Sermon on Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26
Pastor Jennifer Garcia
We’ve made it to Ordinary Time in the church year. We’ve made it through the preparatory seasons of Advent and Lent and the big festivals of Christmas and Easter and Pentecost, and the second half of the year has begun. We’re beginning a long season of green paraments and stories of Jesus’ life and teachings.
There’s something appropriately ordinary about our Gospel reading involving people bickering and judging and bleeding and dying. It’s all so deeply human. It may seem a little cynical, but it’s so ordinary for people to raise eyebrows at each other. For so many people, chronic illness and pain are daily companions. And none of us escape death, even as we proclaim that because of Jesus, death doesn’t have the last word.
Even after two thousand years, we’re still bickering and judging—just spend thirty seconds on social media or look at the campaign ads from this week’s election.
And as amazing as modern medicine is, there’s still so much we don’t know and don’t have treatment for. When there’s no easy fix, our society is determined to ignore illness and death. We don’t want to think about it until we have to, and our culture shame’s people who are facing illness or death into being as quiet about it as possible.
And unless you’re a disabled person with an amazing, inspirational story to make everyone around you feel good, then keep that to yourself and pull yourself up by your bootstraps, why don’t you?
And, God forbid your disability be invisible or involve mental health. It’s probably all in your head anyway, so why should anyone else care? You’re not going to be employable if you keep asking for accommodation, and if you’re not able to work, why do you even matter?
Ableism is everywhere.
And today’s Gospel reading is about healing. It’s easy to read the stories of Jesus curing people with an ableist lens. We can decide that the good news in these stories is that Jesus cures people of their injuries, disabilities, illnesses, and even death.
But when someone with unexplained symptoms hears these stories and goes to another fruitless doctor’s appointment, they might ask themselves, “Why am I not getting cured?”
And when someone with a chronic illness hears these stories, they might ask themselves, “Aren’t I beloved and enough as I am?”
And when someone whose loved one has died hears these stories, they might ask themselves, “Why didn’t God keep my loved one from dying?”
To people asking those questions, I want to say, “I’m sorry you’re not finding the answers you’re hoping for. I’m sorry you’re in pain. Of course, you’re beloved and whole and enough as you are. I’m sorry for your loss, and I hope we can hold you and journey with you in your grief.”
If we look at the whole of our Gospel reading—all four stories—we can see that Jesus did bring healing, but it wasn’t merely about the cure. Jesus was healing society through inclusion.
Our reading opens with Jesus calling a tax collector to follow him. Tax collectors were hated. They were considered collaborators with the Romans, and they were crooked on top of that, skimming a bit off the top for themselves. And yet, Jesus extended an invitation to join him.
Behavior like this was noticed. In the second story in our Gospel reading, some of the religious leaders saw Jesus eating with crooked collaborators and other undesirable people, and they pulled aside some of Jesus’ disciples to express their disapproval.
But Jesus responded that his mission was for people who knew they needed healing, not for those self-righteous enough not to know they needed help.
And then, he quoted our first reading, saying that God desires “mercy, not sacrifice.” He reminded them that Hosea’s message to God’s people was that God wasn’t impressed by religious practice if it wasn’t rooted in love for God, which, as we know from Jesus’ teachings elsewhere, is deeply connected to love for our neighbors.
Our Gospel reading skipped another story about John the Baptist’s disciples asking Jesus why other religious leaders fast and Jesus’ disciples don’t. Jesus describes himself as a bridegroom, saying it’s appropriate for his disciples to celebrate while he is with them. This, too, goes back to the Hosea quote that God wants mercy and steadfast love instead of religious practice by a people group whose heart isn’t in it.
Jesus was including the excluded among his disciples and table company, showing them the unconditional love of God. They, then, could love others as they were loved. This builds community—Beloved Community.
And these two stories are followed by two more stories—the ones we more customarily read as healing stories.
But maybe instead of focusing on the cures, we can view these stories as opportunities Jesus was given to show that mercy to the people around him.
Jesus was demonstrating how mercy mattered more than worrying about fasting the right way or who to exclude from a dinner party. And mercy wasn’t just about healing people, butinsisting that God’s family includes everyone. Everyone is needed. Everyone is important. Everyone is loved.
A colleague, Rev. Dr. Michelle Bodle, wrote an article[1] in Fidelia magazine, published by Young Clergy Women International. She wrote about a particularly difficult discussion in one of her seminary classes. A classmate had asserted that “mental illness needed to be healed in order for people to be whole.”
As someone who had been diagnosed with generalized anxiety, she understandably had been hurt by this statement.
She wrote: “When explaining this to people in everyday terms, I say I worry about everything and anything. My brain processes stimuli around me, putting me on high alert. I also believe that, for me, there is a gift in anxiety. In fact, I refer to it as my superpower. However, before explaining, let me note that this is not the case for everyone. Some people may experience anxiety as debilitating. I can only speak from my experience.”
Like she said, everyone’s experience of mental health and disability is different. Anxiety is not the same as bleeding for twelve years is not the same as anyone else’s experience. She experiences anxiety as a strength, but someone else might experience anxiety totally differently, and no one is required to look on the bright side of any situation. At the same time, no one should assume what someone else’s experience of mental illness or disability is. We’re unique.
For Rev. Dr. Bodle, she sees her anxiety as part of her wholeness, not something that detracts from it. She wrote, “I’ve tried to be a good steward of the gift of anxiety. Part of that stewardship is making sure that it doesn’t tip into being in the driver’s seat. When I think of the superheroes that I grew up with, for most of them, their greatest strength could become their greatest weakness if they weren’t careful. This means that I need to be attentive to my own moods, prioritize self-care, see a therapist, and use medication. When I neglect this posture of self-reflection, I become like the superheroes who tried to lead solely through their superpower, rather than seeing it as part of the greater whole of who they were, they could become derailed. So it is with anxiety. If I lead from an anxious place, instead of seeing this as simply part of who I am, then I can quickly lose track of the bigger picture.
“Back in that classroom during seminary, I didn’t view anxiety as a gift or a superpower. I simply saw it as part of who I was. I bristled at the thought that I needed part of me fundamentally changed to be “whole.” I am whole, including my anxiety. It does not need to be healed or redeemed in order for me to be more fully me. I simply need to be aware of its presence and hold it gently, allowing it to speak but not lead. For me, that is the gift of anxiety.”
Again, this is her experience. Yours or your neighbor’s might be different. But our stories of healing today point to the inclusion Jesus brings—not that people need to be “cured” before being whole or healed. Jesus invites us to make society whole and healed by including and appreciating every person.
You are whole. You are worthy. You are included at God’s table. You are loved just as you are. And so is your neighbor. Thanks be to God!
[1]https://fideliamagazine.org/2026/05/28/reframing-illness-gift-of-anxiety/