As one gazes out over our present socio-political environment, it becomes evident that we have conveniently traded the Jesus of self-sacrificial mercy for one who shines our swords, writes our doctrine, and paints our placards. The grave danger inherent in a power broker Jesus is forcing out of sight the possibility of actual transformation at the margins where the sinners live and can ask real questions. Our longing for power, and calling it influence, has caused us to step in out of the misunderstood cold where the prophets always stand and don uniforms never meant for lovers of righteousness and peace.
Seeking doctrinal or moral purity is profoundly easier than pursuing the things that make for peace. It is much safer to “worship” Jesus (something never mentioned in the Gospels) than to “follow” him. The former suggests the distance of obeisance while the latter insists upon the sacrificial road of apprenticeship. Moreover, it simply gives us greater cause to ignore Jesus altogether whose presence, actions and words are a glaring indictment of our self-righteous perfectionism.
In the ninth chapter of Matthew’s gospel we get a glimpse into something amazing; something counterintuitive to everything we think we should think about God’s interactions with us. It is a fascinating exchange between Jesus, already destroying stigmas by dining with a self-indulgent tax collector, and the ecclesiastical powers-that-be.
If merely correcting some wrong thinking was highest on Jesus’ agenda he could easily have done so without all the social mess of a public dinner with a greedy corporate yes-man like Matthew. To dine with such a one was a deeply political statement to some, a doctrinal one to others, and cultural one to still others.
It was “wrong” on every level.
The merciful act of dinner with one so despised was all the teaching required to convince Matthew of the uniqueness of his dinner guest. In what must have been a sumptuous meal, any other conversation was, um, gravy, so to speak.
It was already a controversial and subversive act in itself. Jesus could have sat quietly at the table, eating his dinner without saying a single word. The action preached of a dangerous kind of love. A forthright, damn-the-torpedos mercy willing to forsake convention for compassionate engagement with one very undeserving man.
We think ourselves immune from the kinds of questions posed to Jesus by the Pharisees. But let’s ask ourselves what our response might be if Jesus bypassed our evangelical red carpet in favor of dinner with a gay, anti-American Muslim. Ah yes, we begin to understand a similar outrage.
That is the gospel of mercy to which we are called. It is the dare of Jesus who says to us as he did to them, “Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.” Sacrifice = the security of obedience to prescribed norms, standards, requirements. Mercy = the risk of disobeying in favor of love.
We prefer the former. Jesus preferred the latter.
What ways might Jesus be calling you to forego ‘sacrifice’ in favor of mercy?
Is there a place in your life right now that could use the touch of mercy?
Spend some time this week in meditation on Jesus’ words: “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.”
Robert Alan Rife
Latest posts by Robert Alan Rife (see all)
- Incoming – God’s Hope in Our Tedium - December 13, 2017
- Mercy – The Dare of Jesus - January 20, 2016
- Soul care or self-pity? - August 21, 2015
Robert, thanks for this: “A forthright, damn-the-torpedos mercy willing to forsake convention for compassionate engagement with one very undeserving man.” Jesus indeed continues to call me to forsake convention for compassionate engagement. Thanks for the reminder. Do you see the possibility of an integration of worshipping Jesus and following Jesus? If so, what does that look like for you?
Thanks, Lanny. Your question is fantastic. In fact, for Christians of all ages, and indeed for the pre-Messianic Jews from which we’re birthed, right worship is intended to prime, prepare, and unleash right living. The Pentateuch, specifically Exodus and Leviticus point to this idea. However, as we have seen, it doesn’t always work in theory! I think, first, we must come to the table prepared to live as our Rabbi lived. To mimic is in fact a form of worship. But to adore someone or something should automatically lead one to love and share and “copy” the one adored. We are given permission biblically to question whether or not our worship is actually worship if it does not do so. Amos 5:21ff is one particularly powerful example: “I hate, I despise your festivals, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies…But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” If what we call ‘worship’ doesn’t lead to love and justice, it’s really just self-centered infatuation. Let us pray that we can find a more holistic understanding in our own day. Again, excellent question!
“To mimic is in fact a form of worship.”–Amen, Robert! I am told that to become a disciple in ancient times meant to literally follow your rabbi so closely that you would have dirt and mud from his walking staining the front of your cloak. Would that I could follow Jesus like that today. Peace, Robert!
I LOVE that picture. That’s meditation worthy!
Rob, your words are fiercely true. I have to respond first by looking at my own ways of being. Too often do I identify with the greedy, corporate, “yes-woman” side of life. One thing that continues to amaze me presently is to watch the Pope with one tiny form of action take down a whole theological ivy tower in seconds. Like, paying for his own hotel bill. That act alone started the crumbling motion having been paved for decades of the palatial living and pompous ego the Catholic Church had become accustomed to at high levels. What a rare way to live like Jesus. So, back to your questions.
Is there a place in your life right now that could use the touch of mercy?
My answer is in my own self. I need to live in mercy for myself as I continue to heal from old ways of thinking and living. I find myself reacting and settling into old patterns so quickly. For me, this means living a mindful life. Not just in centering practices, but by learning to “begin again” in this very present moment, by being mindful instead of reactionary. I don’t like myself when I act un-mindfully. THAT right there, is where I need mercy most. When I can live into that enough, then I can live out mercy to others in all of it’s full breadth. Thanks for the beautiful challenge. You have penned a raw exposure to true goodness.
Thanks for your openness, Val! Being mindful is a real challenge for me, too. It is easy to be tempted by what I call the “to-do list” mentality and miss opportunities to truly be present in the gift of the present moment.
You sound much like me these days! After losing my spiritual director, an amazing elderly Jesuit nun (she was retired by her order at age 84), the Lord led me to seek out psychological counseling for a time instead. In terms of confronting the kinds of thinking patterns of which you speak, nothing has been more helpful at this stage of my life. Once a person becomes mindful and awakes to such things, we’re half way or more toward actual transformation and lasting peace. Thanks for your words, Valerie. Shalom…R
Wow, Rob, so much to think about in here! First, “the misunderstood cold where the prophets always stand.” Makes me wonder what we misunderstand the “cold” for? The cold is definitely lonely, but maybe we justify the prophets’ loneliness by thinking it is a result of being off-base, weird, too dramatic, a radical, or a hypocrite? I also love your definitions of sacrifice and mercy… The latter reminds me of Leonard Cohen’s song “The Traitor.” (If you haven’t, watch this version: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WqVy0Az6XAk) In the documentary about him, Cohen says Traitor was written “about the feeling that we have of betraying some mission that we were mandated to fulfill, and being unable to fulfill it, coming to understand that the real mandate was not to fulfill it, and the deeper courage was to stand guiltless in the predicament in which you found yourself.” Mercy as “the risk of disobeying in favor of love” reminds me of the risk Cohen is talking about here, which he experiences as being a traitor. Although he says there is a “standing guiltless” involved, I hear that as standing in mercy in the “predicament in which we find ourselves.”
oops, that link was in Spanish!Here’s another: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1MDlMdu2gjw