As the result of a rather peculiar ancient bequest, the church in south Oxfordshire where I was a Curate, owned a pub. (Yes, it really did!) Sadly, this did not bring with it special drinking privileges for the clergy (not even the occasional snifter ‘on the house’) – but it did mean that, as a church, we had access to a fund, supported by the proceeds of the pub, which we could draw upon for certain very specific church-related expenses.
During my time there, the pub underwent a major renovation and refurbishment, as the result of which it had to close for several months. And in order to keep the licence going during that period, my vicar had to take over (on paper, if not actually in practice) as its legal licensee.
The press got hold of the story and, of course, had a field day. But the best quote of all came from my vicar himself. (If you know your King James Bible you will get the reference.) He said at interview: ‘Well, Jesus made a point of calling publicans and sinners, so I suppose you could say that I now qualify on both counts.’
St Matthew, whom we commemorate today, 21st September, is named in all four Gospels as one of the original twelve disciples. And in the Gospel that eventually came to bear his name, we discover that he was, in the language of the King James Bible, a publican.
Hearing this as a child, I naturally envisaged Matthew running a nice little hostelry somewhere in the suburbs of Tiberias. But I did find it somewhat perplexing that pub landlords came in for so much flack in the New Testament – in particular, the fact that they were lumped together with obvious ‘ne’er do wells’ in the phase ‘publicans and sinners’.
I was unaware, of course, that that is not what the word ‘publican’ actually means in that context. Because it has nothing whatsoever to do with pulling pints. Rather, it is a word derived from the Latin word publicanus.
And far from being involved in the hospitality industry, that kind of publican was involved in farming taxes for the Roman Government. Such tax collectors were universally loathed and despised by their Jewish compatriots. They were hated, because they were regarded as traitors: they gathered taxes from their own people on behalf of an occupying force: the Roman Empire. And, worse still, they were notoriously corrupt, often lining their own pockets at the expense of the poor.
So you can imagine what an outrage it was for Jesus – for Jesus – to be seen to be spending time with such scum.
As we heard in today’s Gospel, Jesus encounters Matthew actually sitting at his tax booth, and calls him to follow him. And without a moment’s hesitation, Matthew gets up and does exactly that. And note what happens next: the religious authorities are appalled to observe Jesus dining with such people: the many tax gatherers and sinners whom we are told Jesus had gathered around him. Clearly this Jesus guy is utterly disreputable. And the Pharisees are predictably scathing about this.
But Jesus’s response to them is very revealing, and, for them, extremely challenging. He says to them: ‘Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. Go and learn what this means: “I desire mercy, not sacrifice”. For I have come to call, not the righteous, but sinners.’
I wonder what life must have been like for tax gatherers such as Matthew? I wonder what it does to one’s basic humanity to earn one’s living in a way that one knows full well is both unjust and unethical; to do a job that serves the interests of an invading power and profits shamelessly at the expense of one’s own people, including the poorest of the poor?
Now of course, to some extent, we in the wealthy western world today are all guilty of profiting at the expense of the poor, whether we are actively aware of it or not – a consequence of the structural injustices that operate at a global scale, to the detriment of those who live in poverty in the two thirds world. But that aside, I am sure you will understand the question that I am asking.
What was it like for Matthew, who sat in his tax booth day after day, exacting money from his countrymen, many of them doubtless impoverished and struggling – and being rewarded with their hatred, loathing and abuse? Why did he do the job that he did? Was it simply the money? In which case, how did he live with himself? Did he self-consciously blind himself to the reality of what he was doing? Did he say to himself, ‘Well, if I don’t do this somebody else will …’? Or ‘how else can I afford to send my children to boarding school?’ (or the ancient Israelite equivalent). I wonder?
All human beings have a remarkable capacity for self-deception. And where money or power are involved, our capacity for that kind of self-deception increases exponentially – and it becomes all the harder to break out of that way of being. We can become trapped in the prisons we create for ourselves, especially when we don’t recognise them as prisons. And where there is self-deception, you can guarantee there is also sin. So, what does it take to enable people to break free of that trap?
In the case of Matthew, Jesus achieved it with two simple words: ‘Follow me.’ And in saying that, Jesus was not actually addressing a corrupt official sitting in a tax booth at all – rather, he was speaking to a human being. A hated, despised, and doubtless also lost and lonely human being. And when he calls him with those words, Jesus is saying to him in effect: ‘I want – you. I have need of – you.’
People like Matthew were unaccustomed to being either wanted or needed. Which is doubtless why he is so taken aback; so surprised; and so dumbstruck, that he gets up and does precisely that. And, in that instant, all those layers of pretence and self-deception, and self-justification, evaporate. Matthew is at last free to rediscover the man he truly is; he can regain his human dignity; he can begin a new life rooted in truth and reality, rather than self-deception and a denial of the truth. He can learn what it is to serve other people – rather than serving himself at the expense of other people.
Jesus always went out of his way to call the most unsuitable, most poorly qualified, most inappropriate people he could possibly find, to be his closest followers. He never calls the wise, or the holy, or the gifted, or the influential, or the successful, as you might have expected. And it was through that motley ragbag of unsuitable people that he changed the course of human history; that he changed the world.
Because the message that Jesus gives to Matthew is one that applies to us all – however helpless, or fallen, or broken, or unlovable, or useless we may think we are – and we all feel like that from time to time. If anything it is because of our failings, rather than in spite of them, that he says to each one of us: I want you and I have need of you. Follow me’.
These days, for the first time in my life, I sometimes find myself hesitating before putting on the news each morning, thinking: ‘What new horrors are we facing today? Can I bear it?’ Whether it is the latest horrific report about massive loss of life, and outrageous human rights abuses in the war zones of the world; or a new devastating prediction about the impact of climate change; or the potential horrors that AI is able to unleash; or yet another startling reminder that the principles of democracy and free speech, which most of us have grown up taking absolutely for granted, are far more fragile than we could possibly have imagined, and really do hang by a thread.
At such times it is all too tempting just to give up in despair: to switch off the television news and put our fingers in our ears. After all, what possible difference can any of us make to evils of that magnitude?
But this is precisely where the story of Matthew; and our life here as a community of faith, are so very important. Because who we are, and how we live, and the values that we proclaim through our lives have never been of more critical importance. And being here today, at this special service reminds us, loud and clear, that we do not do that alone.
This church of St Bride has stood here, like a beacon of light, throughout 1500 years of London history, surviving untold horrors and destruction, proclaiming Christ’s Gospel of peace and reconciliation. Which is not about denying the horrors – it is about engaging with them. Our world has never been in greater need of that message, and the certain knowledge that things do not have to be like that. Our ministry here has never been of such critical importance. Our life as a community of faith has never been more key. And that is why, on this special Sunday, which we call our ‘Inspire! Sunday’, it is so good to be able to celebrate all that we are here for, and all that we are – and to be reminded of the role that each one of us has to play in that.
Because, just like St Matthew, Jesus says to each one of us: ‘I want you; I have need of you. Follow me.’
Amen.
