Outsiders

Mercy, Not Sacrifice

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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.

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A Bigger Mission

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — Mark 7:24-37

Every day we encounter them, folks who are outsiders to the Christian community.

Melissa has never been a church member.  Although her parents were both raised in mainline congregations, they never got involved with the church as adults.  They never had Melissa or her brothers baptized or confirmed.  Melissa has good memories of attending church as a child on special occasions with her grandparents, especially those wonderful Christmas Eve services.  Sometimes, Melissa thinks she could really use that beauty and belonging in her life, but she doesn’t know how that would happen.  Her grandparents have been gone for years.  Sunday morning services feel like a foreign language, and the one time she did go, she sat by herself in the back.  It feels a whole lot safer to stay home and have a second cup of coffee.

Ben and Mary haven’t attended church since their youngest son aged up and out of the Youth Group.  They had felt it was important for their children to experience the moral and ethical teachings of Christianity, and so for years they had made the effort to come to church.  They sat in the sanctuary while the kids trooped off after the Children’s Time to Sunday School.  Ben and Mary never truly intended to drop out of church.  Each week they promised one another that this would be the Sunday they would be back.  A week turned into a month.  Then, it was a year.  Then, it just got too embarrassing because they had been gone for so long.  Now they think of church as something that had been part of their lives “back then.”  It’s just too much bother to reconnect.

Betty attended church weekly for decades.  Every week, she sat in the same pew, used the same hymnal, and passed the peace with the same people.  All that tradition had to change when Betty sold her house, which had gotten to be too much to manage after her husband died.  Betty’s new home is a fifteen-minute drive from church.  After she had a series of fender benders, the kids persuaded her to give up the car.  As a result, Betty’s Sunday morning trips to church came to an end.  Betty likes the online services, but it’s not the same.  She misses worship; she misses her church family.

Every day we encounter them, those folks who, for whatever reasons, are now outside the Christian community.  We exchange awkward “Hellos.” We make small talk about the weather.  We share superficial news of family.  Then, we go our way, feeling relieved it’s over but also a little sad.

Our reading from Mark’s gospel told two stories of outsiders to the covenant community.  It began with that woman and her demon-possessed daughter.  The Bible scholars like to tell us all the reasons why this woman and her child would not be welcomed by Jesus and his friends.  First of all, she was a Gentile of the worst sort: a Syrophoenician who worshipped the storm god Baal.  These were not lost sheep of Israel.  These were foreign Jezebels.  This woman didn’t have the courtesy to follow the traditional practice of sending a male family member to make the request for healing help.  A first-century rabbi would never accept a private audience with a woman who was not a family member, especially a Gentile Syrophoenician one.

All Jesus wanted was a little peace and quiet after his dust up with the Pharisees and scribes, but as soon as this woman heard that Jesus was in the neighborhood, she was knocking on the door with her inappropriate request.  We know that Jesus didn’t like it because he called the woman and her child dogs—ask any woman and she will tell you that there is absolutely nothing nice about being called a dog, no matter who says it.  Most of us would tuck our tails and walk away, but that tenacious woman refused to give up.  Her witty repartee about even dogs deserving a few crumbs—and her bold faith that Jesus could heal her daughter, if he only would—stopped Jesus as he began to shut the door.  “Hmm,” he thought.  “Maybe it isn’t just about the lost sheep of Israel.  Maybe God’s love can be bigger than that.  Maybe even outsiders like the Syrophoenician woman and her daughter could have a place within the new covenant community that is taking shape around me”.  One thing is for certain, Jesus changed his mind.  The demon was gone and the girl was cured, sight unseen.

The second healing story serves as an exclamation point to this notion of a bigger mission.  Jesus was again in Gentile territory, again facing inappropriate demands to heal someone who was beyond the literal and spiritual borders of Israel.  This time, there was no harsh refusal, no need for witty repartee.  On the contrary, Jesus worked hard for the man’s healing: laying on hands, applying spittle, touching his tongue, and praying, “Ephphatha!”  Be opened!  Jesus’ healing work was so thorough that the no longer impaired man and his friends couldn’t stop sharing the good news of what Jesus had done, despite Jesus’ request that they keep it on the down low.  The news of this new openness must have spread like wildfire throughout the Gentile cities of the Decapolis.

These beautiful stories of healing and the command to “Be opened” speak to us.  Often when we hear them preached, we are reminded that Jesus invites us to reach beyond traditional boundaries.  We are meant to share God’s love, healing, and mercy with folks who are stereotypically outsiders to the mainstream of society—or at least to mainline churches.  Be opened!  Minister to those who are incarcerated.  Reach out to the refugee and the migrant.  Welcome neighbors whose lifestyles or loves have been made to feel like they don’t belong amid the assembly of the faithful.  Indeed, I believe that Jesus calls us to that radical openness which we affirm every Sunday when I share our statement of mission and state that, “All are welcome here.”  God’s love is always larger and more inclusive than we can begin to imagine.  Jesus expects that those who follow him will “Be opened” even when that is not easy or comfortable.

This time through the lectionary cycle, I have also been thinking about those other outsiders, the ones we encounter every day.  They may be spiritually hungry seekers, like Melissa.  They have never known what it is like to have a church family.  They don’t know that Jesus loves them.  The very thought of attending a church on their own feels risky and lonely, like being a stranger in a strange land.

Those everyday outsiders may have once had a place in the assembly of the faithful.  But then an empty nest, or a big promotion, or retirement got them out of the church habit.  They have slipped away from our Sunday mornings and our potlucks.  For a number of years, they made an obligatory appearance on Christmas Eve.  One day, we sadly realized that they aren’t church people any more.

Those everyday outsiders may even have once been insiders like Betty.  Then, a big move, a growing disability, the death of a spouse, or the onset of dementia brought an end to their deep engagement with the congregation.  We miss them, but we don’t always do anything about that.  We trust that the deacons and the pastor will handle it.

There are everyday outsiders everywhere, and the advent of the pandemic has made it that much easier to allow folks to continue to be outsiders.  We tell ourselves that if people really want to worship, they can now do so online.  We don’t even consider inviting them to church because who wants to worship in the Great Hall anyway?  It becomes awfully easy to hide behind our masks in the grocery store.  We may encounter those everyday outsiders everywhere, but those awkward moments of encounter pass.  We shrug it off, at least until the next time.

“Ephphatha!”  Be opened, Jesus says to us this morning.  It’s a prayer.  It’s a plea.  It’s a calling to take personal responsibility.  Those everyday outsiders, their mothers aren’t going to come knocking at the church door, demanding an audience with Jesus.  Those everyday outsiders, their neighbors aren’t going to intercede for them.  It’s up to us to care, to reach out, to speak, to make a way for connection, to be the love of Christ for those who feel that, somehow, they are on the outside.

Jesus, put your fingers in our ears.  Jesus, give us a little of that holy spittle.  Jesus, touch our tongues.  Open our hearts to those who are on the outside looking in, lonely, alienated, and uncertain about what they are truly looking for.  In a world that is desperate for God’s mercy, healing, and love, the gap between insider and outsider is ours to bridge. 

Resources:

Ashton, Loye Bradley. “Theological Perspective on Mark 7:24-37” in Feasting on the Word, Year B, vol. 4. Louisville: Westminister John Knox Press, 2009.

Howe, Amy C. “Pastoral Perspective on Mark 7:24-37” in Feasting on the Word, Year B, vol. 4. Louisville: Westminister John Knox Press, 2009.

Wilhelm, Dawn Ottoni. “Homiletical Perspective on Mark 7:24-37” in Feasting on the Word, Year B, vol. 4. Louisville: Westminister John Knox Press, 2009.

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