Do you look forward to the readings Sunday by Sunday, or do you sometimes catch yourself wondering quite why youre hearing them at all. As you almost certainly know, the readings that we hear are those prescribed by the Church of England, in line with something agreed by many denominations, the Revised Common Lectionary. The point of the lectionary is to ensure that the Church hears and reflects on the fulness of God’s word in Scripture, rather than being tied to the favourite passages of the preacher week after week, even if particularpreachers always seem to end up deliveringthesamemessage.
You might notice the shape of the lectionary particularly in the way that a 3 year cycle leads us deeper into engagement with each of the gospels in turn, as we move from year A to B to C, - but you may not be conscious of a weekly choice that we make between a “Continuous” track, in which one Old Testament book is followed through, and a “Related” option – because often the relationship between readings is not that obvious. It’s very much in contrast to the days of the ASB, when every Sunday had a theme, so that the preacher might suspect that their work had already been done for them.
Today, though, you would have to try quite hard to miss the connection between our readings – and when we hear the same words aimed at us from two very different contexts in Scripture, I think perhaps we should attend to them.
Listen
I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice,
the knowledge of God rather than burnt-offerings, God says, speaking through Hosea, while in our gospel Jesus invites us all to
Go and learn what this means. “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.”Do you look forward to the readings Sunday by Sunday, or do you sometimes catch yourself wondering quite why youre hearing them at all. As you almost certainly know, the readings that we hear are those prescribed by the Church of England, in line with something agreed by many denominations, the Revised Common Lectionary. The point of the lectionary is to ensure that the Church hears and reflects on the fulness of God’s word in Scripture, rather than being tied to the favourite passages of the preacher week after week, even if particularpreachers always seem to end up deliveringthesamemessage. You might notice the shape of the lectionary particularly in the way that a 3 year cycle leads us deeper into engagement with each of the gospels in turn, as we move from year A to B to C, - but you may not be conscious of a weekly choice that we make between a “Continuous” track, in which one Old Testament book is followed through, and a “Related” option – because often the relationship between readings is not that obvious. It’s very much in contrast to the days of the ASB, when every Sunday had a theme, so that the preacher might suspect that their work had already been done for them. Today, though, you would have to try quite hard to miss the connection between our readings – and when we hear the same words aimed at us from two very different contexts in Scripture, I think perhaps we should attend to them. Listen I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt-offerings, God says, speaking through Hosea, while in our gospel Jesus invites us all to
Go and learn what this means "I desire mercy, not sacrifice"
It's usually a good plan to obey direct commands from Jesus, so let's go. Both passages use the Hebrew word “Chesed” – a word which wraps up in itself all the positive attributes of God: love, covenant faithfulness, mercy, grace, kindness, loyalty – and is often used to reflect on God’s generosity towards God’s people. Here, though, we are told to live it ourselves, in acts of devotion and loving-kindness that go beyond the requirements of duty. It is a word that leads us towards grace, setting aside any system of sacrificial payment through which we might atone"for our faults.
Better yet, as always, Jesus does not simply tell us how to do life. He models it, so that the encounters in this morning’s gospel provide worked examples. They show us where mercy and sacrifice diverge, and encourage us to consider whether we see ourselves as humble recipients of grace, or independent souls who hope to earn salvation by doing the right thing.
So, as we reflect this morning, I’m going to ask my favourite question: where do you find yourself in the story? I’m pretty sure you’re there somewhere.
Perhaps Jesus met you in an unlikely context, as he did Matthew at the tax booth. Perhaps he called you, and you just upped and offed in obedience to his voice…You didn’t have anything worth bringing with you, but you knew you had to come. Where have you travelled since with him? Do you still hear him loud and clear? Does his call inspire glad obedience or reluctance? Are you mainly conscious of the reach of his mercy, encompassing you, or of the demands of faith, the sacrifices that drive tax collectors from their booths and force them, force you, to rethink your life choices? Maybe you even felt that his mercy was contingent on your sacrifice? That can be an easy mistake to make.
Perhaps, though, you’re currently rather disappointed in Jesus. Does his choice of friends bewilder you? Wouldn’t it be easier, really, if he confined his attention to people on the inside…those whose behaviour we can monitor and control, those whose way of being chimes with our own. Do you find yourself asking, in the quiet of your heart, what on earth Jesus sees in someone like X? Does he HAVE to be so undiscriminating?
Heres the rub Mercy, not sacrifice. Not even if the sacrifice is one enshrined in all that you understand of religious practice. Not even if you’ve spent all your days in steadfast obedience to laws enshrined by common consent. This, - THIS – is the way we do things here…
Hard though it may seem – that’s just not how it works. Forget about playing by the rules and earning your place at the table. This is an absolutely open invitation…There’s nothing you can do to win his attention, or garner his love.
It’s yours already.
You are as beloved as if all that Love had no other object in the whole of creation. You too are caught up in that tide… Mercy, not sacrifice. Not easy for those who are leaders, those who are used to setting agendas, planning strategies, controlling outcomes. This is a different way.
Now, just as Jesus is challenging those who have spent their days focussed on obedience to the rules, a leader among them comes to kneel at his feet. He is facing a crisis. There is death and disaster, a father bereft but nonetheless trusting, turning to the one person in whom he dares place his hope when, rationally, all hope has gone.
Is this you? Carrying a weight of sudden grief, but remembering to turn to the only One with the power to heal? You’re confident that he will hear you. You belong here. You have favoured status except – what IS he doing now? We’re back with another demonstration of that reckless mercy, that boundless loving kindness which over-rides so much that seemed to matter. Goodness, there’s even queue jumping. That bereaved father was here first.
And yet…
And yet…
If you’re not sure of your welcome, maybe stealing in quietly, hiding behind a pillar, leaving before the end, not even daring to name your need – well, this is your story too. A woman, and one ritually unclean, touched the fringe of Jesus’s cloak. Let’s enter her thoughts for a moment.
This is bound to be OK. Jesus has his attention fixed on that important man with the overwhelming loss. Dreadful for any parent. The worst grief. My need is tiny in comparison, though it has weighed me down for years, but I would hate to be a bother. I can surely reach out in my need, and receive healing without any fuss. Like the synagogue leader, I know Jesus has the power to change the world for me – but my confidence is based on who HE is, not on who I am, because honestly, I’m pretty sure I don’t amount to much.
I have nothing I CAN sacrifice – so I’ll turn to him, stretch out a cautious finger and gently touch the silky softness of that fringe. Then I will wait for his mercy that will come down like showers, like spring rains that water the earth. There’s nothing the earth can do to make the rains fall. Only wait. Hope and healing are on their way.
Go and learn what this means.
Are you getting the idea now? We are all of us dependent on chesed, but what might it mean to live, not just as one who knows their reliance on God’s loving kindness, but as one whose focus is on sharing it? What might a church look like if it clung to this way of being? How might it change? Would new voices be heard that are currently silent? New priorities emerge in the ways we use our resources? At ordination priests are commissioned to tell the story of God's love, but that call is for everyone. What if we actually set out to do it every single day? Would our life here be any different? And what about you? Where are you in the story? Have you learned what that verse means for yourself? It’s one to hang on to, because not only does God desire this, God offers it, again and again and again, a gift to be treasured and celebrated but always, always, to be shared. Amen. Thanks be to God!
