Reflection on Matthew 9:9-13

Preached as a sermon at St. Anne’s on June 5, 2005
by Lydia Huttar Brown

Matthew was a tax collector.

It wasn’t exactly something he had chosen. No-one grows up thinking “I want to work for my people’s enemies, and have a job that will make people despise me.” But there it was. The opportunity had come to him and he had grabbed it. After all, he had a wife and children to support, and they deserved to eat and have a few nice things.

When he was younger, he had not minded so much the scorn of his fellow Jews. "They’re just jealous,” he would think to himself. He felt lucky to have this job, lucky to be in a position to set his own salary by deciding how much extra he would charge each taxpayer. He felt important, knowing the power he had over people. And he had not minded being excluded from the temple, or being considered “unclean” – like certain animals or forbidden foods. The security of wealth had seemed to him more important than friendship, more important than the respect of his countrymen, more important than the health of his soul.

There’s no risk to my soul anyway, he thought. I haven’t really changed inside. I can quit this racket as soon as my future is secured. But as time passed, he found it more and more difficult to even think of quitting. In fact, little by little he found that he was charging more overhead, hardening his heart when paying him created a hardship for others. He realized that he was no longer a good man doing a despicable job, but he had become the despicable: He was a tax collector, a mercenary, a tool of the occupying Roman government in the oppression of his own people.

And his heart cried out: Is this all there is? Does my life have any meaning? Is there any goodness left in me? Oh, if I could do it all over… if I could have a new start…

Around this time, Jesus was traveling around the country, teaching and healing and gathering quite a following. News of this itinerant preacher came to Matthew, and so when Jesus came to town, Matthew went with the crowds to listen to him. He stood at the edge of the crowd, a little apart, noticing the mothers drawing their children closer as they glanced at him.

For days he observed and listened from a distance. He saw sick people become well, and lame people get up and walk. He heard Jesus say, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” And another time “You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored?” And Matthew felt as though Jesus could see right into his soul and was talking just to him.

So when Jesus saw Matthew sitting at his tax booth, and their eyes met, Matthew felt as if Jesus knew him – knew that he was a despicable and despised tax-collecting cheater, knew his hardness of heart and pride and greed. Matthew had a strong sense that Jesus knew all that about him – and that it didn’t matter.

Jesus knew there was more to Matthew than what others saw. Jesus understood that no-one is all good or all bad. And that very often what looks like righteousness is a disguise for what is really in the heart. Jesus always was one who saw the possibilities for good in a person.

And when he said to Matthew, “Follow me,” Matthew was ready. He stood up and walked away. Just walked away. He left behind his lucrative career, and his wealth, and his hardness of heart, and stepped forward into the adventure of a lifetime.

The adventure began with dinner, at Matthew’s house. Maybe it was a celebration dinner – celebration of courage, of new beginnings, of new friendship. Matthew invited all his colleagues – tax collectors and sinners – like him, outcasts – “Come to my house and eat with me, and meet the person who gave me courage to change my life!”

There were so many people there, eating and drinking, and telling stories and sharing hopes and dreams – that some of Jesus’ disciples had to sit outside.

And some of the people who would never be caught dead associating with Matthew came near the house. These were the Pharisees – the righteous good people, who believed everything they had been taught, quite literally, and who followed every commandment and every rule. And the rules said: Don’t eat with the unclean! If you hang around with bad people, then you are bad.

Oh, those Pharisees! trying so hard to be good. And they were good. So good that they fooled themselves into thinking that there was no bad in them. They were blind to what they had in common with everyone else – the complexity of the human heart, full of good and bad, clean and unclean…

They wouldn’t even go into the house to speak with Jesus directly, but instead they questioned his disciples outside: Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?

Jesus was listening at the open window. He realized the ironic truth: These Pharisees were the ones most in need of a new start! Their pride in their own righteousness was the greatest disease of all. It kept them from recognizing their own shortcomings. It made them sit in judgment over their fellow human beings – and that judgment was a wall that divided them from others just as surely as Matthew’s status as unclean had separated him from the community.
Their pride in their righteousness had hardened their hearts so that they didn’t even know they needed forgiveness. Didn’t even know they needed to leave their old life behind and start anew.

Jesus thought back to what he knew of ancient Hebrew scriptures. The words of Hosea came to mind. God says, I desire mercy and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings.

The words of the Psalm echoed, too: Offer to God a sacrifice of thanksgiving…
Without a humble and loving heart, rituals of worship and outward shows of righteousness are meaningless to God.

Although the Pharisees had not spoken directly to Jesus, he spoke directly to them in answer: Those who are well don’t need a doctor. But those who are sick do. Go review your scriptures, that you claim to know so well. Read: I desire mercy, not sacrifice. And when you know what it means, you will recognize that you have much in common with these tax-collectors.

I hope you will want to join the party.