Second Sunday after Pentecost

"The Call of Matthew" Caravaggio, 1599

         One of the former bishops of this synod once told me about a parish he knew. It seems that this church was called “the sinners’ church” by some people in the town, because the congregation was committed to welcoming all people to hear the good news about Jesus, regardless of who they were. One of the pastors of this parish was even known to write to people who had been in the local paper for being in trouble of a serious kind, inviting them to worship to hear the message of forgiveness of sins. This got their church a bit of a reputation, and some people didn’t want to associate with “the sinners’ church”.

        I wonder what those folks would say about Jesus eating with tax collectors and sinners, or even Jesus calling a tax collector to be one of his disciples? Would they say that the Lord is in the wrong because to eat a meal at a sinner’s house, or to call a sinner to follow him, because doing so seems to validate their sin? Or would they applaud Jesus and his love—just as long as he didn’t put those notorious sinners anywhere near them? Maybe they’d approve, but hope that Jesus wouldn’t look too closely at their sin?

There are people like that throughout the church. They would be right at home with the Pharisees in today's Gospel, who turn up their noses and ask, "Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?" Notice, the Pharisees don't even have the guts to ask Jesus directly--instead they talk about him behind his back, and ask his disciples instead of him.

To call a church “the sinners’ church” implies that “sinners don’t belong in the rest of the church” or “our church isn’t full of sinners.” On a personal level,  if someone has been mean or bad to you, and yet professes to be Christian—doesn’t that just irritate you? I was just talking last week with a young man from a town near the Cities, and he recently left his church because they all had a big fight. He had been on the council, and had gotten caught in the crossfire, and he said to me, “I couldn’t stand to go to worship and see all those people kneeling piously at the Communion rail. So I left.”

It’s so hard to accept that the church is a place for sinners, especially if those sinners have hurt us. We forgiveness for us, but not, sometimes, for others. Not when it means real forgiveness, for everyone and not usually on our terms.

But that’s how it has to be--the church is not just a place for sinners like us, but also for sinners who sin against us. And for people who aren’t who we like, or think should be here. People who have made a mess of things. People who are stuck in the midst of their sin. People who think they don’t sin at all and leave a trail behind them of broken hearts and lives. Those people.

Jesus says he came for the sick, not the well. He came for the sinners. He called Matthew the tax collector—a notorious public sinner in those days--to come and follow him. He called another tax collector down from a tree and ate with him--Zacchaeus. He talked to prostitutes and foreigners, debated theology with women, had deep conversations with Samaritans, forgave the sins of adulterers and ate with people who were most certainly not "churchly." He offered mercy and freedom to people who hadn’t done anything at all to deserve it. He stayed at the homes of people who wouldn't set foot in the temple for fear of being chased out by those who called themselves "righteous."

Jesus constantly offered his transforming love to free people from the grip of their sinful misery—praying for them as they mocked him and spit on him and even nailed him to a cross. Father, forgive them—they don’t know what they are doing! Jesus came to redeem those who seemed past redemption. He even came for Pharisees, too.

Now, I want to be really clear. Jesus came to heal the sin-sick, not leave them in their sin. Sometimes, we think that Jesus just accepted everybody and everything without question, becoming some sort of benevolent guy, vacantly smiling, full of marshmallowy goodness, validating whatever you need him to put his divine stamp on. 

And so we go on and on about not being judgmental, about loving everyone, about accepting and tolerating and welcoming…and while that’s true, it’s not the end of the story and we miss the opportunity to radically proclaim that Jesus forgives sin and sets sinners free. If you are set free, you must have been in bondage to something! If you are forgiven, you must have owed something or done something.

It is not good news to sinners to tell them, “Hey, no, no—you’re OK. No problem. Jesus loves you just as you are. We love you! Don’t worry about it!” and never get to the part about, “You’re not OK. Neither are we. But Jesus loves you, and what’s more—he loves you so much that your sin is covered over and you are free to live a new life! You are a changed person!”

You see the difference between that? The first one leaves the person still dead in their sin…the second one acknowledges the sin, the dis-ease and offers healing and life.

In our modern secular culture, and even in some progressive religious culture, sin is unfashionable. Easier by far just to ignore it or tolerate it, even celebrate it, thereby making ourselves feel better. That’s easier than doing the messy work of bravely saying to a desperately hurting world that there is freedom from sin’s chains only in Christ Jesus.

Look--all have sinned, all have fallen short of the glory of God--all of us! How often we find ourselves standing with the Pharisees, demanding to know why others don't measure up to our standards. And how often we find ourselves in the other ditch, just hoping that Jesus will ignore our sin and let us alone. But that’s not how God is.  All of us are sinners, even we who profess to be Christians--especially us! Jesus came to call not the righteous, but sinners.  This church right here is a hospital for sinners, not a museum for saints!

All the words in the readings today are hard. They offend us, sting our pride. They make us bristle with anger, and think, "surely, this isn't directed to me!" I’m sure people to whom Hosea preached through the same thing. Those who first heard the words of Psalm 50, and the Pharisees listening to Jesus—they all thought the same thing. But God says through the prophet Hosea that he has hewn us by the prophets, killed us with the words of his mouth. He has torn us, and he will heal us. He has struck us down and humbled us--and he will bind us up.

God desires mercy, not sacrifice, not burnt offerings, not things done out of form or ritual to please him--but mercy, love, forgiveness. God desires sacrifices of thanksgiving and justice. He desires the knowledge of God and steadfast love.

He desires that we act as Christ did—welcoming people in his name, offering forgiveness to all sinners. Forgiveness which will help change their lives and transform them as Christ transforms us, even as he transformed the life of the woman with the 12-year-long hemorrhage, even as he transformed the little girl’s death into life. Even as he transforms you, today.

Here in this font, sins are washed away and sinners get a new beginning. Here at this altar, sinners get a banquet spread in front of them.  Here it is, for you--no matter what your sin, no matter who you are or what you've done. No matter. Here is Jesus, ready to wash you. Ready to feed you. Ready to invite himself into your house and your life so that you will never, never be the same again. 

Those are the sinners’ seats you're sitting in, and I’ve got one back here, too. This is the sinner’s church, the sinners’ table, the sinners’ font, the sinners’ pulpit, where the Lord of mercy transforms you with his love. Amen.