the doctor.

Some scholars would say that the frequent occasions where the gospels speak of Jesus eating with different people and groups of people were intended, among other things, to give the early Christian community some idea on how to approach the Eucharistic meal.  Certainly Jesus celebrated his own Last Supper, the original Eucharist, with a group of men who were still heavily burdened by the power of sin: Judas who betrayed him, Peter who denied ever having known him, and the other ten who fled in panic to save their own skins.

What seems to matter is, whatever about our consistency, courage or control, where is our heart? Do we truly want him to touch and to heal us? We begin every Mass with the triple cry: Lord, have mercy.  And as we approach Communion, we say: Lord, I am not worthy to receive you.  But we do want to be here.  We see ourselves as the sick who need the doctor.  We do want his reassuring and healing touch.

Where does that leave the Church regarding remarried divorcees, young people living together, homosexually active men and women?  Is it any different from where it stands in relation to: the ruthlessly competitive CEOs, the extravagant consumers of scarce resources in a world where so many die of hunger, those who imprison traumatised refugees, those guilty of domestic violence, drug smugglers or corrupt judges?

Don’t we all need to hear the call to move beyond our addictions and compulsions, our unwillingness to face or to name the truth, our comfortable self-centredness?  Don’t we need to be where Jesus moves powerfully among us?  And is that not why he invites us to think deeply about what Hosea had said of God seven centuries earlier: Go and learn the meaning of the words: “What I want is mercy not sacrifice, knowledge of God, not holocausts.

Don’t we all need that knowledge of God?  We won’t get that just by listening to others.  You won’t get it simply by listening to me.  I won’t get it simply by talking or reading about it.  We all need to let God get close – often, constantly, to “soak ourselves in” in God, until God succeeds in turning the stone of our hearts into flesh; and we find ourselves free to see ourselves as God sees us, to love, to be peacefully in touch with our true selves, at home at last in the Kingdom of God.

 


Homily 2 - 2008

Tax collectors were people who made a living by working at a job that, among other things, annoyed the rich, but crippled the poor and those who struggled to make ends meet.  Jesus was criticised for going out for meals (and having a drink) with them.  In fact, he asked one of them to become a close collaborator in his own project.  I wonder if Jesus enjoyed doing that?

When challenged, he defended his actions by quoting a line attributed to Yahweh, that appeared in the writings of the prophet Hosea: What I want is mercy, not sacrifice – (a key quotation, actually, for understanding the Gospel of Matthew).  

Tax-collectors were not heavily into mercy.  Jesus saw tax-collectors as sick, needing the doctor.  People who oppress the needy are far from experiencing deep inner peace, even if they have big houses and fast cars.  I wonder if Jesus’ openness to them made any difference… He hoped it would.  It’s not the healthy who need the doctor, he said, but the sick.

Were their critics sick, too? They didn’t see themselves that way, but, then, a lot of sick people are into denial.  Theirs was a different sickness … but equally crippling, and perhaps more dangerous because undiagnosed.  In the Gospels, Pharisees didn’t come across as peace-filled, gracious and warm people.  Jesus didn’t get far with most of them.  Are any people heavily into criticism peace-filled, gracious and warm people?

Jesus said that he didn’t make a practice of calling the virtuous – they wouldn’t join his lot, for a start, and, without profound conversion – (without, somehow, hitting the wall) – they would have put other people off, rather than attracting them.  Jesus, instead, called sinners – like Matthew.  He had more hope with them.  He didn’t succeed in changing the system, but helped  some of them, at least, to turn around.  His disciples struggled a bit to be really convinced of their need for the doctor – but, after facing their brokenness, their cowardice and fear, and then, experiencing the risen Jesus’ unchanged love and respect for them, the healing worked.

Where do we stand?  We don’t personally collect taxes, like Matthew and his fellow tax-collectors; but we are beneficiaries of a system that insists on collecting crippling interest payments from third world nations, that keeps their crop prices down and tilts the playing field to its own advantage.  We’re caught up in the sin of the world … and most of us aren’t conspicuous for clamouring for substantial change, and for clearly willing to accept the cost.  We belong to the morally sick, needing the doctor.  Like Matthew and his fellow disciples, we have made a start, but struggle to bit to be convinced of our deep need.

Some of us may be more like the Pharisees, insightful critics of everyone else… though, perhaps, unlike the Pharisees, we do feel an inner pain beneath our criticisms.  Whatever our sin, Jesus yearns to heal us.  He certainly made a great job of Matthew, the former tax-collector, and of the former Pharisee, Paul, one of whose letters we read from in today’s Second Reading.

While today’s Gospel is quite challenging, it is also wonderfully encouraging.  Thank God we’re sick.  Thank God we’re sinners.  And the more we are convinced, the more quickly we can be healed.  Surprisingly, it’s sinners whom Jesus calls.