Holy Vessels: Stories
Matthew 9:27-33
March 7, 2021
Emmanuel Baptist Church; Rev. Kathy Donley
Note: A recording of the worship service in which this sermon was preached may be found here: https://youtu.be/JPaW-vDugHk
This week the estate of Dr. Seuss announced that it will no longer publish six of his five dozen books. They said that the decision was made because these books portray people in ways that are hurtful and wrong. Some have lauded the decision for its sensitivity to racial and gender issues. Some see it as one more example of cancel culture. And others, in good capitalistic fashion, sought to make a quick buck by selling their old copies at exorbitant prices on second-hand sites.
For me, it is another reminder that words matter, that stories have power, that even made-up stories in picture books have power to shape us. It is a reminder that how we hear stories, or even whether we hear certain stories, depends on who tells them and how they are conveyed to us or how they are suppressed.
Matthew records more healing stories than any other gospel. Each of these accounts was first told as a complete story on its own. Matthew incorporated them into his gospel within the framework of his theology.[1] This season, we are working our way through this section of Matthew which focuses on Jesus’ deeds of power. We are intentionally looking through the lens of healing and wellness to find ways to strengthen our own spiritual and physical and mental health.
While we are using that lens, I think it is important to remember that one result of Jesus’ healing was inclusion. Living with an illness or disability meant that people were left on the margins. Their healing meant that they were restored to community. What we see in these stories is a reflection of the culture in which they originated. People with disabilities in first century Palestine were not agitating for inclusion as people with disabilities, but pleading for Jesus to make their disabilities go away. And Jesus is not presented as making room for them or as honoring them just as they are. We need to recognize that this is a cultural limitation. Otherwise it may subtly reinforce the idea that God is cannot be glorified in a disability, but only when it is overcome.[2]
Today we heard about two men who were blind and one who was demon-possessed and mute. What I find most interesting is not the healing themselves, but the aftermath. After Jesus heals the blind men, he orders them not to tell anyone, but verse 31 says “But they went away and spread the news about him throughout that district.”
He tells them not to tell, but they do it anyway.
I read that this week and glossed over it. At first, it did not really strike me as that important. Without stopping to think about it, my brain put it into a category labelled “messianic secret”. “Messianic secret” is a term used by Biblical scholars. It refers to the idea that Jesus’ reputation as a wonder worker is expanding, revealing his identity as the Messiah, even while he keeps telling people to keep quiet. This is especially obvious in Mark’s gospel. Markan scholars have spent a lot of time and ink debating how much of the secrecy came from Jesus and how much was a literary device employed by Mark. I learned about that decades ago in seminary. So when I came to it in this story, I mentally filed it into that category and kept reading.
But later in the week, I realized what I had done. Instead of trying to listen to Matthew’s story, instead of trying to hear what the blind men might say for themselves, I listened first to the scholars. Now scholars have their rightful place. Their voices are worthy of my attention, but I gave them so much priority that they muffled the other voices. I wonder how often I give more weight to the experts instead of to individuals telling their own stories?
Looking and listening more carefully now, I notice that Matthew says that they followed Jesus as he went from place to place. “Following” is Matthew’s word for discipleship. In the brief exchange before the healing, they express insight into who he is, calling him “Son of David.” They confess their faith in him, saying explicitly that they believe he can do what they ask. And then they regain their sight. Despite knowing who he is, despite their faith in him,
despite the gift of sight that he provides, despite all of that, they do not obey his only request.[3] Ordered not to tell, they go out and do it anyway.
Why do they disobey? What is it about their experience that cannot be suppressed?
Now I’m asking questions not directly answered in this text. So, the answers that I hear are more speculative.
Why do they disobey? Perhaps because now people are listening to them. I mentioned that they would have been excluded because of their blindness and now, they are invited into the conversation. Telling their story, despite Jesus’ orders, is part of accepting the invitation to belong.
Transformation has occurred. People know them. People know that they can see, when they couldn’t before. How can they possibly answer other people’s questions without telling their story?
And joy, surely there is joy. I know people who have had cataract surgery. They were functioning all right before, but afterwards, they talk about how vivid the colors are. They didn’t even know what they had been missing, but the new colors and sharper details set off joy and wonder.
Why do the men tell their story? Belonging, transformation, and joy. All of these are part of their healing, part of their truth. Telling that truth is bound up with their healing. What has happened is life-changing and they cannot keep silent.
Instead of asking why they speak their truth, we might ask why Jesus doesn’t want them to. One answer is that they addressed him as “Son of David” which is a politically charged term. The more that people talk about Jesus, the more scrutiny he will be under from the authorities. The truth that these men tell may be healing and liberating for them, but it is dangerous for Jesus.
We see this at the end of the second story. After Jesus heals someone believed to be possessed by a demon, after his healing gives the man his voice back, the religious leaders say that he casts out demons because he is also demonic. It is a charge that Jesus will continue to face, a charge that will follow him to the cross.
The contrasts here are between those who believe and those who scoff, between those who see Jesus’ power as Godly and those who claim it is demonic. [4] The truth may be liberating and healing for those who dare to tell it, but it may also be dangerous and threatening for those who want it suppressed.
Twenty-two-year-old Amanda Gorman delivered a powerful poem at the inauguration in January. Afterwards, she made the rounds on talk shows. Among other things, she shared that she has speech and processing disorders which she has coped with through deliberate use of language. This is her truth, part of the story she shares, a story which has been empowering to others who similarly struggle with speech and language.
Then on Friday, she told another truth. She said that a security guard tailed her as she walked home. He said “you look suspicious” and demanded to know if she lived there. She showed her keys and buzzed herself into her building. The guard left without apology. Amanda said, “This is the reality of black girls: one day you’re called an icon, the next day, a threat.” [5]
The responses have been predictable. Many hear her truth and believe. Others scoff. Some say that she just wanted more attention, denying her reality, which seems to me like an obvious attempt at suppression.
In a follow-up tweet, Amanda said, “in a sense [the guard] was right. I am a threat: a threat to injustice, to inequality, to ignorance. Anyone who speaks the truth and walks with hope is an obvious and fatal danger to the powers that be.”
Speaking our truth, telling our story may be bound up with our own healing. Telling the truth, perhaps over and over again, may be the only way that we will hear it, that the wider world will come to hear it, the only way that the prevailing powers will be reckoned with. Hearing the truth that you and I offer from our own experience may even further someone else’s healing.
I was talking with one of you this week, about how much meanness there is. Ultimately, what we agreed that in the midst of so much meanness, it is incredibly important to be kind. In a world where 40% of us are coping with mental health or substance abuse issues, in a time when three-quarters of young adults face that struggle,[6] it is incredibly important to be kind. Sometimes kindness is simply listening and hearing another person’s truth. Sometimes kindness is creating an alternative space where that truth is honored. Sometimes it is in recognizing that such a space already exists within the reign of God.
Presbyterian minister and teacher Robert McAfee Brown related this story from his own life. Let me simply read it to you:
It is my first communion service after ordination. It is taking place on the after gun turret of a U.S. Navy destroyer during World War II, and I am there because I am a Navy chaplain. There is only room for three communicants at a time to come forward and receive the elements. The first three to respond to the invitation are a lieutenant commander, captain of the vessel; a fireman’s apprentice, about as low as one can be in the ordinary naval hierarchy; and a steward’s mate, who, because he is black, is not even included in the normal naval hierarchy; all blacks can do in the then Jim Crow Navy is wait on the tables where the white officers eat.
An officer, a white enlisted man, a black enlisted man—day by day they eat in separate mess halls. There are no circumstances in which they could eat together at a Navy table. But at the Lord’s Table, not even Navy regulations can dictate who eats with whom. For this one moment—as is true during no other moments on shipboard—they are equals, and they are at the same table.[7]
That communion experience was a liberation, a transformation, an opportunity to see the world beyond the false identities offered by status and power and tradition. This is the healing that can come with truth telling. This is the healing that Jesus offers – a healing of transformation, reconciliation and joy. Thanks be to God. Amen.
[1] Eugene Boring, New Interpreter’s Bible, Vol. VII, Matthew, (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995), p. 245.
[2] Walter T. Wilson, Healing in the Gospel of Matthew, (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2014), p. 233
[3] Warren Carter, Matthew and the Margins: A Sociopolitical and Religious Reading, (Maryknoll, NY: Obis Books, 2000) p. 229
[4] Cynthia Campbell in Feasting on the Gospels, Matthew, Volume 1, Cynthia Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox Press, 2013) p. 247
[5] https://www.nytimes.com/2021/03/05/us/amanda-gorman-security-guard.html
[6] https://www.washingtonpost.com/health/2020/11/23/covid-pandemic-rise-suicides/
[7] Robert McAfee Brown, Spirituality and Liberation, (Louisville: Westminster Press, 1988) pp 142-143.