PENTECOST 4, 06/08/2008

Sermon on Matthew 9:9-13; 18-26, by John H. Loving

"The Call of Matthew"

As 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.

10 And 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.' (St Matthew 9:9-13)

If you have ever been to the city of Capernaum and walked along the dock of the Sea of Galilee, you will remember what a busy place that can be. Fishing boats are pulling in, often loaded down with the night's catch; Roman soldiers either on patrol or just passing away off-duty hours throng the street. Merchants are hawking their wares, townspeople come down to the dock to purchase fish or other goods, and many linger to visit and gossip. The synagogue with its white marble columns is just a short distance away, and there the Pharisees gather with their students and followers.

After spending several years in the boondocks as a tax collector, it was a pleasant contrast for me to be stationed at Capernaum. From my perch in the tax office right across from the docks old Levi did not miss much! I taxed the fishermen, the merchants, the farmers who sold produce, and any others who did business there on the docks. I knew everybody and they all knew me--not that there was ever much good feeling between us!

Some people think we tax collectors have it made, but I can tell you it is not an easy life. We take our orders from the Roman conquerors, and yet they treat us with disdain. Romans seem to hate the Jews, and we tax collectors have to bear the brunt of their scorn.

What is even harder to bear is the contempt of our fellow Jews. They think of us as collaborators with the Roman conquerors, refuse to acknowledge us in social situations, shun our wives and children, and even make it all but impossible for us to participate in the weekly Sabbath observances at the Synagogue. Why should we subject ourselves and our families to that kind of abuse?

No one seems to understand that in order to support ourselves, we tax collectors have to add on a certain percentage to the Roman tax. We get no regular salary and that added percentage is the only income we have. Of course, I'll have to admit that some of the collectors do take advantage of their position and double or triple the tax and pocket the difference. But the way they are treated, you can hardly blame them. Or at least that is the way I thought about it until a certain rabbi came to town.

Jesus of Nazareth--maybe you've heard about him--made Capernaum his first base of operations. He came in here with four of his disciples and really set the town on its ear. His message was so simple, and yet once you heard him you could not forget it. "The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand. Repent and believe in the gospel." All of a sudden the day-to-day routine took on a new urgency. There was a sense of expectancy in the air. Something big, something decisive was about to happen, and you just knew that Jesus was part of it. He taught in a whole new way--like one of the prophets of old--not just quoting other rabbis, but cutting through all that and bringing you face to face with the wonder of God's love and forgiveness and your own pettiness and pretenses. For me the faith of Israel became real for the first time.

He preached first in the synagogue--I missed that as you might have guessed--but heard all about it from those who were touched by his message and by the healings that followed the synagogue Service. The whole place was abuzz with the stories. After that, the crowds were so large that he had to preach down on the dock--or sometimes would go out in a boat and the people would gather around the shore. I can tell you--Capernaum will not forget his teaching any time soon. Jesus and I never talked in those early days, but our eyes met several times, and somehow I sensed that he knew me better than I knew myself.

One day after he came back from an excursion through the villages nearby, I was out on the dock figuring out the tax on a boat-load of fish. Business as usual. The Roman charge, the tax collector's percentage, and a little extra for good luck! Suddenly a shadow fell across my neat columns of weights and amounts. Our eyes met as I looked up, and I knew my life would never be the same. For the next twenty-four hours his simple message kept echoing through my head. "The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand. Repent and believe in the gospel." Yes, there was judgement in those eyes, and I felt it in my heart. But far greater than the guilt was the joy of forgiveness and the certainty that God's love had overcome even the depth of my sin.

The next day when he passed by the tax booth, he turned to me, and with two words offered me life and forgiveness. "Follow me," he said, and without a second thought I got up and went with him.

Jesus was famous for giving people new names. Simon he called "Cephas"--the Rock--and to me, Levi, he gave the name Matthew, which means "God's gift". This can be taken in a number of ways. On one hand I always knew that my chance encounter with Jesus was worth more than all the calculations and money that I dealt with as a tax collector. This was God's gift to me.

But it goes beyond me, if you know what I mean. The real gift is the hungering for God, for love, for wholeness in our lives. Even when I was locked into the tax collector's routine, I always sensed that something was missing, that one day I would discover what I was really called to be and to do. The hunger for that search is part of God's gift to all of us.

There are individuals who seem to be blessed with certainty--who go through most of their lives with the assurance of God's presence. But most of us discover God in moments of illumination and flashes of insight. Sometimes it is when we are at the very end of our rope. Yet these moments and flashes mean that we have been encountered by One who is offering us the gift of God's very self. It means that there is one who approaches and speaks and withdraws again, waiting for our response. God is never forced upon us. We are always free to respond, free to say No, free to say Not Yet.

Carrying further this analogy of the Gift, my great joy was to offer myself as a gift to Jesus. He saw within me the potential that no one else ever imagined. I did not have to renounce the Levi part of myself when Jesus gave me a new name. He accepted me as I was, and this meant that I could accept and love myself and go on to grow into a new person--loved, forgiven, empowered--God's Gift! Amen.

Rev.; Assisting Priest John H. Loving
Episcopal Church of the Good Shepherd
Austin, Texas

E-Mail: jloving3@austin.rr.com

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