Mercy, Not Sacrifice

This week I’ve been thinking a lot about belonging and standing alongside one another in true community. In our church and broader local family, we’ve experienced great losses this week. Friends have died from cancer. Others continue to battle, but grow weary. We are weary from a broader world filled with violence and hatred. We are numb by the ways we seek to avoid this reality.

But today, we celebrate the people and stories we do witness God’s goodness through.

We celebrate our children.

We sing of God’s goodness.

We gather at the Lord’s table.

As you hear this morning’s Gospel reading, first consider this: Everybody comes bearing a burden. They show up to work after a rough night of sleep. They get that phone call during the day they were dreading. They didn’t pass the class. They kids were mean. I was mean.

And we come in need of mercy, don’t we? Deep, deep forgiveness, compassion, empathy, grace. Mercy. I know I need it. I suspect you know it too.

Today, we hear the words of Jesus, reminding us to live, spread, and receive, mercy. The sacrifice has been made. Now, simply, sweet mercy.

Matthew 9:9–13 NRSV

As Jesus was walking along, he saw a man called Matthew sitting at the tax booth; and he said to him, “Follow me.” And he got up and followed him. And as he sat at dinner in the house, many tax collectors and sinners came and were sitting with him and his disciples. When the Pharisees saw this, they said to his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” But when he heard this, he said, “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.”

Matthew 9:18–26 NRSV

While he was saying these things to them, suddenly a leader of the synagogue came in and knelt before him, saying, “My daughter has just died; but come and lay your hand on her, and she will live.” And Jesus got up and followed him, with his disciples. Then suddenly a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years came up behind him and touched the fringe of his cloak, for she said to herself, “If I only touch his cloak, I will be made well.” Jesus turned, and seeing her he said, “Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well.” And instantly the woman was made well. When Jesus came to the leader’s house and saw the flute players and the crowd making a commotion, he said, “Go away; for the girl is not dead but sleeping.” And they laughed at him. But when the crowd had been put outside, he went in and took her by the hand, and the girl got up. And the report of this spread throughout that district.

Mercy, Not Sacrifice

When Jesus calls Matthew, he calls the wrong person.

A tax collector. A collaborator. A sinner.

At least, that's how everyone else sees him.

And then Jesus does something even stranger. He sits down at the table with Matthew and his friends. The people everyone else avoids. The people everyone else judges. The people everyone else has already decided are beyond the pale.

The Pharisees are scandalized.

"Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?"

And Jesus responds:

"Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick."

And then he says:

"Go and learn what this means: I desire mercy, not sacrifice."

Mercy, not sacrifice.

Jesus is referencing the prophet Hosea. In Hebrew, the word is hesed: steadfast love, covenant love, faithful kindness. Hosea 6:6 says “For I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings.” In Jesus’ Greek, he uses the word eleos: mercy, compassion, pity. Steadfast love, compassion, empathy.

God desires mercy.

Not sacrifice.

Not performance.

Not proving ourselves.

Not endless obligations.

Not keeping score.

Mercy.

And then Matthew tells us two healing stories.

A woman who has been suffering for twelve years.

A grieving father whose daughter has died.

Both are desperate. Both are hurting. Both come to Jesus.

And neither receives a lecture.

Neither is told to try harder.

Neither is reminded of their failures.

They receive mercy.

Jesus calls the woman "daughter."

Jesus takes the little girl by the hand.

Mercy.

Again and again, mercy.

I wonder if we sometimes live as though sacrifice is what God really wants.

We carry around a list of shoulds.

I should have done better.

I should have known better.

I should have worked harder.

I should have been stronger.

I should have been more patient.

I should have gotten it right the first time.

And before long, we're living under a mountain of debts and obligations.

We become our own Pharisees.

We become our own accusers.

We keep demanding sacrifices from ourselves.

But Jesus says, "I desire mercy."

What if we believed him?

What if we offered mercy to the people around us when they mess up?

What if we offered mercy when someone disappoints us?

What if we offered mercy when someone falls short?

And perhaps hardest of all:

What if we offered mercy to ourselves?

What if every mistake did not require payment?

What if every failure did not create a debt?

What if every wound did not require punishment?

What if we stopped sacrificing ourselves on the altar of perfection?

What if we trusted that God's first word toward us is mercy?

Because sacrifice assumes a debt must be paid.

Mercy releases the debt.

Sacrifice keeps score.

Mercy lets go.

Sacrifice asks, "What do you owe?"

Mercy asks, "How can I help you heal?"

That is the way of Jesus. A table full of sinners. A woman reaching for healing. A grieving father holding onto hope. And Jesus moving toward them all with mercy.

Not sacrifice.

Mercy.

May we receive it.

May we offer it.

And may we become a people known not for what we demand from one another, but for the mercy we give.

Amen.