Pentecost 3, Proper 5, 2005:

Back several years ago, a prominent citizen of Washington, D.C., a long-time member of Congressional Country Club, invited President John F. Kennedy to play golf.  On the very first hole President Kennedy floated his second shot on the par 4 hole to within 3 feet of the pin.  He walked up to the ball and glanced over at the man who invited him.  President Kennedy was looking for the man to concede him the birdie putt.  The man ignored him, and stared up at the sky.

“You’re certainly going to give me this putt, aren’t you?” President Kennedy asked.

“Make a pass at it,” the man said.  “I want to see your stroke.  A putt like that builds character.  Besides, it will give you a little feel for the greens.”

With an anguished look, President Kennedy said, “I work in the Oval Office all day for citizens like you, and now you’re not going to give me this putt?” 

The man said nothing.

“Okay,” President Kennedy said, as he lined up the putt.  “But, let’s keep moving.  I’ve got an appointment after we finish with the Director of Internal Revenue.”

“The putt’s good,” the man said quickly.  “Pick up that birdie!”

 A sportswriter once asked Joe Louis, Heavyweight Champion of the World, “Who hit you the hardest during your ring career?”

His reply was, “Uncle Sam.”

Tax collecting has never been very popular.  That’s as true for the ancients as for us.  We aim for fairness and being as equitable as possible, but the potential for the abuse of power always exists.  That was especially true in the occupied Holy Land of the first century.  Rome needed local people to serve as the collectors of duties and taxes.  Those who hired on for the job were not only disliked, they had good reason to fear for their lives.  It was, in many ways, a divided society. 

In first-century Palestine people were divided into two basic groups.  There were the Orthodox, those who kept the law in every imaginable, often petty detail and there were those who, for a host of reasons could not observe every regulation as prescribed in the Law of Moses, with the various additions and interpretations added by the various rabbinical schools.

The second group was sometimes referred to as the People of the Land.  It was forbidden for the Orthodox to go on a journey with them, to conduct any business with them, to give anything to them or receive anything from them, to entertain them in their homes or be a guest in the homes of anyone called a person of the land. 

It is this well-known prohibition that was behind the question asked by the Pharisees, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?”  Peter, James, John, Andrew, Philip, Thomas, and the others could only shrug their shoulders and Peter pulled out another strand to two of hair.  The full head of sandy colored hair would be all gone and Peter would be totally bald in three years.

By associating with people like that Jesus was doing something the religiously pious would never do, nor would any self-respecting rabbi associate with them.  Jesus not only associated with them, he called them to be disciples. 

Jesus’ defense for associating with the People of the Land was simple; he merely said that we went where the need was the greatest.  A doctor’s reputation would be helped very little if he or she saw only healthy people.  A teacher gains academic credibility not by teaching those who already know everything, but by finding ways to impart wisdom and knowledge to those who know very little.

Part of the genius of the ministry of Jesus was that he went to those who needed him.  It was those who felt themselves to be sinful who needed him most and among sinners he would spend his time and energy.

When Jesus said, “I have come to call not the righteous but sinners,” we must strive to understand what he meant by that.  He was not saying that there are some people so good, so pure, so perfect that they had no need for anything he could give them, still less was he saying that he was not interested in people who were good, decent human beings.  What Jesus was saying is, “I did not come to invite people who are self-satisfied, people who are convinced they do not need anyone’s help; I came to invite people who are conscious of their sin and desperately aware of their need for a savior.  It is only those who are aware of how much they need me who will accept my invitation.  Only those who know they cannot save themselves will come to understand what my being here is all about.”

The religiously orthodox had a view of religion that is by no means dead.  They were concerned more with the preservation of their own holiness that with helping another person cope with life’s difficulties.  They shrank away in fastidious disgust from those who were not like them, those unable to keep the minute detail of the law.

Essentially, their religion was selfish.  They were more concerned with saving their own souls through vain attempts to observe man-made laws, rules, regulations, and rituals than striving to save the soul of another.  They had forgotten that doing it their way was the surest route of losing their own souls.  They were more concerned with criticism than with encouragement.  They were far more content to point out the faults of others than to help people cope and overcome those faults in a loving way.

They practiced a goodness that issued in condemnation rather than in forgiveness and sympathy.  They would rather leave a person in the gutter than give them a helping hand in order to pull themselves out of the mire.  Should anyone fall into a ditch on the Sabbath, well that’s just too bad.  You should have been more careful.  Such folk had a motto, which was, “You brought it on yourself, so you will just have to get out of it yourself.”  In more contemporary language, in the vernacular of the day, we might say, “You made your bed, now lie in it.”  Such a religious practice consists of outward orthodoxy rather than spiritual depth.

Jesus reminded them of that when he said, “Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’”  It was his way of reminding his followers, then and now, that a person may diligently go through all the motions of orthodox piety, but if their hands never stretch out to the person in need, they are not religious at all.

So, we may well be tax collectors and sinners in the eyes of some as members of the Episcopal Church.  Some may not feel worthy of God’s love and attention.  But, based squarely on scripture which some folk like to quote and use as a sledge hammer, Jesus came to spend time with such folks like us.  I’m proud to be an ordained member of the Episcopal Church.

Perhaps the greatest miracle of all is that this risen Lord provided a way for us to remember the depths of that love he had for us.  It is made crystal clear in the bread and wine of the Holy Eucharist.  We are invited precisely because he came to spend time with the likes of us.  We may not be very popular, but neither was Jesus in his own day.  Amen.