Second Sunday after Pentecost June 7, 2026 with The Rev. Javier Almendárez-Bautista

May the words of my mouth and the meditation of all our hearts be holy and pleasing in your sight, O Lord, O Rock and Redeemer.

Amen.

Today's gospel lesson is a story in three acts.

Its cast of characters is as diverse as they come, and it all begins with a single command.

Follow me.

First up, our gospel's namesake, the erstwhile tax collector and would-be disciple, the man named Matthew.

I wonder if he gave the command a second thought, if he considered the financial repercussions of his decision.

Tax collectors, after all, were agents of the empire, interlopers among a people living under Roman occupation.

They had a reputation for skimming money off the top, getting rich off of people who were already struggling to get by.

Matthew threw caution to the wind in order to sit at the feet of the peripatetic rabbi.

Ill-gotten games did not hold a candle to the offer of communion and belonging.

Later in the story, we meet a woman in a crowd.

We never find out her name.

She has been suffering quietly for 12 years.

Can you imagine what you were up to 12 years ago in the year 2014?

Can you picture in your mind's eye all that has happened since, the ups and downs and everything in between?

Twelve years is a long time to be unwell.

I bet she sought out doctors and experts.

I bet she exhausted every option imaginable.

She decides to chase down the Messiah in the crowd, not necessarily because she was moved by his words, but because she was desperate.

If I only touch his cloak, I will be made well.

A leap of faith born of pain, anguish, and despair.

The third scene is wrapped up in the second.

It is a story that holds it in place.

Here, a father makes his plea.

Unlike the tax collector and unlike the anonymous woman, this man is as reputable as they come, a leader of the synagogue, a man worthy of respect, honor, and attention.

But he also kneels before Jesus.

He begs for his attention.

He does not care about propriety.

He makes a scene, putting his needs in public display.

He pursues the Messiah out of his love for his daughter.

His need propels him forward in the face of and in spite of death itself.

Here we have three different people and three different kinds of need.

An unworthy tax collector, a desperate woman suffering in secret, a reputable community leader with nothing left to lose.

And here we have a single Messiah holding them all together.

In the face of their needs, their wants, and their desires, Jesus moves into action.

Out of this motley crew, a new community is born.

Friends, following Jesus is not a one-size-fits-all deal.

We all come to the table with our own wants, needs, and desires.

We all come seeking the words of life, but what that will mean for each of us on any given day will vary.

They say that every sermon is a heresy.

Every sermon emphasizes one aspect of the faith at the expense of another.

One day you preach a sermon about God's complete and utter transcendence, the majesty of God's presence, the enormity of the cosmic order, the extravagance of God's grace and mercy.

On another day, you might speak about God's closeness to us, how God shows up in the very ordinary circumstances of daily life, in a stranger's kind words, in a fleeting moment of peace as you're walking to your car in between errands.

We cannot sum up the whole of God's presence in just one idea.

We must say this and we must also say that.

Seemingly conflicting ideas painting a more faithful picture of the whole.

The same goes for what a sermon means to each of us.

Maybe today you need to hear a call to repentance, like Matthew.

Maybe you need to remember that the treasures of this world are temporary, while what Jesus offers is eternal.

Store your treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroy.

Let go of the self-securing ambition and angst.

Let go of your need for control.

Refuse the temptation to prove yourself worthy in the eyes of the world.

Seek first the kingdom and let the rest of the pieces fall where they will.

Perhaps today, however, you find yourself hurting, like the woman in the crowd.

Maybe there is a hidden place in your life that needs healing.

Only you know the burden you bear.

Jesus moves through the crowd, pulled in every direction at once, but rest assured he will stop everything to make time for you.

He knows what it's like to feel isolated and helpless.

Maybe today your heart breaks for the needs of another, like the Father in our story.

Maybe you have done everything you can think of, everything you know how to do for the one you love.

Into your despair, Christ speaks a word of hope.

And this hope is not a mere feeling, this hope is a practice.

It is the work of God's people in season and out of season, an outright refusal to believe that death ever has the final word.

The activist and public theologian Ruby Sayles puts the matter bluntly.

In the face of the world's need, we must ask a simple question.

Where does it hurt?

Where does it hurt?

Jesus moves through the crowd and he offers not just a call to repentance, but healing.

To one, that means letting go of worldly goods.

To another, it means laying claim to a dignity that has long been denied them.

Healing is not simply a physical matter, but a spiritual one.

It is the restoration of community and belonging for those who have plenty as well as those with nothing left to lose.

Something I love about the Gospels is the immediacy of call and response.

In chapter 9, verse 9, Jesus asked Matthew to follow him.

In verse 10, he immediately leaves everything behind to do just so.

That's the kind of response Jesus elicited from those he came into contact with.

But rest assured, to follow Jesus means to follow him into the places where the world's greatest need beckons.

When the leader of the synagogue comes to him begging for his attention, it is Jesus who leaves everything behind to follow, and he brings his disciples with him.

To accept healing from the likes of Jesus means to become an agent of healing in the world.

You cannot have one without the other.

To take without giving in return is to miss the point of Christ's healing work in the first place.

Elsewhere in the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus counts the cost.

Foxes have holes, he says, and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.

May we be a people who seek and accept Christ's healing, and may we join him on the road, following him where others dare not go, to be a healing presence in the world.

Amen.