More than We Could Ever Imagine

This sermon was heard at the First Presbyterian Church in Berryville, Arkansas on Sunday June 8, 2008, the 10th Sunday of Ordinary Time.

Genesis 12:1-9
Psalm 33:1-12
Romans 4:13-25
Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable to you, O Lord, our rock and our redeemer. Amen

In 1964, Roald Dahl wrote the children’s classic, “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.”[1] In the story, the chocolate factory is owned by a wonderful and eccentric man named Willy Wonka. The factory makes Wonka chocolate bars of course; and it also makes marshmallows that taste of violets, rich caramels that change color every ten seconds as they are sucked, and chewing gum that never loses its flavor. Wonka even makes an ice cream that stays cold for hours without being in an icebox. When Charlie says “that’s impossible,” his Grandpa Joe responds, “Of course it’s impossible! It’s completely absurd! But Mr. Willy Wonka has done it!”[2]

The impossible, Willy Wonka makes it possible. The absurd, Willy Wonka makes it ordinary. And he does it in a factory nobody ever enters, and nobody ever leaves. Wonka’s a man of mystery, a man of secrets, a man of ingenuity. He has not only created a factory, he has created a world. A world of chocolate rivers, glass elevators covered in buttons, and the most wonderful confections on earth. For the world’s sweet-tooth, Wonka has created the Everlasting Gob Stopper, the Nutty Crunch Surprise, and of course, the greatest of them all, the Whipple-Scrumptious Fudgemallow Delight. He has created more than anyone could ever imagine.

Our gospel reading is split into two sections. But within both there is a common thread, one where Jesus seeks to reconcile the world to himself.

The later of the two stories begins with the head, the ruler of the synagogue coming to Jesus while he is dining with the tax collectors and sinners.

He comes distraught. His daughter has just lost her life. This scene doesn’t seem so odd to us, there is no one here who doesn’t want to see their daughters healed. But in this time, there were very few places for women. The home was about it. This daughter had no prospects of college or career. She could hope to be wed to a loving and caring man; certainly as the daughter of the ruler of the synagogue she would have her prospects. But these prospects would have nothing to do with who she is and everything to do with who her father is.

We could never know, but maybe her father had all ready paid her dowry. If she was lost his money may have been lost too. This may seem far fetched, and perhaps it is, but one thing this points out is that this girl had value in her father’s house, enough value to bring Jesus from the banquet. We don’t know what caused her death, but the ruler has faith that Jesus can bring her back to life.

Then comes a part of the story that is all too familiar. While the head of the synagogue, Jesus, the disciples, and I can only imagine a parade of followers behind and beside them go to the girl; the woman who has suffered from hemorrhages for twelve years appears. Her story is not one any of us would like to live. Because of the constant flow of blood, she was treated like a leper, but without the status of being a man. She had no home; the ritually unclean could not enter the city much less go home. She was put out of the synagogue of course. Her condition distanced her from every part of clean and unclean society. For her, being a woman was at the root of her ailment and the social stigma of being a woman was the icing on the cake of her woes.

But she knows; she knows who is coming down the road. She knows, really knows who Jesus of Nazareth is, and she is willing to risk all just to get close enough to touch his cloak. She doesn’t want an audience. She doesn’t want a meal. She doesn’t even want even a moment of his time. She wants to touch him, even if just the fringe of his cloak, she wants to touch him. And with this touch, she will be made well. She knows this.

Does Jesus feel the tug on his cloak or does he feel power flow from him? The gospels of Mark and Luke connect this healing touch and a flow of power. But in Matthew’s gospel, there is no touch, Jesus turns and says to her “Take heart daughter, your faith has made you well.” The woman knows the source of her salvation and Jesus knows he is the source of what makes the sick well and the unclean clean.

When the parade reaches the home of the ruler of the synagogue, the mourning has begun. Then the mourning turns to dancing as Jesus takes the ruler’s daughter’s hand and she rises.

Where this story begins with the daughter of a man of honor and standing, it also includes the unclean woman Jesus calls daughter. We see the daughter of status and we also see the daughter of humiliation and woe. Jesus claims both of these women as his own daughters.

Jesus takes the women who are as gender goes on the bottom rung of a male dominated society and makes them his daughters. He restores them to health and he restores them to their families. He restores them to not just their place in society, but to their place in the kingdom of God. Jesus restores through his love and his peace and his wonderful healing touch.

The Greek verb used for “made well” is far more often translated “saved”[3] in scripture so it isn’t such a leap to say that Jesus saved them. These women are broken, separated from life, and through Jesus they are made whole again. Only through Jesus are they made whole again.

As singer/songwriter John Mayer sings in his hit “Daughters.”

Fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do[4]

These daughters now know the love of God the father of heaven and earth. And it is our goal, nay our vocation to love as Jesus taught us, loving as giving life.

But this is not how our story began; our story began with a more culturally significant story, the story of the men. Jesus was walking along and saw a man named Matthew sitting at the tax booth and he said to him, “Follow me!” and Matthew did. Jesus and the disciples went to Matthew’s home for dinner, and were joined by others.

This is when the Pharisees made their appearance not asking Jesus, but asking his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” Bible translations are wonderful things. The New International Version puts the word “sinners” in quotation marks to make a point. The New Living Translation is far less subtle. It asks “Why does your teacher eat with such scum?”

Here our situation is not quite the same as the situation with the women. In this setting, there is one group of men who have authority, but no real power or prestige in the society. The tax collectors were Roman collaborators. The taxes they collected allowed the soldiers to be armed and fed and allowed the governors to live in the lap of luxury. And while our taxes may seem unfair, these guys wrote the book on unfair taxes. Matthew and his cronies would have made King George look absolutely benevolent in his dealings with the American colonies in the 1700’s. These are not men who could be trusted, and they are certainly not men anyone in polite society would ever want as dinner companions.

The Pharisees were the other side of the coin, of course. They had influence. They saw the fate of the nation separate from the fate of Rome. They weren’t militant like the Zealots, but they knew who they were and sought to separate themselves from the common riff-raff of daily living at every turn. Their table rituals forced merchants and others to deal with them on their terms, or not at all. A literal reading of the law and observing every jot and tittle was the stock and trade of the Pharisee. They were certainly looking down their noses asking the disciples “Why does your teacher eat with such scum?”

Jesus reminds them that the sick need physicians, not the healthy. So we have two groups of men, one who are broken and separated from God. Men who need the healing touch of the Son of Man to reach out and show them life everlasting. We also have men who know and keep God’s laws.

But not so fast; what if Jesus had his tongue firmly placed in his cheek? What if his tongue was so far in his cheek it would take the Jaws of Life to get it out of there?

What if Jesus was scolding the Pharisees?

Jesus brings us unusual table companions. He brings us a dead girl, her father the head of the synagogue, wailing then laughing mourners, a woman suffering from a dozen years of hemorrhages, a band of tax collectors, a flock of Pharisees, oh, and his own cadre of disciples. What if Jesus was not trying to make us see the contrast between the goodness of the religious men and the remainder of the characters in the story? What if Jesus was trying to tell the world; men and women, religious leaders and political collaborators, living and dead, clean and unclean; that to him there is no difference between them? And in him there is no difference.

In “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” five children, along with their chaperones, are given a tour of the wonderful Wonka factory. As the story comes to its end, with his Grandpa Joe, Charlie is alone with Willy Wonka. The other children have met dreadful fates along the way based on the factory’s temptations and their own character flaws. All of the children, in one way or another, are broken. Charlie is exhausted and emaciated; but in him, Wonka sees something special.

Wonka sees a soul who is obedient. He sees a soul who mourns as the other children meet their fates. In Charlie he finds someone who will pay attention to his way and his teaching. An adult will want to change things, do things their own way, Wonka says. A child, a child will listen. A child will learn. A child, even a child who is broken, will be a fitting disciple.

We are all broken. There is not one of us who does not need to come and break bread with the Lord. There is not one of us who does not need to touch the fringe of his cloak. We are all the daughters and sons of the Lord our God and none of us is unbroken. Yet in Him, we are redeemed, made well. We are saved.

The advice Jesus gives, the call, the vocation he places for humanity is to desire mercy, not sacrifice. We are not to offer the sacrifice of our scum brother on the altar of our haughty superiority so that we may be lifted higher, because we are not higher. We are not to laugh and mock at the saving touch of the Lord as the funeral did when it broke out into a commotion. We are to desire mercy, and by that desire give mercy to those in need; for we are all in need.

It is only when we see our brokenness and know the wonders of the Lord that we might be able to accept his healing, saving touch. And as the church, as the people of God, we are called to the reconciling work in Jesus Christ, and this is the heart of the Gospel.

So when the Charlie’s in our lives say “That’s impossible” the body of Christ confesses, “Of course it’s impossible! It’s completely absurd! And the Lord has done it!”[5] By his saving touch, the Lord has done and continues to do more than we could ever imagine.

[1] Dahl, Roald, “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.” New York: Borzoi/Alfred A. Knopf, 1964.
[2] Ibid., page 11.
[3] Sosow, Entry, A Greek—English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature, Revised and Edited by Frederick William Danker, Third Edition. Based on Walter Bauer's Griechisch-deutsches Wörterbuch zu den Schriften des Neuen Testaments und der frühchristlichen Literatur, sixth edition, ed. Kurt Aland and Barbara Aland, with Viktor Reichmann and on previous English editions by W.F.Arndt, F.W.Gingrich, and F.W.Danker., Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
[4] John Mayer, “Daughters”
[5] Paraphrase from Dahl.