At what point, would you admit that you are not feeling well, that something is not right, that you may be ill or sick? I know for me, like others I have seen, it seems that I am sometimes more inclined to disregard something that may be a sign of something wrong. I don’t know if it has to do with mortality or ego, but it seems that many times I find myself operating from a stance of invincibility, or from the standpoint of “if I don’t acknowledge that I am sick, then I am not really sick.” This is a denial of something that needs to be noticed and attended to so that healing and restoration can take place.
There is also the case where we may acknowledge that something is wrong, but then put something in the place of this wrongness so that it is seemingly overcome or taken away. Theologian, James Alison, speaks about this as the cultural mechanism of the scapegoat, that which has been considered across history in most religious traditions as sacrifice.[i] When something is uncomfortable or seems wrong, the tendency is to find something or someone to blame or take on this uncomfortable wrongness, and once this is done, there is a sense that everything seems alright. And that lasts for a while, at least until something else crops up and the pattern repeats.
In today’s scriptures (MT 9: 9-13), we have the uncomfortable scene of Jesus approaching the tax collector, Matthew, to follow him and then proceeds to dine with Matthew in Matthew’s house. The evangelist goes on to say how “many tax collectors and sinners came and sat with Jesus and his disciples.” The Pharisees, upon seeing this, were horrified at Jesus’ mingling with sinners and question why Jesus would do this. Jesus overhearing this, makes the bold and somewhat curious statement:
“Those who are well do not need a physician, but the sick do. Go and learn the meaning of the words, I desire mercy, not sacrifice. I did not come to call the righteous but sinners.”
So, who is sick in this story? Is it the tax collectors and sinners or is it the Pharisees? Or is it both? If we don’t know we’re sick, vulnerable, or hurt, we cannot accept anything from anyone that could possibly help us. It seems to be a question of awareness. If in our denial of our brokenness, we point a finger at someone else who seems obviously wrong, in the end, how much are we helping anyone? By scapegoating others, we simply increase the great divide that we think exists between us and them, and isolate everyone in the process. We sacrifice each other many times so that we can maintain some form of normalcy and comfortableness that feigns to put all questioning aside. We avoid very important questions about Who we are and Who God is, and ultimately what it means to be human.
I believe Franco Zefferelli’s beautiful 1977 mini-series JESUS OF NAZARETH wonderfully breaks open this scene of Jesus’ dining with Matthew and the ‘sinners,’ and the Pharisees and some of the disciples intolerant attitude towards this social class mixing.[ii] In the film scene, Jesus is sitting with Matthew, while Peter along with other disciples are actually standing outside Matthew’s dwelling. There is a wide open doorway, where Peter and the disciples are looking on in disbelief of how their Master is dining with a tax collector and sinners. Jesus is sitting with Matthew and conversing with him, but at the same time very aware of Peter and the others who refuse to come into the house. Then Jesus suddenly breaks into a story. Actually, the story that he tells in the film to Matthew and his guests – and also within Peter’s earshot, standing outside – was the parable of the Prodigal son. Not only is this cinematic brilliance but truly an astounding example of weaving Gospel themes together. As Peter and Matthew realize that the story is indeed about them, Peter crosses the threshold into the house and Matthew and Peter embrace within the same space – a shared space.
It appears that it is both Matthew and the indignant Peter in the film (the Pharisees in the Gospel story) who need a physician. But they first have to recognize their need. Instead of pointing fingers at the wrongness or the sickness…instead of scapegoating someone else for something that is wrong or broken… the invitation is not to sacrifice, or in this case, scapegoat, someone else, but to call all into accountability. No one is off the hook, because we are all swimming in the same lake and we are all caught up in a net of connectedness in humanity that is inescapable despite our best efforts to deny it.
In a sense, the righteous cannot know they are sick until they move from a place of isolation and exclusion to a space of solidarity and inclusion. And this space involves crossing thresholds or barriers that we create and sometimes idolize. By crossing them, we realize we are standing together in the same space, without scapegoating anyone or anything, without using sacrifice as a way to exclude anyone or anything. We are Matthew and Peter in the film…we are the Pharisees, needing to know that our righteousness, just as the older son in the Prodigal son story learns, can be even a deeper illness than anything that could be so obvious as a greedy tax collector bilking the poor. This a accountability can be seen as a form of mercy.
Today’s Scriptures seem to paint a picture of mercy that is all-encompassing, i.e., mercy is the canvas upon which all of our lives are painted. Mercy can be that space that we all inhabit – a space that is at once broken and healing at the same time.
Everything else is small compared to Mercy, because Mercy means standing with each other, bearing each other’s brokenness in a way that does not cover over our sickness but celebrates a shared vulnerability that is indeed unbreakable and indefectible because it is the unity of our divine origin.
There are no boundaries or limits to Mercy –it has no outside – once we realize we are already there, here, in Mercy, in solidarity with each other as loved and sustained in God’s breath! If we can stop suffocating in the stagnant air of intolerance, ignorance and self-righteousness, we can begin to learn to breathe it in together – Mercy breathing!
[i] See James Alison, Faith Beyond Resentment (Darton, Longman and Todd, Ltd, : 2001)
[ii] Jesus of Nazareth. Directed by Franco Zeffirelli. TV Miniseries. 1977. ITC Films.
Peace
Thomas
(originally published September 21, 2016)