The Unauthorized Homily

By Bill Dunn

A commentary on the Scripture readings from the Sunday Lectionary

(Scripture readings for Sunday, June 8th: Hosea 6:3-6; Romans 4:18-25; Matthew 9:9-13)

THE MESSAGE IS STILL ‘MERCY, NOT SACRIFICE’

The vast majority of Christians genuinely want to see the so-called “riffraff” of society get their lives in order. Christians sincerely hope this segment of the population will develop a relationship with God, work hard, live responsibly, and stop being a drain on the community.

But until that happens, Christians—well, speaking for myself, anyway—would rather these people live their current irresponsible lives somewhere else besides our neighborhoods.

Oh, it’s not that we’re indifferent to the plight of the poor and disadvantaged. We donate a fair amount of money to church charities serving the poor. And of course, we’re constantly being whacked by higher and higher taxation, much of which goes to social service programs.

We’re comfortable with our level of giving—but we’re not very comfortable actually being near the recipients of that giving. We lock our doors and hold our wallets tightly if we see any of THEM nearby. We get really nervous if our kids socialize with THEIR kids at school (bad influence, you know). And as we walk out of fast food restaurants with our take-out orders, we mutter to ourselves, “Now that you’re living here, would it kill you to learn a little English?”

Please understand, we’re not bigots, and we’re not social Darwinian, survival-of-the-fittest proponents, proclaiming Ebenezer Scrooge’s chilling line, “Then maybe they should die and decrease the surplus population.”

As Christians, we truly hope all people will put their faith in Jesus and live righteous and joyful lives. We honestly wish them well—in an abstract, impersonal way—and feel fairly satisfied that we’re doing all we can via our donations and taxes.

And just when we’re feeling comfortable, sure that we’re doing all we can, and ready to focus our attention on really important issues, such as removing those weeds from our lawn or getting our tee shots to go straight, Jesus comes along and ruins everything.

In this week’s gospel reading, Jesus had the audacity to hang out with “tax collectors and sinners” (the 1st century equivalent of riffraff and lowlifes). The Pharisees saw this and said to Jesus’ disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?”

Jesus overheard the question and answered for Himself. “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.”

Jesus’ message to the hypocritical Pharisees was clear: these people do not need My presents nearly as much as they need My PRESENCE.

And I think His message to us is pretty clear: the same thing applies. Don’t just sacrifice some of your income through taxation to help the “sinners,” but show true mercy by sacrificing some of YOURSELF.

When I first started reading the gospels many years ago, I could relate to St. Peter—stumbling, bumbling, usually saying the wrong thing, but ultimately one of the good guys.

In recent years, however, I see more and more of myself in the Pharisees—educated, outwardly pious, certain of my high standing in God’s eyes, and quite impatient with those who don’t practice the faith and live their lives the RIGHT way.

Normally I like to conclude these homilies with a nice, neat summation. Offer some final words of pseudo-wisdom and encourage the readers to go forth and live lives pleasing to God. But this week the gospel reading nailed me right between the eyes. Jesus’ message this week convicted my heart in a very uncomfortable way.

I’m not in a position to offer any words of wisdom right now, pseudo or otherwise, because I’m scrambling to think up some excuses. “But Jesus, I’m already too busy.” “C’mon, Lord, you know I’m doing the best I can.” “I’ve got way too many responsibilities as it is, ya know!” “I’ll tell you what, Jesus, as soon as the kids are out of school, then I’ll have some free time. How’s that sound?”

I’ve got a nagging feeling He’s not buying it. And I’ve got a nagging feeling as soon as this guilt subsides later in the week, I’ll comfortably continue my usual routine without changing a thing.

Which is producing another nagging feeling: a few decades (or years or weeks or moments) from now, when my soul is standing before the Judgment Seat of Christ (2 Cor. 5:10), Jesus will say, “Remember when I said, ‘To those who have been given much, much will be expected’? Well, I really expected a whole lot more from you, Bill.”

And at that moment, even the best excuse will sound incredibly lame.

*  *  *

It’s been six years since I wrote those words for an Unauthorized Homily in 2002, words which were inspired by a conviction that I had been paying lip service to the Lord’s command, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Just as I had predicted, the guilty feelings did subside and I quickly resumed my usual routine without changing a thing.

A few weeks ago, on the very day I stumbled across this old essay, I heard Charles Colson on the radio speak about a little devotional book written almost 600 years ago by Thomas á Kempis: The Imitation of Christ. One quote in the book struck a nerve: “On the Day of Judgment, surely we shall not be asked what we have read, but what we have done; not how well we have spoken but how well we have lived.”

It’s been said one of the remarkable aspects of Christianity is that it comforts the afflicted and afflicts the comfortable. I have to admit, I have a ridiculously comfortable life (rush hour traffic notwithstanding). So I am a prime candidate to have the doctrines of Christ do some serious afflicting on me. And they are…right now anyway.

But the question is: will anything really change? Will I once again wait out the guilty feelings and then resume my usual routine? Or will I allow the Holy Spirit truly to change me? Only time will tell.

One thing is sure: if nothing changes, on the Day of Judgment the best excuse in the world still will sound incredibly lame.

©2008