10th Sun ord 08

10th Sunday Ord A 12:15 Mt 9: 9-13 6/8/08
Mathew, the tax collector, like many other tax collectors, had the sticky fingers of a thief. He would charge more taxes than stern justice demanded and then sweep the extra coins into the folds of his garment.
Besides this, Matthew was branded by the hot irons of Jewish patriotism as a self-serving traitor. He collaborated and worked for the hated Roman occupation forces. And while the peasants were forced to pay taxes from the backbreaking sweat of eking out a living, Mathew sat comfortably in his luxurious home, throwing sumptuous banquets for fellow scheming tax collectors and public sinners, for example, prostitutes who were also condemned by patriotic Jews as traitors because they serviced Roman soldiers
But on this occasion, a man sat at Mathew’s table who was neither a tax collector or traitor. A man who was condemned by Jewish religious leaders as a heretic: Jesus of Nazareth.
And so the religious leaders pushed the whining question with the force of unbridled self-righteousness, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?”
The religious leaders had deflected Jesus’ merciful proclamation, “Those who are well do not need a physician, but the sick do. I did not come to call the righteous but sinners.”
Jesus’ words are translated as gloriously as a decorative, medieval bible in the story of Thomas Becket.
The poet, TS Eliot, dramatized Becket’s life and death in his play, Murder in the Cathedral. You may have seen the movie, Becket. If you haven’t seen this movie, it would be worth your while to rent and watch it.
Young Becket and young Kind Henry II were almost as close as Siamese twins, interlocked in their debauchery, twined in their disdain of the Church’s moral teachings.
Then, through Henry’s influence, Becket was appointed as Archbishop of Canterbury. He experienced a radical conversion. After that he began to confront Henry about Henry’s unjust treatment of the Church.
The strain between the two men broke into a split as impassible as trying to bridge the chasm between two huge mountains hundreds of miles apart.
Henry was buried in cascading desperation. His self-righteous words as violent as a terrorist plot rang out like the bell in the Canterbury cathedral: “Will not someone rid me of this troublesome priest?”
Four of Henry’s knights took his words literally. The descended on the cathedral one December evening, murderous intent flaming from their eyes, their swords raised in barbaric butchery, their loyalty to their king now a wild banner of assassination, fluttering in the winds of hatred.
Three priests pulled Becket back into the cathedral and barred the doors.
TS Eliot put these words on Becket’s lips: “Unbar the doors. Throw open the doors! I will not have the house of prayer, the church of Christ, the sanctuary turned into a fortress.”
The four knights murdered Becket in his cathedral in a bloodthirsty, self-righteous act of sacrilege.
Sometimes, like the religious leaders in Jesus’ time who thrust the bitter question about Jesus eating with sinners, you may be tempted to shut yourself up in your own cathedral, be it your home, your community, your school, your church, to keep out those you want nothing to do with.
But like Thomas Becket, Jesus demands that you, if you are to be his disciple, unbar the doors – the doors of your forgiveness to the sinners around you. In finding the strength and love to forgive those who have marred your life, you will find forgiveness for your sins.
Eugene Kennedy in his book Believing says that “an immature faith causes unexplained hostility and defensive cynicism causing withdrawal.” I would add a withdrawal like that of slamming the doors of your cathedral against others.
In other words, you need to be sensitive enough to allow people to get through to you and secure enough not to let them disturb your peace of mind.
Humorous story about sensitivity: Six-year-old Joey’s precious cat, Fluffy, died and was buried in a beautiful spot in the backyard.
That night Joey asked, “Dad, where is Fluffy?”
Dad, a man of compassion and sensitive to his son’s loss, replied, “Son, Fluffy is with God in heaven.”
Joey pondered this for a while and then, puzzled, asked, “Dad, what does God want with a dead cat?”


The thought I leave with you today is this: Always be sensitive to others’ needs.