Matthew 9:9-13 | Joann White

Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Scandalous Company” Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26

He was scandalous, that miserable Matthew. All day long, he sat in his roadside tent outside Capernaum along the busy highway, the Way of the Sea, the great Roman road that stretched from Egypt to Damascus. For good reason, Matthew was little loved by his neighbors. He paid a pretty price to the Romans for the right to collect taxes, to charge a toll for the use of the highway. Matthew prospered, not just by collecting the taxes due to the Romans, but also from adding a tidy surcharge for his personal benefit. To his neighbors, Matthew was everything that had gone wrong with Israel: a filthy Roman collaborator, grown rich from fleecing his own people, rendered unclean and undesirable as a result of his unethical business practice and his constant contact with Gentiles.

They were scandalous, not at all the sort of company that any respectable rabbi would keep. You know the sort I’m talking about, sinners and outcasts, folks known far and wide for their moral and ethical failure. It wasn’t just the tax collector. Oh no. It was the merchant who liked to keep his thumb on the scale, the farmer who maximized his profits by oppressing his workers, the older husband who kept a sweet young thing on the side, the son who neglected his aging parents, the drinker who never made it to sabbath services. They weren’t the “right” kind of people. Indeed, sharing a meal with that crowd was a surefire way for any rabbi to be labeled a glutton, a drunkard, and fellow sinner.

She was scandalous. There are no real secrets in a village, and when she first began to suffer from her problem down there, folks shook their heads and clucked their tongues. After all, a malady like that, going on and on and on, month after month, could only be an affliction sent by the Lord. They didn’t know what she had done to bring it on herself, but it must have been pretty salacious. For 12 years she was afflicted, suffering from the pain and debilitation of her illness. Everyone knew that Leviticus 15 told women like her to stay home, avoiding contact with neighbors and even family, but there she was elbowing her way through the crowd, rendering everyone she touched unclean.

We are scandalous. Like Matthew, we have valued a buck more than our neighbors. We have pursued the politics of expedience. We held our noses and forged alliances that feathered our nests or suited our ends, even when we knew it was wrong. We love the almighty dollar. Don’t mess with our 401-k. We want to know what is in it for us.

We are scandalous. Like those sinners and outcasts, we pick and choose the commandments that we wish to keep. We think that our drinking or drugging or infidelity isn’t a problem if we can keep it on the down low. We’ll fulfil those obligations to family next week—or maybe the week after. If our minimum wage workers really wanted to make more money, they’d do something about it—get more school, pull up the old bootstraps, get up the gumption to leave. We justify the ethical corners that we cut.

We are scandalous. Like the hemorrhaging woman, we have allowed ourselves to be blamed for things far beyond our control. We bear the sins of our fathers and mothers like a coat of shame. We allow people to tell us that our cancer can be cured if only we will eat a cleaner diet, or we wouldn’t have diabetes if we hadn’t gotten so darned fat. We have allowed others to define us with mean-spirited gossip and outdated perceptions, to ostracize us and turn us into outsiders. We have refused to stand up for ourselves.

If Jesus were a prudent rabbi, he would have sent one of his disciples into Matthew’s tent and avoided the man entirely. But Jesus didn’t do that. Instead, as Jesus waited his turn to pay his tax and watched Matthew assess fees and count coins, he didn’t see a tax collector, he saw a disciple. So, Jesus extended an invitation, “Matthew, won’t you leave your tax table and follow me?” And for Matthew, it was perhaps as if a shaft of light pierced the veil that shrouded his heart. Matthew knew that God loved him. God longed to be reconciled with him and put him to work. Matthew left the coins on the table, turned his back to the tollbooth, and walked away to a life of discipleship.

If Jesus were a prudent rabbi, he never would have accepted those dinner invitations, but he did. There he was, reclining next to sinners, dipping his hand into the same bowl with them, and you know what they say, “Birds of a feather.” But when Jesus looked at sinners and outsiders, he saw neighbors, who for years had hovered at the margins of Israel, somewhere above Gentile dogs and below observant Jews. He saw sheep in need of a shepherd, in need of second and third chances. And so, he broke the bread, lifted the cup, welcomed the lost, and there was great rejoicing.

If Jesus were a prudent rabbi, he would have ignored the hemorrhaging woman and kept on walking. But as her fingers reached out to touch the fringe of his robe, he stopped. He turned. He knew her affliction. He knew the desperation it had taken to wrap herself in a shawl, leave her home, and walk among her neighbors with the hope of stealing a little healing. Her neighbors said she was unclean, but when Jesus looked at this frightened and suffering woman, he saw a daughter, a sister, a woman of bold faith and brave courage. She returned home with a light and joyous step, healed, whole, and free from suffering.

We are scandalous. We’ve gotten things so wrong, we wonder if they can ever be made right. We long for a God who can look beyond our sin and suffering to see us for who we truly are. We need a savior who believes that that we can be good and honorable and pleasing to God. Jesus knew that God’s love is always surprising and challenging, always greater than we can ever possibly imagine.

Jesus sees us this morning. He calls us disciple, neighbor, daughter, son. We are a scandalous company, my friends, but that is just the sort of company that Jesus chose to keep. Thanks be to God.

Resources:

Cleophus LaRue. “Commentary on Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26” in Preaching This Week, June 11, 2023. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-10/commentary-on-matthew-99-13-18-26-2

Danny Zacharias. “Commentary on Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26” in Preaching This Week, June 7, 2026. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-10/commentary-on-matthew-99-13-18-26-3

Greg Carey. “Commentary on Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26” in Preaching This Week, June 8, 2008. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-10/commentary-on-matthew-99-13-18-26

Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26

⁹As Jesus was walking along, he saw a man called Matthew sitting at the tax-collection station, and he said to him, “Follow me.” And he got up and followed him.

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

¹⁸While he was saying these things to them, suddenly a leader came in and knelt before him, saying, “My daughter has just died, but come and lay your hand on her, and she will live.” ¹⁹And Jesus got up and followed him, with his disciples. ²⁰Then suddenly a woman who had been suffering from a flow of blood for twelve years came up behind him and touched the fringe of his cloak, ²¹for she was saying to herself, “If I only touch his cloak, I will be made well.” ²²Jesus turned, and seeing her he said, “Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well.” And the woman was made well from that moment. ²³When Jesus came to the leader’s house and saw the flute players and the crowd making a commotion, ²⁴he said, “Go away, for the girl is not dead but sleeping.” And they laughed at him. ²⁵But when the crowd had been put outside, he went in and took her by the hand, and the girl got up. ²⁶And the report of this spread through all of that district.

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Mercy, Not Sacrifice” Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26

Timmy feels like an outsider. He’s at that awkward adolescent stage where his legs have gotten too long for the pants his Mom bought for him in the fall, but he still hasn’t outgrown his baby fat. When it comes to gym class, he’ll be picked last for a team. Timmy asked a girl to the school dance, but she said “no.” Lately, the popular boys in his class have been bullying him. They call him by a mean nickname. They ridicule the ankles that show beneath his too short pants, the thick glasses that he needs to read, and the pimples that are beginning to erupt on his chin. Timmy spends a lot of time at home in his room, reading or playing video games. He tells his parents that he doesn’t want to talk about it.

Sara hasn’t been to church since she was a teenager. Last year, she got married to her longtime girlfriend. It was a sweet ceremony, outside in a garden with vows they wrote themselves. A friend with one of those online ordinations that you can buy for $10 presided at the service. Sara loved church, but one day in Youth Group, as she was coming to terms with her sexual identity, the Youth Pastor told everyone that people who are gay or lesbian are an abomination. Sara didn’t really know what that word meant, but she knew it wasn’t good. Later, when she looked it up, it hurt her heart to think that people would actually believe that God hated her for the way that God had made her.

Martin and Adele feel like outsiders in their own family. It started with the 2016 Presidential election when family members split over the two candidates. What started as a minor squabble at the Thanksgiving dinner table over the election outcome has exploded into years of animosity. You should see the insulting and demeaning partisan emails and Facebook posts that have fanned the flames of conflict. Disagreement has escalated to division. Martin and Adele may love their family, but they find it hard to like them these days. Last year, they skipped Thanksgiving, and they don’t know if they’ll ever return to the family table.

Our reading from Matthew’s gospel serves as an extended example of how Jesus responded to first century distinctions between outsiders and insiders to God’s love. It all started when Jesus saw Matthew sitting at his roadside toll booth and invited the tax collector to become a disciple. The Pharisees were scandalized. Didn’t Jesus understand that Matthew was an outsider? He was an unclean collaborator, who had profited from the Roman occupation. Matthew wasn’t fit for decent society. Didn’t Jesus understand that breaking bread with Matthew was risky business? After all, you know what they say, “Birds of a feather flock together.”

Then, there was that woman, the one with the bleeding down there. She had been unclean for longer than anyone could remember. Ten years? Twelve? A long time. Leviticus fifteen taught that a woman with a discharge of blood was impure. Anyone who came into contact with her was rendered unclean. She was an embarrassment to her family, shunned by the neighbors. Everyone in Capernaum knew to steer clear of her.

How about that little girl? She may have been the daughter of the synagogue leader, but dead is dead. The professional mourners were already wailing. In a world where six out of ten children didn’t grow to adulthood, this death was no rare tragedy, and she was a girl, after all, not a higher status boy. The Torah taught that anyone who touched a corpse was rendered unclean for seven days, a whole week of prayer and separation. There would be purification rites to undertake, too, on the third and seventh days. Jairus should have known better than to waste Jesus’ time. This little girl wasn’t worth the trouble.

Matthew, the woman, Jairus’s daughter. All were unclean outsiders in the eyes of first century Israel. Beyond any social stigma—and there was plenty of that—people like the Pharisees believed that Matthew, the woman, and Jairus’s daughter were separated from God. Matthew had willfully disregarded the Torah to consort with Gentiles. That woman must have been a terrible sinner for God to afflict her so shamefully for so long. And that little girl? Dead! Perhaps God would raise her on the Day of Judgment.

We all have times when we feel like outsiders. Like Timmy, we may have been rejected or bullied by siblings, classmates, or colleagues. Like Sara, we may have been told that God can’t and won’t love people like us. Like Martin and Adele, we may have fallen victim to the bitter divisions of partisan politics that cast those with differing opinions as mortal enemies.

The world is full of other neighbors who feel like outsiders. They live in poverty on the margins of the community. They cope with autism that makes it daunting and difficult to connect socially. They wrestle with mental illness that makes them want to go back to bed and pull the sheets over their head. They grapple with addictions that fill them with guilt and shame. They feel like they don’t belong. They may even wonder why God doesn’t love them.

Jesus chose to reach outside, to move beyond the traditional limits of first century Judaism, to stretch the bounds of the Torah. When the Pharisees challenged him on the company he kept, he quoted for them the words of the Prophet Hosea, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.” Jesus chose to practice mercy rather than become a prisoner of purity. Jesus came for tax collectors, hemorrhaging women, little girls, and all the others who had been made to feel like they lived life on the outside, looking in, unwelcome at the table of the righteous, unwelcome in the Temple of God.

Jesus’s ministry was a bold witness to God’s love and mercy for those who felt unwelcome and excluded. Of course, Matthew was called to serve as a disciple. Of course, that woman was healed and praised for her faith. Of course, Jesus took that little girl by the hand and tenderly restored her to her family. Rather than sacrifice a sister or brother on the altar of holiness, Jesus chose mercy. Jesus knew that God’s love longs to welcome the outsider in.

There must have been great rejoicing that evening in Capernaum. Matthew threw the biggest dinner party ever. He broke out the best wine. He killed the fatted calf. He invited not only Jesus and all his former colleagues in the tax booth, but also all the Pharisees to feast at his sumptuous table.

That woman, who no longer had the issue of blood, sang praises to God. She was celebrated by her neighbors who had never really seen her before. They had only seen her disease. They realized how lonely she must have been all those years. They saw that just touching Jesus’ prayer shawl must have taken tremendous courage. Then, she went home to her family filled with rejoicing and together they wept tears of gratitude and joy.

That funeral wake for Jairus’s daughter turned into a birthday party. The weeping turned into cries of jubilation. The sackcloth was traded for some festive party hats and Mardi Gras beads. A conga line danced through the streets of the village with Jairus, his wife, and daughter leading the way.

This morning, we who have been made to feel like outsiders join the party. We are loved in the midst of our gawky adolescence. We are loved whether we are LGBTQ – or even straight. We are loved regardless of our political sensibilities. Jesus wants to spend time with us, whether we are poor or rich, have autism or social anxiety, contend with mental illness or feel enslaved by our addiction. Jesus is for us, his mercy and love abound.

If we listen closely this morning, we who feel at home inside the church, inside the tradition, may even hear Jesus calling us to reach outside, to follow him in extending the boundless love and mercy of God to those who need it most. May it be so.

Resources:

Rolf Jacobson, “Followed by the Lord” in Dear Working Preacher, June 4, 2023. Accessed online at www.workingpreacher.org.

Cleophus LaRue. “Commentary on Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26,” June 11, 2023. Accessed online at www.workingpreacher.org.

Greg Carey. “Commentary on Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26,” June 8, 2008. Accessed online at www.workingpreacher.org.

Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26

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

18While he was saying these things to them, suddenly a leader of the synagogue came in and knelt before him, saying, “My daughter has just died; but come and lay your hand on her, and she will live.” 19And Jesus got up and followed him, with his disciples. 20Then suddenly a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years came up behind him and touched the fringe of his cloak, 21for she said to herself, “If I only touch his cloak, I will be made well.” 22Jesus turned, and seeing her he said, “Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well.” And instantly the woman was made well. 23When Jesus came to the leader’s house and saw the flute players and the crowd making a commotion, 24he said, “Go away; for the girl is not dead but sleeping.” And they laughed at him. 25But when the crowd had been put outside, he went in and took her by the hand, and the girl got up. 26And the report of this spread throughout that district.