In today’s Gospel reading Jesus is having quite a day! This section of Matthew’s gospel is filled to the brim with people asking for Jesus’ help, challenging him, and crowding him out. But Jesus doesn’t try to get away from them, or stop seeing the needs of those around him. He sees them. All of them.
The extract from Matthew chapter 9 that we heard this morning has within it four different situations of encounter with Jesus. And is surrounded by other, equally significant and dramatic encounters. I’d like to look at three of those encounters this morning.
First we heard the moment when Jesus came across Matthew, told to us in just one verse. ‘As 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.’ Matthew is a tax collector, sitting in his booth, responsible for collecting extortionate Roman taxes from Jewish people, most of whom have very little.
The caricature of a tax collector in this society is someone who is greedy, dishonest, a betrayer of their people. A person with no morals, who is prepared to inflict suffering on their people for the sake of their own individual wealth and security. They were seen as collaborators with the oppressor, the Romans. And because of this, they were marginalised and largely excluded from Jewish society. This is how the people saw Matthew. But this is not who Jesus sees. Even though the fully human Jesus looks with human eyes.
In societies across the western world, including in our own nation, our own city, we are encouraged through the media to pigeon hole people, to judge them according to their skin colour, their hairstyle, their clothing, their language, and once we have scanned these and many other attributes, we make value judgements about them, and decide whether they are someone we would like to know, or someone who may be dangerous, and better avoided.
But when Jesus sees Matthew he does not only look with his human eyes, or pass judgement without actually encountering Matthew. No, he looks at him with the eyes of his heart. He goes towards Matthew and they encounter one another. Immediately the barriers between them are weakened, and melt away, because each recognises a fellow human being, and as soon as that happens, instinctive responses of empathy, and desire for connection are aroused.
Jesus sees him; Jesus goes to him; Jesus says two words; and Matthew responds. This moment of encounter, about which we are told almost nothing, is rich and deep and brings new life to one who was, in some sense, dead.
‘Follow me’ says Jesus. I wonder how long it had been since anyone (Jewish or Roman) had addressed Matthew in a non-threatening, genuinely invitatory, way. How long since he had felt seen, recognised, valued. Matthew hears these two words that communicate so much, ‘Follow me.’ His heart is moved, and he responds. And in responding, he is brought back into life, personally, and societally.
The second encounter, that is split into two sections, is that of the synagogue leader with Jesus. We don’t know his name, but we know a lot from his few words. “My daughter has just died,” he says, and then asks something extraordinary. “but come and lay your hand on her, and she will live.” This encounter is initiated by the man who is desperate, but not despairing. His daughter has died. And, having heard stories of this man, Jesus, and his ability to heal, to restore life, in this moment that might turn him to despair, hope unexpectedly enters his heart and he seeks Jesus, crying out for his healing touch.
Jesus sees him. They encounter one another. The man speaks, and Jesus, recognising the man’s grief, and his hope-filled faith, follows him. Jesus’ action again grows out of a recognition of the other’s humanity and suffering, and he responds by moving closer to this pain, with love. Then we have an interruption to this story, and a third encounter.
The other Gospel writers describe this moment in Jesus’ ministry more vividly than Matthew – the crowd jostling Jesus, noisy and demanding. But Matthew is sparse in his telling. “Then suddenly a woman who had been suffering from a flow of blood for twelve years came up behind Jesus and touched the fringe of his cloak, for she was saying to herself, “If I only touch his cloak, I will be made well.”
This woman, at the bottom of the social ladder, ostracised and rejected, interrupts Jesus when he is going to the house of the synagogue leader, someone at the top of the societal ladder, whose girl who has died. Again Jesus refuses to be blinkered by external pressures. He refuses to prioritise the leader over the excluded woman. Jesus turns, and he sees her. They look at one another, and in that look they encounter one another. Jesus speaks, “Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well.” And at that moment, the woman was healed.
The healing of this woman was literally life changing. During menstruation, women could not engage in public life, must not be touched by others for they were considered unclean. So this woman, menstruating for twelve years without ceasing, had no means of building relationships or being part of society. She would have been entirely alone. Her healing changes everything. She can re-enter life; it is another story of resurrection. Someone whom the world had cast out as though she were dead, is brought back into society, and into life.
And then, just as quickly as we left it, we return to the second encounter with the synagogue leader. Jesus arrives at the family house where a crowd has gathered. Jesus enters, turns the mocking crowd away, goes to the girl, and as he takes her by the hand she is restored to life. The one who was dead is brought back to life.
Pentecost takes us, in the space of a week or two, into the heart of Jesus’ ministry. We are brought face to face with Christ who goes towards those in need, who does not discriminate on grounds of wealth or social status, but upends social expectations, and embodies mercy in ways that challenge religious and societal structures. These three stories emphasise restorative mercy; not simply words, not just words of forgiveness or absolution, but tangible acts of restoration that show what the Kingdom of God ought to be like.
Each of these encounters is so much more than a physical restoration—it is a social and spiritual reintegration. Their healing is holistic, healing of body and soul, and of community. For God’s healing brings communal restoration, to those who are excluded by bringing them in, and to those who exclude, by widening the circle to include all people, reaching beyond our prejudiced and unjust discriminations. Every one of these encounters is a story of restoration that leads from death to life. They are gospel stories full of hope, of love; they are, all of them, in some sense, resurrection stories.
And they bring challenge for us. For we are called to be people who restore individuals, society and the world, and lift up those who are downtrodden, be they here in our own nations, or in other countries around the world. We are called to be people who live with justice and mercy and love at the core of our lives.
We pray for this every time we pray ‘your Kingdom come; your will be done, on earth as in heaven’. It’s a prayer full of hope, and full of challenge. Because working for the Kingdom of God among us is never going to be easy, or popular. It is going to challenge the status quo and it is a challenge to us. But just imagine what the world might look like, a world where all have what they need; where all are treated with respect and justice; where all live in peace; where all are helped to live life fully rather than be trapped in patterns and by structures that deaden them … This is what Jesus called Matthew to, and it’s what he calls us to. It could change the world and bring the Kingdom of God amongst us … now isn’t that a call that is worth responding to?