11 June Sermon 2023

A sermon preached at St Martin-in-the-Fields on June 11, 2023 by Revd Angela Sheard

Reading for address: Matthew 9: 9-13, 18-26

Before training for ordination, I worked as a junior doctor. One of my jobs was on an oncology ward, looking after patients with cancer. It was an extremely busy ward and as a medical team we were often thin on the ground – we spent most days trying to get through our enormous list of ward patients in order of priority, and dealing with any emergencies that came up along the way.

I was steaming through one such ward round on my own one morning and, a few patients down the list, I came to the bed of a lady that I had seen a few times before. I had read through the collection of clinic letters in her notes which painted a bleak picture: her initial diagnosis had been followed by rapid decline that had left her unable to look after her young son. At this point in her hospital admission, it was looking increasingly likely that our treatments wouldn’t work. Much as we were trying to fight it, death loomed large in her prognosis.

After pulling the hospital curtains around us as best I could, I explained that her latest blood test results had shown no improvement. But having encountered her several times already, or perhaps because there was nothing more we could treat her with, I could feel her morphing in my mind from a collection of medical data into a person. It became harder to tick her off my ward list as having been seen – what was the value in that, I wondered? But I did have to press on – I had lots of other patients to get through before lunchtime, some of whom were very sick and needed to be seen sooner rather than later.

I was about to head swiftly to the next patient, when she asked, ‘Could someone please get me some ice?’ ‘Of course’ I responded, and then headed out into the corridor. I wandered up and down the ward: all the nurses looked busy. Did we even have any ice on this ward? I thought anxiously about the sick patients who were waiting and teetered on the edge of leaving. But in the end I hunted down the kitchen and found some ice to put in a small plastic cup. There was something I could do for her, after all. Eventually, I got through all the patients on my list. But looking back on that day, it wasn’t the completed jobs list that stayed with me, but the interruption to my ward round. An unexpected request, which reduced my efficiency, felt like one of the most worthwhile things I had
done all day.

In our Gospel reading today, Jesus’s own ministry is similarly interrupted by unexpected requests – but in responding to these interruptions, he teaches his disciples something about discipleship, about what it means to follow him. In order to unpack this, let’s explore the context of this scripture reading. It’s divided into two parts: firstly Jesus encounters Matthew the tax collector and asks him to follow (which receives critical acclaim from the Pharisees), then later in the passage Jesus shows through his actions what it means to follow. Jesus does this by doing the reverse of what happens elsewhere in the Gospels – rather than asking others to follow him, he follows someone else. The Greek word for ‘follow’ is used throughout Matthew’s Gospel in connotation with discipleship – and so Jesus demonstrates, through his own following, what discipleship should look like.

Who does Jesus follow? The leader of the synagogue is presented here as a model of discipleship which is consistent with Jesus’s teachings elsewhere. He is someone of high status who nevertheless humbles himself and kneels at the feet of Jesus, with the incredible faith that Jesus can raise his daughter from the dead. He recognizes the limits of his own power in that he cannot save his daughter. However, he uses the power that he does have to make an appeal to Jesus on behalf of someone else. He is presented as a fitting person to follow – not because of who he is, but because of what he does.

When people follow Jesus in the Gospels, there are two recurring themes: they are summoned directly by Jesus, and they follow at personal cost. As we have seen, the synagogue leader seeks Jesus out in order to make his appeal in person. But in complying with his request, is there any kind of personal cost to Jesus? In order to better answer this, it’s helpful to reveal what happens in between the two parts of Matthew 9 that make up our lectionary Gospel reading. After his encounter with Matthew the tax collector and the Pharisees, Jesus then answers a question on fasting from the disciples of John and tells the brief parable of the old and the new wineskins. It is in the midst of this teaching that the leader of the synagogue suddenly comes in. His direct request for Jesus to follow him is, in fact, an interruption of the ministry in which Jesus was already engaged. Who knows whether Jesus had finished everything he wanted to say!

In response to the synagogue leader, Jesus simply gets up and follows – he doesn’t ask any questions of clarification, he doesn’t ask him to come back at a more convenient time, he doesn’t send any of the other disciples to engage with his request, he simply allows himself to be interrupted. But there’s more – on his way to the synagogue leader’s house, another sudden interruption occurs as a woman suffering from haemorrhages comes up to him and touches his cloak. At this point Jesus has already obediently followed and is on a mission to raise someone from the dead – but even so he stops and turns and sees her and encourages her and heals her. In this Jesus reveals his radical attentiveness to the present moment, to the circumstances immediately around him – even the raising of the dead can be interrupted by someone in need who suddenly crosses his path.

So as a follower, Jesus allows himself to be interrupted, and the interruptions are sources of healing, wholeness and new life. But more than this, Jesus in fact shares much in common with the woman with haemorrhages. The woman with haemorrhages has suffered from a bleeding condition, acts with humility by approaching Jesus from behind, and remains silent in this passage – but has a deep faith which has stayed with her throughout her long illness and suffering. Likewise, Jesus will suffer and bleed during his crucifixion – he will act with humility as he allows himself to be tortured, he will remain silent and yet will retain his faith. Jesus also shares much in common with the synagogue leader’s daughter – she is the daughter of a community leader, surrounded by a mourning crowd at her death, and reports of her death and resurrection spread throughout the district. Likewise, Jesus is a ruler’s son. At the time of his death he will be surrounded by a crowd, not mourning him but mocking him and jeering at him. Like the girl, he too will die and rise from the dead – and the reports
will spread throughout the district.

The interruptions which Jesus experiences aren’t just occasions for him to work miracles, or to show the disciples how to follow – Jesus is the interruption. The bodies of these two women reflect Jesus’s own body – their suffering is a model for Jesus’s suffering, and their healing is a model for Jesus’s resurrection. Jesus is the distraction, the person in need that stands in the way of efficiency or productivity, the blessing which cannot be measured or strategized.

In this story, Jesus shows his followers that their journey of discipleship will be a journey of sacred interruption. On this journey, nothing is more important than a loving attentiveness to the present moment – to whoever and whatever is in front of you. Our service today has begun with the baptism of Rafferty and Peregrine. As we say in our liturgy, this is the start of another ministry – or rather, two new ministries within the body of Christ: two journeys of trying to follow Jesus in the way that he has taught us. For many of us this is a reminder of our own baptism, of the start of our own ministry walking alongside Jesus. I wonder when you have experienced interruptions in your own life. How did you respond and how do you feel looking back on that experience? I wonder too when you have been an interruption in the lives of others – when have you entered unexpectedly into the lives of others, and what was the result?

When I was interrupted on my oncology ward round many years ago by a woman asking for a cup of ice, it wasn’t only an opportunity for me to do something for her. She had a blessing for me – she reminded me that getting round all the patients as fast as possible wasn’t all that mattered. She showed me that healing cannot necessarily be measured with numbers or targets or strategic plans. She freed me from a compulsive need to ‘move on’ to the next patient. So may we all have the courage that we need to notice the sacred interruptions in our own journeys as followers of Jesus, to stop and look and listen and encounter the blessing that is waiting for each one of us.