Kirk and I were hiking with some friends last weekend and our group included our friend, Dawn, and her two-year-old son, Ashton. More independent by the day, Ashton prefers to walk rather than ride in his pack. For the sake of all of us getting up the hill, however, he needs to ride the majority of the way. Dawn does compromise with him to at least some extent though. He gets to start and finish the hike on his own two feet. Last weekend, he also got to walk the first couple switchbacks down, as we descended after our climb.
     Never having hiked with a two-year-old before, I had no idea how nerve-wracking it can be. Dawn kept asking Ashton to hold her hand. Her motherly instinct was shooting all the signals of potential danger: steep drops off the path, rocks, roots, the imbalance of all two-year-olds even on the smoothest of terrain.
     Ashton, on the other hand had no intention of holding his mom's hand. Throwing rocks off the edge of the path was much more exciting. Running ahead seemed like much more fun. The rules his mom was trying to set for him seemed too confining, so he was ignoring them. He was having a blast until his feet got going a bit too fast and, you guessed it - he fell. Or rather, skidded, down the path like a baseball player sliding headfirst into home base. He cried.
     Dawn scooped him up off the path, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. All in all, there was no harm done. When his tears dried up, Ashton walked again, this time holding on to his mom's hand. As we headed down, Dawn reflected on her response to Ashton's fall. She told me how her first instinct was to say, "Mommy told you that this was going to happen. See what happens when you don't listen to Mommy?"
     But, she stopped herself. She knew she didn't need to shame him with her words. She knew she didn't need to add emotional judgement to the physical judgement he was already feeling. Ashton's fall was consequence enough. It was a learning experience all on its own.     
     In the gospel today, we hear several accounts of how Jesus interacts with the people around him. He calls Matthew, the tax collector, to be one of his disciples. He sits at the table and eats with a host of tax collectors and other sinners. As he blesses the meal before they eat, he calls upon the holiness of God to visit the unholiest of people: people who are considered unclean by the Pharisees, people who have chosen not to live their lives according to God's laws, people who have seemingly refused to hold God's hand on their life's path. People who have fallen.
     The Pharisees take note of all this and they can't quite wrap their heads around it. They ask Jesus' disciples, "Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?" What they mean is, "Why this sign of acceptance instead of judgement? Why this act of mercy instead of shaming them into right living?"
     Jesus' response is ironic. The Pharisees were some of the most learned and religious men of Jesus' day. They prided themselves on their knowledge and their keeping of religious practices. Still, what does Jesus tell them to do? "Go and learn. . . Go and learn what this means", Jesus says, "I desire mercy, not sacrifice."
     Sacrifice was an important part of the Jewish religion in Jesus' day. It was an outward sign - a visible way to see how religious a person was. The Pharisees had the practice of sacrifice down. It was the practice of mercy that they needed a bit of help perfecting. Somewhere along the line shame overtook mercy. Perfecting specific religious practices overtook perfecting God's command to treat others with loving kindness. Jesus is asking the Pharisees to go and learn to love. Go and learn what it means to treat others with mercy.
     As the Gospel lesson goes on, Jesus continues to interact with the people around him. Two daughters are healed as the power of faith comes head to head with the power of Jesus. Jesus shows us what it looks like to give mercy to another person. As the woman who has been bleeding for 12 years dares to touch the fringe of his cloak, Jesus doesn't question, blame or shame her for her condition. He heals her, crediting her faith. She experiences mercy in action.
     As the leader of the synagogue runs to him and kneels before him, begging him to raise his daughter from the dead, Jesus doesn't cut a deal with him (I'll do this for you if you do this for me). He doesn't take account of his recent sacrifices or wonder aloud what this man might have done to cause his daughter's untimely death. He simply follows the man home, takes the man's daughter by the hand and brings her to her parents. This family experiences mercy in action.
     Every once in a while, we get the chance to see mercy in action, too. Not just as we read Scripture, but in our daily lives. Whenever we expect to hear "I hate you", but hear "I love you" instead, that is mercy. Whenever we don't get the consequences we know we deserve, that is mercy. Whenever we don't hear "I told you so", but instead are wrapped up in a big, healing hug, that is mercy. We see it in all sorts of places.
     I saw mercy last weekend firsthand on a hiking trail. Mercy trumped shame and judgement as a mom scooped up her son into a hug that dried up tears and healed the fallen. If a human mom can show this kind of mercy and love to her son, how much more than is the mercy and love of God for all of God's sons and daughters? My sense is that it is deeper than we will ever know. It's deeper than we will ever know. For that great mercy and that great love, we say thanks be to God. Amen.


Have Kirk call me on the phone and have me do something on my way home from church or something. We all get calls. Jesus' call is a bit different. Just like he called Matthew to follow him, he calls us to do the same. When he calls us, he asks us to follow what he teaches, love God, love our neighbor. Each of us are given special things to do in our lives to live out our love in the world.