Sermon 21-9-14

Matthew Apostle &Evangelist

9 As Jesus was walking along, he saw a man called Matthew sitting at the tax booth; and he said to him, ‘Follow me.’ And he got up and followed him. 10 And as he sat at dinner in the house, many tax-collectors and sinners came and were sitting with him and his disciples. 11 When the Pharisees saw this, they said to his disciples, ‘Why does your teacher eat with tax-collectors and sinners?’ 12 But when he heard this, he said, ‘Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. 13 Go and learn what this means, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.” For I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.’

St Matthew, Apostle and Evangelist, has given his name to one of our Gospels – and is only mentioned 5 times in the New Testament.

What is it about this man that made him such a prominent figure in the early Church?

To know who Matthew was we need to look at what he did. Tax collectors in those days were social outcasts. Devout Jews avoided them because they were usually dishonest (the job carried no salary, and they were expected to make their profits by cheating the people from whom they collected taxes). Patriotic and nationalistic Jews hated them because they were agents of the Roman government, the conquerors, and hated them with a double hatred if (like Matthew) they were Jews, because they had gone over to the enemy, had betrayed their own people for money. Thus, throughout the Gospels, we find tax collectors (publicans) mentioned as a standard type of sinful and despised outcast. The position of tax collector was comparable to that of prostitute or murderer – and we know how Jesus dealt with those! Matthew was most likely a rich man, an educated man, a lonely man – and he gave it all up to follow Jesus.

He followed Jesus because Jesus called him. Jesus called him, but Jesus also went to him. Jesus said, “Follow me”, and then joined Matthew in his community to share bread and wine. The Gospel writer makes a point of letting us know that other tax collectors and sinners were gathered there – and the good upright people of God were appalled. Bad enough that Jesus should single out one such man for such special attention – but to willingly choose to spend his time with those so far removed from the ideals of purity! Jesus does this so many times we no longer find it remarkable, but at the time it would have been equivalent to Pop Francis washing the feet of a young female detainee as happened in April this year. I suspect that among those who protested the loudest were those who considered themselves the most holy. 

It has always been this way. Whenever we find ourselves getting comfortable with ourselves, our status and our faith Jesus comes and turns everything upside down. In Matthew’s gospel Jesus was found with the tax collectors and the sinners – where is Jesus found in our church today?

When I am speaking to people who are enquiring about becoming part of the Church, whether through baptism or as a adult, I always emphasise that the Church is a place of broken people. Jesus the Christ called the sinners, the tax collectors, the outcasts to a place at his table, and so does the Church. That means that as a community, we are broken, holy, sick, sainted, sinful people. We are not here because we are perfect, or even on our way to being there. We are here because something in our soul feels our sin and cries out to be made one with Christ.

We have high standards for those who gather in the name of Christ. We expect them, we expect ourselves, to be somehow ‘better’ than those who do not. On one hand, this makes sense – we are here to learn, to grow, to love in faith and action. On the other hand, we are here because we need healing – not because we are whole, but because we are not. 

It is from this consciousness that this gospel must be viewed. Matthew was written for a broken people, a people in the midst of pain and rejection. Matthew’s community of Christian Jew’s saw themselves as proclaimers of the fulfilment of all the Hebrew scriptures and tradition, but they were met with resistance and hostility. By the fall of the temple, around 70 CE, the people who saw themselves as central to the redemption of God’s people were being increasingly marginalised. As far as they were concerned, they belonged in the centre, but were now on the point of being ostracised completely. The pain of rejection colours the account of Jesus' crucifixion. Jerusalem's destruction represents God's judgement for rejection of Jesus and the same threat continues as a warning through the narrative. Hurting Jews are accosting fellow Jews, blaming, shifting the guilt more and more away from Pilate. In the hands of anti-Semitic Gentiles however the material has served a terrible history which we are still having to undo and in which there is still need for greater effort.

In this gospel, Jesus chose Matthew. Jesus chose to spend his time here on earth with tax collectors and prostitutes, the rejects and dregs of society. When the self-proclaimed righteous objected, Jesus reminded them that God desired mercy, not sacrifice. In many respects I am relieved by the acknowledgement of my own sinfulness – trying to be righteous is a demanding and ultimately unfulfilling task. I stand here before God and before all of you and confess that, like Matthew, I am in need of healing. I am broken. But the good news that Matthew has shared is that Christ has chosen to dwell with me.  Christ has come to me in my sin and willingly, eagerly, lovingly, come into my heart and redeemed my soul.

We often say we are working towards a time when the Church will be restored to glory. Perhaps instead we should be working towards a time when there is no more need for healing.

Sermon on Luke 9:1-6

Luke 9:1-6

Then Jesus called the twelve together and gave them power and authority over all demons and to cure diseases, 2 and he sent them out to proclaim the kingdom of God and to heal. 3 He said to them, ‘Take nothing for your journey, no staff, nor bag, nor bread, nor money—not even an extra tunic. 4 Whatever house you enter, stay there, and leave from there. 5 Wherever they do not welcome you, as you are leaving that town shake the dust off your feet as a testimony against them.’ 6 They departed and went through the villages, bringing the good news and curing diseases everywhere.

For the first time in Luke's Gospel, Jesus finally calls upon his disciples to do something. Up until now they have been primarily observers and hearers. He has taught a hundred crowds in their hearing, imbedded in their minds his message and methods day after day, week after week, month after month until they know them by heart. Now it is time to send them out to learn how to minister.

His instructions seem quite simple, if a little hard in practice – live off the hospitality of your neighbours, stay wherever you are welcome… and if they don’t want you, shake the dust off your feet and don’t look back.

This is the bit where I struggle. I have this picture of Jesus in my head, loving extravagantly and embracing the outcasts, but here we see him telling his disciples, on the cusp of their first mission, to reject those who don’t listen. Now, when it comes to God I’ve been known to be a bit hard of hearing myself – especially when it is something I don’t want to hear. So if we are to turn away from those who don’t instantly hear the good news, who are we going to have left?

I still can’t answer this question entirely, but I have been able to find a different angle from which to view it. What if the disciples are being told to shake of the dust not only for the sake of the unbelievers, but themselves? How much time and effort do we spend with our hearts and minds caught up in an argument that we can never win? When do we let go, and let God?

It can be easy to forget that in all of our greatness and cleverness, we are still only human – made in the image of God, but not yet in perfection. Do any of you have family that are not Christians? Me too. Does anyone else have moments of guilt that they haven’t managed to bring their people to God? Oooooh yeah. It’s hard. Our faith is the centre point of our life, literally the light of our beings, and when we haven’t managed to share that with our nearest and dearest we really do feel like we have failed. Failed them, and failed God.

But you know what? I don’t think it’s as bad as all that. Looking at this passage, it seems that even the disciples -  filled with the Holy Spirit, healing the sick, casting out demons – could not bring every person to faith. This must have been a crushing disappointment for them, as it is for us. Imagine the burden of failure they could have carried when the people did not want to hear the good news. Imagine the recriminations, the accusations, the blame…

Now imagine Jesus standing there with them. Jesus, knowing their pain and shock at their own failure… “turn away”, he says. “Shake the dust off your feet. Don’t let the disbelief of these people pull you down. Keep going. Keep fighting. Keep believing. It’s not all up to you”.

It’s not all up to you.

I am a perfectionist. I admit it. No one is harder on myself than I am – I have worked consciously and consistently to try and accept correction without letting it beat down my soul. To say I take my failures to heart is to put it very mildly. If I really thought I had the sole responsibility for bring my loved ones to faith, I would be terrified – and rightly so.

Luckily, it doesn’t work like that.

God’s Spirit does not rely on us to transform people’s hearts. People are not lost to God because we failed to find the correct combination of words and action to bring them to faith. God works through us and in others in ways that we can’t even imagine, let alone see. God’s nature is of mystery, closer to us than we can know but vaster than we can understand. When there comes a time when we feel that we have failed, that despite our living and breathing the Gospel we have not managed to touch someone’s heart, we need to let go. Brush the dust off our feet. Leave it to God.

Because “All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.”

In the name of Christ.

Amen

Sermon 8-10-14

Luke 11:1-4

1 He was praying in a certain place, and after he had finished, one of his disciples said to him, ‘Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples.’

2 He said to them, ‘When you pray, say:

Father, hallowed be your name.

     Your kingdom come.

3 Give us each day our daily bread.

4 And forgive us our sins,

     for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us.

     And do not bring us to the time of trial.’

How many times have you used the Lord’s prayer? I remember learning it in Grade 5 when my teacher made us stand behind our chairs and recite it every morning. It forms part of my daily prayer, and of every service I am part of every week. I  must have said it hundreds of times. Jesus gave us these words when his disciples asked him to teach them to pray. They must have noticed that one of the things that set this man apart was his deep connection with God, and the priority he placed on prayer must have had something to do with it. The disciples had access to the psalms, but what Jesus had seemed to be something more. The disciples, so human, were asking for words. What Jesus in his divinity gave them was so much more.  Instead of giving words to pray, Jesus gave them a way to pray that opened a relationship with God—communion—as opposed to a procedure for God’s help. This likelihood is already suggested by comparing Luke’s preface in which Jesus says, “When you pray, say…” with Matthew’s preface to the other Gospel report of the Lord’s Prayer (6:9ff) where Jesus says, “Pray then in this way…”

Look at the simplicity of this prayer. We start with an acknowledgment of our relationship with God – whether we address Father or Mother, we are allowing a depth of intimate relationship with our God that can only be expressed in the most personal of terms. We are not asking for this love – we are merely affirming that it is so. We recognise that sacredness of God – that even God’s name has been set aside for perfection.

“Your kingdom come” – where is God’s kingdom? My first answer is that it is here – here, where God is found, where acts of mercy and justice are carried out every day, where we share in the body and blood of Christ and bring forth the Spirit in ourselves and others. What would be possible if we really saw God’s kingdom as being here, now, with us, and never apart?

We know that we require certain things to survive – and we know that in this broken world there are so many who struggle without. As we pray, with our bellies full and our lives secure, we hold before God those who are not so fortunate as ourselves.

Forgive us our sins – not because we are worthy, but because we are not. We not only ask for God’s forgiveness, but we promise to express that same grace to those in our lives. Is God’s forgiveness conditional on ours? A scary thought, but Jesus certainly seems to make this point more than once

Finally, we affirm our trust that God will not leave us in our struggles. We do not so much petition for our lives to be easy so much as are reminded that God is a present and active part of every trial.

I have gradually come to realise that Jesus was not giving his disciples the words to pray so much as showing them on what his relationship with God was based.  I furthermore expect that from that day on, Jesus gathered the twelve into his daily prayer, which he had before this done in private, using this prayer, through which they could start to participate in the depth of God’s presence on earth. How could the disciples, throughout their lifelong use of Jesus’ prayer, not always sense Jesus’ presence as the actual one who was praying, and doing so as only he could?

More than this, I feel the real presence of Jesus whenever we use this prayer. For me, these words open us to the power of this prayer joining all of God’s children throughout time and space. Whether we are begging with fervour or merely going through the motions, Jesus is with us, showing us the way, leading us into right relationship with God. Jesus is our priest when we use his prayer.

Mother Theresa was famously devoted to prayer and contemplation is association with her incredible life giving work, but it is less well known that for the last 50 years of her life she experienced a great spiritual poverty. As she wrote to a friend in 1979, “Jesus has a very special love for you. As for me, the silence and the emptiness is so great that I look and do not see, listen and do not hear.” Yet she is revered as one of the most holy women of her generation, dedicated to living a life of active prayer and reflection. It is worth considering that there are going to be many times, maybe the majority of the time, when our prayers seem to go not only answered, but unnoticed. Times when the words desert us, when the emptiness inside seems to not only rebuff but repel the power of God. This, then, is when we can turn back to the words Jesus has given us. Loving God, in your mercy, hear our prayer.