Rev. Dr. Joel D.Biermann
Matthew 9:9
January 22, 2017
When you walk into the old and enormous churches of Christendom you often see magnificent statues of the apostles who served as the very foundation of the church. Of course, probably the single greatest concentration of these churches and statues is found in Rome. The main nave of one of the most important cathedrals, there, St. John Lateran, is lined on both sides by enormous marble statues almost twice the size of real life, of all twelve of the apostles. Each of them exudes strength, courage, piety and virtue. They portray the twelve apostles as literal pillars of righteousness and holiness. Each is mounted on a slab base higher than a man can reach, so that as you walk beneath each apostle you are compelled to bend your head to gaze up at the magnificence. There is Peter with a fiery countenance, an outstretched arm and his key of authority clenched in his fist. St. Philip stands with his foot crushing a dragon’s head his bare chest revealing his muscular torso. And Matthew is there, studying with a fierce bearing, an enormous book that his muscle-bound arms hold propped against his leg. Judas, naturally, is not there; he’s replaced with St. Paul. No traitor, and no failure is allowed in this noble army of great saints. There’s no blemish on this assembly of remarkable men, no failing, no weakness, no shame. The men are giants in every way.
But before Peter and Paul or Philip and Matthew were awe-inspiring statues in one of the world’s greatest churches, they were simply apostles, disciples, followers of Christ. And before that, they were just men, unassuming Jewish men living unexceptional lives, in utterly unremarkable ways. In fact, had you known any of them when they were just ordinary guys from the neighborhood or the synagogue, you would never have thought it possible that one day people would celebrate them in wonderful marble sculptures. Indeed, none of the twelve themselves would have been able to imagine such a thing. Before Jesus called them, there was nothing special about any of them. But, Jesus called them, and that changed everything forever.
For two Sunday’s now, we’ve heard gospel readings tell us about Jesus gathering his disciples. He went about it in rather unconventional ways—which isn’t too surprising. Jesus never seemed to be bound to the usual way of doing things. No rabbi in the 1st century chose a follower or invited someone to be a disciple. Instead, people would offer themselves to the teacher. But not Jesus. He does the choosing. Matthew tells the story. It all seems so casual and spontaneous. Jesus has moved, a trek of several days walking from the Jordan River and Judea where he was baptized, back to his home area to the north: Galilee. And he begins to preach. His ministry has begun. And then one day, as he walks by the Sea of Galilee, he issues his first calls. A couple of fishermen are there—two men who’d already had some interaction with Jesus back in Judea. Jesus invites them to join him and to be remade into a new kind of fisherman. And that’s it. They drop everything and follow, just like that. Moving on, the three of them spot the next two to be called. Not only do James and John leave their boat and business, but they leave their father. Again, just like that. Jesus calls. They follow. But, what peculiar men to choose to be apostles, leaders, preachers, and pillars of the church. Everything was going to depend on them. But, they weren’t scholars. They weren’t practiced theologians. They weren’t civic leaders. They weren’t wealthy and influential members of society. They weren’t polished public speakers. No, the four of them were fishermen, just plain, unremarkable fishermen. And Jesus chose them. Their most distinguishing feature was their lack of distinction. It’s hard to understand how Jesus had called the right men for the job. Actually, it seems like Jesus had called the wrong men.
Jesus, though, makes his choice and calls his first four followers. And while his first four selections may have been unexpected, they are choices that we can understand and even begin to appreciate. After all, every one of these four are solid guys. These are hard-working, parent-honoring, God-fearing men who make their living by trusting in God’s provision. There’s no guarantee when you fish. God has to show mercy. These four fishermen know how to trust God and how to honor his creation. So, while these men were not exactly elite, they did have a solid, salt-of-the-earth quality about them. They may have been surprising choices as apostles, but, it can be argued, they were good choices: good men, good stock, good potential. Jesus is off to a good start, it seems…and then there’s Matthew. We have to jump ahead a few chapters; Jesus’ group of disciples has taken shape for a while already—all those good, solid, Jewish, Galilean fishermen are going wherever Jesus goes, walking and talking, sleeping and eating in his company, when he suddenly does something incredible. He calls Matthew to follow too.
Matthew. Mathew was a tax-collector. Matthew came with issues—a lot of them. Matthew, was a guy who worked for the enemy. Matthew was the man who made people pay, the man who took Jewish money and gave it to Roman occupiers. Matthew was a sell-out. He was an opportunistic, self-serving, lover of money, who cared more about his own bottom line than about the suffering of his own people. Matthew was ready to turn his back on people and bargain with Rome to make a buck. His occupational choice made it very clear where his priorities lay. He had little room for God or country or countrymen. Matthew was busy looking out for himself. He was greedy. He was rich. He was a traitor. Matthew was everything that Peter, Andrew, James, and John were not. They were hard-working people tied to nature: simple, solid, and trustworthy. Matthew had soft hands, a shrewd, conniving mind, a pile of wealth, and complicated relationships with everyone. He couldn’t be trusted. And Jesus calls him. What was Jesus thinking? Matthew is not disciple material. The Pharisees gathered at Matthew’s party were not impressed with Jesus’ choice. They knew that Jesus had called the wrong guy. Even the other disciples must have been shocked and dismayed. It was all too obvious to them as well that Jesus had called the wrong guy.
Truth be told, I’ve got a few problems of my own with Jesus’ choice of Matthew. Getting called as a disciple was quite an honor—a really good thing. But, really good things like that are supposed to happen to really deserving people. We know that’s the way that it works. People who get good things are those who deserve good things, and everyone understands that those who deserve special good things are those who are nice, decent, and hard-working, and yet somehow don’t have a lot of things. In other words, to be deserving is to be good and to be poor. To be deserving is to be men like Peter, and Andrew, and John and James were. Matthew was neither good nor poor. He wasn’t helping anyone but himself, and he was filthy rich. He wasn’t down and out. He wasn’t one of the humble, but honest folk who got the short end of the stick. Face the facts: Jesus called the wrong guy.
He always does.
Jesus doesn’t do what he’s supposed to do. It’s bad enough that Jesus doesn’t seem to play by the rules of the world and give due deference to those in places of power and authority. And, it’s a bitter pill for some to accept that uneducated and simple people find a place in the ranks of the chosen few. Still, by now, we’re getting used to that. It is more or less the standard way that Jesus operates. He always seems to go for the fringes and comes to the aid of the powerless and the humble. But, with Matthew, he doesn’t even follow those rules. Matthew had made deliberate choices about the way he lived his life. He wasn’t a helpless peasant by no fault of his own. He wasn’t a victim of the system. He was not down-trodden and poor. He was not an honest guy caught in the evil of others. He was the other evil one. He was “the system.” He was a calculating, rich, fat cat…and Jesus calls him. What a grossly unfair and arbitrary thing to do! What a bizarre and unbelievable thing to do. Indeed, there’s a word for this incredible, inexplicable, erratic behavior. It’s called grace.
Grace makes no sense. Grace is a scandal. Grace means that God goes after the undeserving. Jesus elects those who have made deliberate choices to reject God and God’s truth. Jesus chooses the people that we would never choose. He calls not just society’s loser, but even worse, he calls society’s hot-shot winners and manipulators. Grace singles out the undeserving for special treatment—even the wicked, even the well-off. It doesn’t add up. The only thing obvious about God’s choosing is that he has a decided preference for sinners—the worse, the better, it would seem. That’s clearly the modus operandi of Jesus. Jesus has no use for righteous people. The Pharisees, the guys who were doing things right and trying hard to obey God’s law, these people Jesus dismisses. “If you’re satisfied with your righteousness,” Jesus says, “fine; keep your righteousness, and go on, get out of here…and take your righteousness with you. Oh, and put some effort into what really counts: go figure out what mercy means.”
Matthew knew what mercy meant. He was living it. Mercy was blowing him away. Mercy meant that he was elected. Matthew, a sinner, a really successful sinner, was elected. And once chosen, he did the most astounding thing. He left his successful sin and he actually followed Jesus. How could he not? He had met mercy. Still, none of it makes sense. Why didn’t Matthew do the reasonable thing? Why didn’t he do what was expected and balk at the call of Jesus like the rich young man? Why didn’t he hedge a bit and at least discuss and negotiate? Why didn’t he say no to Jesus so that he could say yes to his already comfortable and lucrative life? Matthew’s call makes no sense at all. Grace never makes sense. Jesus called Matthew? Matthew said, yes? How can it be?
It’s grace. From beginning to end, it’s grace.
It’s sinners that Jesus wants. It’s sinners that he elects. God as no interest in the righteous. Got your act together? On top of your game? Plenty of good works to your credit? Self-satisfied and secure? Then, Jesus is not interested in you. He’s interested in sinners. He elects the undeserving. He wants the likes of Matthew. He wants the likes of you. Grace is still operative here and now. And, it is still unpredictable, bizarre, and absurd. Never minimize the scandal of God’s grace; and never forget that the most scandalous reality must always be the grace that God gives…to you. God elected Matthew. Why? I have no idea, but he did. God elected me. Why? I have no idea, but he did. God elected you. Why? I have no idea, but he did. At the font, he most certainly did. And if the reality of God’s grace to you does not blow you away with the absurdity and audacity of it all, then take your place with the Pharisees, and go figure out what mercy means. Grace is for the undeserving. Jesus chooses sinners. Go figure! No, on second thought, don’t go figure. Don’t try to understand it. Just revel in it. You are the target of grace. God elects the wrong person. He always does. He elects you. He chooses his disciple. He chooses you. So, take your place, not among the magnificent sculptures of super-sized extraordinary apostles. No, take your place next to Peter, Andrew, James, and John—ordinary men. Take your place next to Matthew a truly colossal sinner. Take your place in the grace of God. Amen.