Mathew 9:9-13, 18-26 Christ heals a woman and raises a girl

When you think of a sinner, who do you think of? What images of human identity pop into your mind? An addict? A drug-dealer? A thief or maybe a criminal of some kind?

Are they dirty? Wearing dark baggy clothes? Is their hair too long or their skirt too short? Are they tattooed or heavily pierced? We all have stereotypes in our minds that we might not even notice are at play.

Jesus is sitting at a table filled with tax collectors and sinners. Who are the sinners?

The answer is: you. The sinners are middle-class, normal, everyday people.

Not the poor, not the desolate, not the aristocracy and kings. Middle working-class people. The kind of people you might find, oh, I don’t know, sitting in a pew on Sunday morning. Those who have enough to be able to afford transportation, clothes on their backs, and don’t get too uncomfortable when they see an offering plate, trusting that they have at least something to toss in.

The tax collectors and sinners Jesus is dining with could very well have been a dinner at one of our houses with all of our friends and neighbors.

I say this because as Christians, we have a tendency to focus on everyone else being the problem. But those it is who have enough- a roof over our heads, a meal on our tables, clothes on our backs. We were the focus of Jesus’ ministry- not all of his miracles, but most of his ministry almost as if, maybe we who have enough physically have the most to learn spiritually.

Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick… well that’s another story isn’t it?

The ones who are the most sick, spiritually ill, seem to also be the people who have the most trouble recognizing they are. Basically, a failure to pull the log out of your own eye before you remove the speck from someone else’s.

We have this unnamed woman who is likely suffering from endometriosis, uterine fibroids, or some other female reproductive disorder that impairs her ability to function as a human being on a daily basis. She touches his cloak, her faith has healed her and… away she goes never to be heard from again. When her suffering became too great, she sought the Great Physician. She recognized her illness, treated it, and resumed her daily life. Totally time encountered with the risen Christ about 1 minute.

But, we also have something else going on in this passage. The healing miracle was just a small side quest. Jesus and his followers are currently on parade to a leader’s house, most of them of higher social stature than the healed woman. Someone seeking healing for someone else, not themselves. It’s uncertain how long they are walking for but it’s definitely longer than a minute.

When we finally get to their house, we find music and a commotion. The celebration of a life that has ended has already begun. It is only after they have arrived that Jesus tells them the girl is just sleeping.

He could have mentioned this at any point in the story. He could have told the leader this when the leader first arrived at where he was having dinner with tax collectors and sinners. He could have told him along the way. But no, he spent time with the leader. Time with the people. Then he walks in, takes the child by the hand, and she gets up.

Before healing the girl, Jesus politely tells the crowd they can depart, for the girl is fine. I want to talk about this community that Jesus talks to. Next week, my sermon will be about the laughter at Jesus saying he is about to perform a miracle. God likes to make us laugh. The crowd that gathered at the leader’s home with flutes and was making a commotion, I’m not sure commotion is necessarily the right word here as I don’t believe anything involving flutes is likely to be a negative energy, I would call this more of a celebration, positive kind of energy.

When it comes to witnessing a miracle, we choose what type of commotion we make. We can produce a negative commotion either internally or externally, or we can choose to produce a positive one.

Anyone ever been to New Orleans? Talk about a commotion around death. It’s incredible. Brass bands, dancing, drinking, celebration of life and community, marching through the streets as if even the poorest of the poor are the most sacred creatures on God’s green earth.

When I was there on a seminary cross-cultural trip in January, which is shortly before Mardi Gras, we stopped to observe what’s called a second line. The streets were bustling with people, many of whom seemed to have somewhere they needed to be, yet most of them stopped to ask excitedly, “Are you going to the second line?” Going to the second line was not the reason we were there, but after having been asked by so many people who demonstrated so much enthusiasm over it, how could we not go?

I feel like this is likely what happened every time Jesus preached somewhere in an open venue. Flocks of people all excitedly asking total strangers, inviting them, “Are you going to see the prophet?” Word would spread like wildfire, and after having received so many heartfelt, passionate invitations, how could you not go?

So, my group goes to the second line and… I’m nervous. First of all, this was not on the itinerary. To add to your list of things you should know about me: I am the most rigid flexible person you may ever meet. I am a well-organized, follow the plan, we’ve got a schedule, we follow the rules kind of person. I plan things in advance. Just ask my husband: if I don’t have a sermon ready three days in advance I’m getting, crabby, irritable, and come Sunday morning, I am one testy little ball of nerves. And yet, anything goes wrong, no problem, it’ll be fine, God’s got this, it’ll all work out.

If we’re traveling, I’m not leaving the beaten path, not one inch. I had one terrible experience that I’m not going to traumatize you with today. When I travel, there is no “oh, that looks fun, let’s walk down this dark alley and check that out” happening. I think that’s why God gave me a Doug who thinks Keep Out signs, if he even notices they’re there, are just a suggestion.

But we’re on a group excursion, so after weighing the difference between doing something that is not on the itinerary and sticking with the group. I’m choosing to stick with the group.

We make our way down several back streets to arrive at a sea of black people as far as the eye can see. My anxiety heightens. Our free-spirited guide, Odessa, who has already gotten one speeding ticket on this trip, starts pushing her way through the crowd to try to get us somewhere we can see.

I don’t like crowds. I don’t like feeling trapped. I fully understand why my dog wants to be picked up when more than three people arrive at my house at once. Another traumatic event I’m not going to share with you today. This second-line excursion is turning into my worst nightmare. And then… we find out why the second line is happening.

In the weeks leading up to Mardi Gras, members of what are called a Social Aid and Pleasure Club, or SAPC, host Second Line Sundays. The second line is a 1-5 hours parade procession, where the first line, is the group being honored. In the case of a funeral, this would be the funeral procession and immediate family. For these types of events, it is the group being honored, the “Social Aid” that is supported by the group. These groups include many things like raising money to support cancer or ALS research. But, they also do social advocacy, raising money to support women’s or minority rights, cultural preservation, mutual aid or in this case…

Gun violence victims. Black children who have died due to gang-related deaths and police brutality. Yep.

I’m standing in the middle of sea of rival gangs and members of the poorest communities of New Orleans who have gathered together to mourn their losses over the past year while seriously questioning my tour guides sanity and qualifications.

We hear noise. People start to get anxious and the swarm of bodies tightens around the building in front of us. The First Line King emerges from the building with their entourage. Someone specially chosen as a representative of those being honored. Dressed in elaborate costume that must weigh over 50 pounds. And the parade begins. Trumpets, trombones, tubas, an entire brass band emerges to set the pace and rhythm for the next 1-5 hour parade of dance that will march through the community healing souls and wounds along its path until it ends with a communal bbq party.

The royal party is followed by Baby Dolls, groups of women who volunteer their time fighting for equality and justice, visiting the sick, the ill, the widowed, and the mourning, and… dancing together through it all. The kind of people whose faith can heal them, and if it doesn’t, they will dance until it does.

We choose what type of commotion we make. We choose for it to be positive, or we choose negative.

There was no fighting that day. There was no violence. Rival gangs danced together. Police followed to ensure tourists and onlookers, not the locals, didn’t cause any trouble in their ignorance of what was happening. The crowd created a positive commotion. They danced.

But me? What was going on inside of me? I wasn’t dancing was I? I wasn’t joyful. I was not thinking or behaving like the type of person who would walk into a hostile crowd to touch the risen Lord was I? Because of my sin of judgment cast upon others, my lack of trust, my fear, I could not dance.

Who are the sick people, the sinners? Was it the ones there to celebrate life amidst death, or was it me who was uncomfortable, hesitant to be there, let alone to be willing to dance? The sinner is not always as easy to recognize as you think they are. The sinner is the one who passes judgment on others. Those who do not judge can dance and are healed. Those who judge others as judging them hesitate, immobilized by their thoughts and feelings rather than inspired to dance their love for their fellow human beings in the streets.

Why does Jesus spend the majority of his time with taxes and sinners?

They are the ones who fail to recognize their own sin, fear death, and are embarrassed to dance, sing, speak, or be themselves in front of their community. They come to church every Sunday and want to take Jesus home with them. They prefer to have their conversations with Jesus in private instead of being bold as a witness for all to see. They are the ones Jesus has dinner with. A time of communion. A time of learning. They require more time to learn that they are already free, the only thing that traps them is their own sin of judgment. Their lack of mercy for themselves and others.

Go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have not come to call the righteous but sinners.

The righteous give mercy, not judgment. They rejoice with one another through pain and sorrow. They rejoice with one another through death and mourning. They rejoice by making joyful music together and dancing.

Sinners can’t dance. Sinners struggle to lean on the community when times get hard, only wanting to rejoice when Jesus does what they want. Sinners keep their miracles and faith private rather than boldly confessing their faith on the streets in unexpected, unplanned acts of mercy and healing. Sinners don’t want to risk social isolation and exclusion because of their faith. Sinners can’t dance at funerals because their faith stops at death.

Viktor Frankl wrote “Those who have a why to live can bear almost any how.” This was his interpretation of Friedrich Neitzsche’s “If a man knows the wherefore of his existence, then the manner of it can take care of itself. Man does not aspire to happiness; only the Englishman does that.” Ever wonder why Christianity as we see it today is so heavily white privileged, European? Because yes, you are self-centered, but also yes, Jesus was spending the majority of his time and teaching and talking to you, privileged middle-class white people, tax collectors and sinners.

Those who have lost the ability to celebrate death. Those who are constantly struggling to find a way to bear how. Those who take for granted that they have what they need and instead of giving the excess to others seek to make their own daily lives better. Those who have lost their bond to community and place. Those who are uptight, self-conscious, spend their time worrying about embarrassing themselves in front of others. Those who would never dream of chasing after Jesus Christ himself just to touch the hem of his robe and fully trust that this small act of embarrassment, of public groveling and humiliation, this small act that could have gotten this woman arrested and possibly killed for crossing so many social boundaries, is what is necessary for salvation. Bearing public witness to one’s faith.

You who fear singing in church, reading liturgy aloud, raising your hands when the spirit moves you. You who will not just stifle shouts of acclamation and Amens when you hear something that moves your soul, but have the audacity to look down upon others who allow those halleluiahs and amens to escape their lips. You who fear things which are not on the itinerary and, despite your body feeling pulled and wanting it, just can’t bring yourself to dance. You who are like me. Tax collectors and sinners.

I desire mercy, not sacrifice.

We whose sin is not showing the love we have for God and neighbor but instead getting bogged down in rules and social etiquette thinking we can aspire to happiness but no matter how hard we try cannot seem to fully comprehend that happiness is not something we will ever aspire to, work toward, win or deserve, it is a gift that has been given to us by the grace of God above and merely needs to be received. We who can’t dance through life because of our sins.

“Those who have a why to live can bear almost any how.”

Those who come to Christ instead of expecting him to come to them can endure any how. Remember those who carried their friend, who knows how far, then lowered him through the roof of a building, that he might be healed? They endured the how because of their why.

When you think of a sinner, who do you picture? Is it like looking into a mirror? Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick…

Jesus spends the majority of the Gospels hanging out with people like us. He performs miracles for many, brief interludes where someone comes to him, is healed and then they go forth into the world to spread the good news. They become the parade marshal, gathering a brass band that invites others in, forming the second line, leading a parade that will dance for not hours but centuries to honor what Jesus Christ stands for: our salvation. Gathering together members of communities and strangers who if not for the parade that heals and binds their soul’s wounds with one another would fight and argue, maybe even kill one another.

But we, we who claim to be Christians get uncomfortable. We see a sea of people who are not like us, and we think won’t welcome us into their fold. We fear embarrassment that we don’t know how to dance instead of handing ourselves over and just letting our bodies move in time to the rhythm they were made for the cause they were designed to march with. We think mourning is somber and depressing and bottle our emotions up inside ourselves instead of releasing our anguish and pain into song and dance.

We think Jesus Christ should be contained within the walls of a building and that is a church just so we can sit in a pew every Sunday. Rather than a church is where people gather for shelter and rejuvenation so that they can walk away shouting acclamations of Good News and praise that draws attention and spreads like a fire of Pentecostal happiness through the streets. We who aspire to be happy but are unwilling to do what it takes. We who Jesus Christ, the divine physician, spent so much of his life trying to cure of our spiritual constipation yet we will not carry out the doctor’s orders to dance. We who are not dead but sleeping.

We who sin must learn to let go of our judgments that others will judge us for our faith. Let them judge. We must show that Jesus’ time with tax collectors and sinners was well spent. We who struggle to accept the freedom that the love of Jesus Christ has to offer who cannot dance because of our own sin need to get up, shake our legs, wiggle our arms, raise our heads and our hands high into the air. We must rise in body and spirit to accept the gift of forgiveness Jesus Christ has offered to us.

I’m not joking. Seriously. Get up! Rise! Lift your hearts, your voice, your spirit. Lift your body and soul as you are able and sing this wonderful hymn by Charles Wesley, obviously an Englishman, and aspire to happiness! Oh wait… let just sing it joyfully we don’t have to work for that happiness.