Matthew 9:2-13
In the name of Christ our Lord.
Near miracle, actual miracle, and more than a miracle. We meet them all in Jesus today.
I’ll start in the middle of the reading, with the near-miracle of the call of Matthew. Why do I call this a near miracle? When I think back to how I’ve heard these call stories described, it’s often with a tone of astonished disbelief. Jesus says, “Follow me,” and, behold, the new disciple drops everything and follows him. Isn’t it amazing, we wonder, that otherwise normal people—laborers like James and John or an accountant like Matthew—have made such crazy life choices so suddenly? The implied message here is that following Jesus and becoming a Christian is something you have to be stupid, delusional or willfully ignorant to do.
But what if you don’t have to be crazy to follow Jesus? What if there are solid reasons to think, “This guy is good for me! I want to be wherever he’s going.” When I heard Elvis, the Beatles, and Chuck Berry for the first time, I didn’t have to think twice. I just knew I wanted that music in my life. That’s what discipleship is like for Matthew. He knows he has options. He has a job and a routine. When Jesus says, “Follow me,” he makes an informed choice to respond, “Of course I’ll go! Where else would I want to be!” And he follows. It’s not a miracle or irrational to want to be where Jesus is. In many ways, it’s the most natural, awesome thing on earth. That’s why it's a near miracle: discipleship isn't crazy; but it can be an energetic response to the crazy goodness of Jesus.
The second thing that sounds like a miracle but isn’t occurs twice in our reading: once at the beginning and once at the end. In both places, Jesus perceives that people are thinking negative thoughts about him. This sounds like a miracle, because it seems as if Jesus can read minds. Maybe he can. But you don’t need to be a miracle worker to know that “haters gonna hate.” If it’s in a Taylor Swift song, maybe it’s not a miracle.
What do the haters hate? They hate compassion and liberation shared with the wrong folks. They hate reconciliation and people getting along in new life-giving ways. They hate the idea that people named in the text only as sinners might be people Jesus thinks are people worth spending time with, lives that matter. Noticing that some people reject or resent this goodness doesn’t take a miracle. Actually, sometimes it just takes a mirror. In that mirror, I see that I’m on that resentful side too often myself.
Neither is it prophetic or miraculous today to say that our country is sick and dying from violence and resentment. It’s right there in front of us to see. And it doesn’t take a prophet to notice that the people who could do the most to create safer conditions for life together don’t seem to care; many of them even seem invested in keeping the violence and resentment going. It may not take a miracle to see it, but it might just take a miracle to heal us.
And there is a miracle in today’s passage: Jesus healed the paralyzed man, with a word. Modern medicine can’t bring healing like that; respectable society debating the relative merits of public safety and health can’t do it either. Jesus brings healing that no one else can. It was truly a miracle. Even so, when we watch Jesus, we see that the miracle points beyond itself to something even holier.
Before performing this miracle, Jesus asked the resentful people around him, “Which is easier? To forgive sins or to work medical miracles?” He didn’t give them time to respond, but let’s sit with this for a while. When I sit with the question--if I’m honest--I hear the words and say, “Um, the medical healing is harder.” This response shows I have no idea about the power of faith, forgiveness, and reconciliation; or, if I do have an idea, I don’t like it.
Why don’t I like it? Because real truth and reconciliation are scary. The truth hurts. It’s embarrassing. Truth and reconciliation are even what I long for most of all in my life, but I’d still rather not risk it. I seem to prefer accepting untruth, living an unreconciled life, and submitting to a not-so-benign neglect. We see this socially, too. We’ll spend billions and trillions on war, security and medical care. But sitting down and saying, “What would it take for us to live together well?”—which would basically cost us nothing—is too painful and hard.
Jesus again: “Which is easier: the healing and reconciliation of the whole person or some physical changes?” I change my answer. Further: beyond the miracle, even before the miracle, we see that Jesus has already said the most powerful thing possible: “Take heart, son. Your sins are forgiven.” And to us: “Take heart, friend, I know you. You’re alright and you’re loved and together we’re gonna see things through.” Sounds too easy? It’s not easy, but if you need proof of the power this gives and the power Jesus has, then here’s a sign.
And this amazes the crowd: Jesus dares to bring peace and reconciliation into their troubled midst. He does the same thing later in the passage when he boldly quotes Hosea 6:6, “Go learn what that means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’” This is the power of God for salvation, in our midst.
Take heart. Near miracle, actual miracle, bigger than a miracle: Jesus invites us to get up and take part in this life-giving reality. Where else would we rather be?
Amen
Preached in Loehe Chapel, Wartburg Seminary, Dubuque on February 15, 2018
In the name of Christ our Lord.
Near miracle, actual miracle, and more than a miracle. We meet them all in Jesus today.
I’ll start in the middle of the reading, with the near-miracle of the call of Matthew. Why do I call this a near miracle? When I think back to how I’ve heard these call stories described, it’s often with a tone of astonished disbelief. Jesus says, “Follow me,” and, behold, the new disciple drops everything and follows him. Isn’t it amazing, we wonder, that otherwise normal people—laborers like James and John or an accountant like Matthew—have made such crazy life choices so suddenly? The implied message here is that following Jesus and becoming a Christian is something you have to be stupid, delusional or willfully ignorant to do.
But what if you don’t have to be crazy to follow Jesus? What if there are solid reasons to think, “This guy is good for me! I want to be wherever he’s going.” When I heard Elvis, the Beatles, and Chuck Berry for the first time, I didn’t have to think twice. I just knew I wanted that music in my life. That’s what discipleship is like for Matthew. He knows he has options. He has a job and a routine. When Jesus says, “Follow me,” he makes an informed choice to respond, “Of course I’ll go! Where else would I want to be!” And he follows. It’s not a miracle or irrational to want to be where Jesus is. In many ways, it’s the most natural, awesome thing on earth. That’s why it's a near miracle: discipleship isn't crazy; but it can be an energetic response to the crazy goodness of Jesus.
The second thing that sounds like a miracle but isn’t occurs twice in our reading: once at the beginning and once at the end. In both places, Jesus perceives that people are thinking negative thoughts about him. This sounds like a miracle, because it seems as if Jesus can read minds. Maybe he can. But you don’t need to be a miracle worker to know that “haters gonna hate.” If it’s in a Taylor Swift song, maybe it’s not a miracle.
What do the haters hate? They hate compassion and liberation shared with the wrong folks. They hate reconciliation and people getting along in new life-giving ways. They hate the idea that people named in the text only as sinners might be people Jesus thinks are people worth spending time with, lives that matter. Noticing that some people reject or resent this goodness doesn’t take a miracle. Actually, sometimes it just takes a mirror. In that mirror, I see that I’m on that resentful side too often myself.
Neither is it prophetic or miraculous today to say that our country is sick and dying from violence and resentment. It’s right there in front of us to see. And it doesn’t take a prophet to notice that the people who could do the most to create safer conditions for life together don’t seem to care; many of them even seem invested in keeping the violence and resentment going. It may not take a miracle to see it, but it might just take a miracle to heal us.
And there is a miracle in today’s passage: Jesus healed the paralyzed man, with a word. Modern medicine can’t bring healing like that; respectable society debating the relative merits of public safety and health can’t do it either. Jesus brings healing that no one else can. It was truly a miracle. Even so, when we watch Jesus, we see that the miracle points beyond itself to something even holier.
Before performing this miracle, Jesus asked the resentful people around him, “Which is easier? To forgive sins or to work medical miracles?” He didn’t give them time to respond, but let’s sit with this for a while. When I sit with the question--if I’m honest--I hear the words and say, “Um, the medical healing is harder.” This response shows I have no idea about the power of faith, forgiveness, and reconciliation; or, if I do have an idea, I don’t like it.
Why don’t I like it? Because real truth and reconciliation are scary. The truth hurts. It’s embarrassing. Truth and reconciliation are even what I long for most of all in my life, but I’d still rather not risk it. I seem to prefer accepting untruth, living an unreconciled life, and submitting to a not-so-benign neglect. We see this socially, too. We’ll spend billions and trillions on war, security and medical care. But sitting down and saying, “What would it take for us to live together well?”—which would basically cost us nothing—is too painful and hard.
Jesus again: “Which is easier: the healing and reconciliation of the whole person or some physical changes?” I change my answer. Further: beyond the miracle, even before the miracle, we see that Jesus has already said the most powerful thing possible: “Take heart, son. Your sins are forgiven.” And to us: “Take heart, friend, I know you. You’re alright and you’re loved and together we’re gonna see things through.” Sounds too easy? It’s not easy, but if you need proof of the power this gives and the power Jesus has, then here’s a sign.
And this amazes the crowd: Jesus dares to bring peace and reconciliation into their troubled midst. He does the same thing later in the passage when he boldly quotes Hosea 6:6, “Go learn what that means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’” This is the power of God for salvation, in our midst.
Take heart. Near miracle, actual miracle, bigger than a miracle: Jesus invites us to get up and take part in this life-giving reality. Where else would we rather be?
Amen
Preached in Loehe Chapel, Wartburg Seminary, Dubuque on February 15, 2018