Matthew, Evangelist of the Presence of God

 Sermon. 21 September 2025. St Peter’s Merton.

 

Feast of St Matthew, Apostle and Evangelist

 

Gospel: Matthew 9.9-13

 

A blessed Feast of St Matthew! What can we say of Matthew? The historically critical among you will say: precious little. There are two references to him. One we have heard, as today’s gospel reading. A certain tax collector is called by Jesus to follow him, and this causes controversy if not consternation. But it happens! And his name is Matthew. A little later [Matthew 10.3] he is named as one of the Twelve. Tellingly, there, too, he is called “Matthew, the tax collector”.

 

And that… well, that is it. No further references in that gospel, and nothing in Mark, Luke, or John, unless the tax collector Levi, called by Jesus in Luke’s Gospel [Luke 5.27ff] is one and the same person (which is possible).

 

We of course feel we know Matthew much better than that. Because we are in the habit of thinking of him as the person who wrote the Gospel which now bears his name, the first Gospel in the ordering of the New Testament (which is not to say the first to be written). The habit of thinking of Matthew as evangelist is ancient. Papias of Hierapolis – remember him? His dates are approximately 60-130 AD. And he wrote: “Matthew put together the oracles in the Hebrew language, and each one interpreted them as best he could.” That means Matthew wrote in Hebrew or Aramaic, and others translated it into Greek. And that claim attached itself to the gospel we know. Linguists now think that is unlikely that Matthew wrote in Hebrew, or Aramaic. There are certainly phrases in Matthew which are structured like Hebrew phrases. But most scholars now think that Matthew was deliberately setting out to sound “biblical” (to sound like the Old Testament), when he wrote these.

 

No matter! The link was made, and Matthew the tax collector has at least in pious imagination (nothing wrong with pious imagination) dissolved into Matthew the writer of the gospel bearing that name.

 

What then can we say of Matthew as the writer of the Gospel of Matthew? Much in every way.

Of the material which only Matthew brings, we might consider:

the mysterious story of the Magi from the East;

or the still-well-known injunction not to cast your pearls before swine;

or how Peter tries to walk on water.

And so on. They say there are 28 passages unique to Matthew.

 

Today, though, let me mention just two.

When it comes to the birth of Jesus, it is Matthew and only Matthew [Matthew 1.23] who quotes Isaiah [Isaiah 7.14], saying

“‘…the virgin shall conceive and bear a son,

and they shall name him Emmanuel’,

which means, ‘God is with us.’”

 

Only Matthew calls Jesus “Emmanuel”, which is Immanu El, God-with-us or God-is-with-us. (Or if you want to be yet more literal it is Immanu, with us, El, God – so it is “With us, God!”)

 

So what? So what that Matthew calls Jesus Emmanuel? It’s a passing reference of which nothing is made – funnily enough, much like the passing reference to Matthew the tax collector? I don’t think so.

 

How does Matthew’s Gospel end? It ends with Jesus, risen Lord, at the summit of a high mountain, giving the command to the disciples to teach and baptise among all the nations (or all the peoples), and concluding (concluding his speech and the whole gospel)… how?

 

Jesus says: “And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” [Matthew 28.20b].

 

I, God-is-with-us, am with you always.

 

Brothers and sisters, in the Gospel of Matthew we have

the most direct promises of the presence of God and of Christ,

the presence with us,

the promised presence with us.

With us is God!

 

What to do with

the promise of the presence of God and the presence of Christ,

with us, for all time?

 

I cannot tell you. And there is this:

I dare not even assume that it is something that is necessarily welcome.

You see: anthropologists say that an awful lot of religious ritual – in all religions – is actually about keeping God or the Higher Power in its place.

The idea is: if we do this, God won’t come too close.

But that is not how we as Christians are called to behave.

We are called to welcome the promised presence of God and presence of Christ, with us, for all time,

and (crucially) to let that promised presence make a difference to us.

 

I, God-is-with-us, am with you always.

 

I do want to return for a moment to Matthew the tax collector. We have seen that Jesus’ calling a tax collector caused controversy and even consternation. Why? Because tax collectors, in this time and place, were thought to be all collaborators, doing the dirty work of the occupying power, the Romans. In other words, those around Jesus were convinced of what we would call a conspiracy theory. The conspiracy is this: all those who work for the government are crooks, in it for themselves, not on the side of the people; and the government itself is malign. 

 

The conspiracy is this: all those who work for the government are crooks, in it for themselves, not on the side of the people; and the government itself is malign! That claim – and thousands of variations of it – is something claimed on social media every second of the day. We live in a cynical age. It seems that people have never been more distrustful of – more hostile to – the government and those who work for the government. There are all kinds of moves to fight back against the wicked government, the powers-that-be, or the supposed “elite”.

 

And I feel compelled to say that such cynicism is dangerous.

 

Criticism of the government is of course permitted; it is important; it is a right. But cynicism can corrode us. We can come to enjoy just a bit too much looking down on those we feel have let us down.

 

Remember: Jesus saw through the outer “accidents” of Matthew’s life –

his work, his role, his status;

what his taskmasters demanded of him;

maybe (yes) the short cuts he allowed himself to take –

Jesus saw through all of that and saw…

saw an apostle, one called to be with Jesus.

So let us not let criticism of actions become cynicism for people.

There may be – will be - other hidden apostles out there.

 

There are other hidden apostles.

Maybe you are one of them.

Know yourself with the one who is God-is-with-us.  

Amen.

Sermon: You are salt and you are light. You are.

Sermon. St Michael and All Angels, Little Ilford, 9 February 2020.

3^rd Sunday Before Lent (Year A)

·       Matthew 5.13-20

A few hundred years ago, when everything was sepia (colour had not yet come in), I went to university. I read Theology, and, liking languages as I do, signed up for Biblical Hebrew as well as New Testament Greek. More than once I was told: if you ever wanted to do serious research in the Bible, go for the Hebrew Bible, or Old Testament.

·       Hebrew is thought to be harder than Greek (it isn’t);

·       the Old Testament is thought to be less important than the New (it isn’t);

·       and the Old Testament is thought to be much, much longer than the new (it is).

The point is: it is not an exaggeration to say that every single word of the New Testament has been studied, analysed, and researched. So it is that much harder to say anything original.

There is a lot of truth in that. Every single word. Certainly, I know at least one person who wrote a whole dissertation (a small book) on the word… salt. To Halas in Greek. A waste of time and energy?

Actually, it’s not ridiculous, when you think about it. “We all know” what it is to be “the salt of the earth”. Someone who is “the salt of the earth” is

·       a kind and well-intentioned person;

·       a good egg;

·       a top banana;

·       perhaps even the bees-knees.

And so on. A good person. But of course we only “know” this meaning because of this Bible text. These meanings are what we have done with – what we have made out of – the Bible text. The meaning is later than the text. So the meaning Matthew intended – or the meaning Jesus intended – has still to be worked out. We do have to dig deeper into the mines of meaning.

Fortunately, this is (for once) not an impossibly difficult task. For all the evidence suggests that the purposes of salt have changed little over the centuries. Salt is used:

·       to give flavour to food;

·       salt is used to preserve food (especially in days before fridges, but to some extent still, by choice);

·       and (more unusual this), salt is used as a fertiliser;

·       [a member of the congregation added: also for medical purposes].

Can we work out which use of salt is to the fore in today’s gospel? That is not easy. Some say because the phrase is “salt of the earth” (to halas tes ges), then the use as fertiliser is the primary meaning. Salt for the earth, in effect. Maybe. And if so, this can work to keep us humble: we are, perhaps, not a million miles away from being like manure to be worked into the mud! But the meaning is as likely to be “salt out of the earth”. So we cannot say.

You are the salt of the earth.

You are the light of the world.

Light is an easier symbol to understand, I’d say (thank goodness). But we just have to be clear that, since this text was written many centuries before electricity, here it means the light of the flame, the light of fire.

So we are salt, and we are flame.

We can say a few things about this.

First, as salt and as flame, too much of us in one place is a bad thing. Oversalted food, oversalted fields, oversalted medication, too much fire in a room – these are not just unpleasant things, they are dangerous things. So I say again, too much of us in one place is a bad thing. Except of course it’s not quite that. What is meant is rather if we are spending too much time in one place, that is a bad thing.

To be clear:

·       we gather (here we are);

·       and we are right to gather;

·       we need to gather;

·       and Gd calls us to gather.

·       It is good that we are here.

But! But we are here in order to be sent out. When at the end of the service we say or hear “Go in the peace of Christ” or “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord”, this does not mean: “The service is over; we have run out of things to say, sing, and do”. No. We mean: “We, if we can inhabit and take to ourselves all that we have experienced, now have the forgiveness, compassion and strength we need to go out into the world and truly be salt and light in the wider mess that is the world.”

Second, salt and flame are very different things.

·       Salt works when it is hidden, when it is fully worked into something bigger than itself.

·       Flame works when it is on display, when it openly radiates its light throughout.

This is important. Important for us. It reminds us that we are called to both tasks.

·       Sometimes what we do is rightly and properly utterly hidden. No one notices, and that is okay. We do the right thing. An act of forgiveness here. An act of kindness there.

·       Sometimes what we do is rightly and properly public or “out there”. Taking a stance against racism here. Shutting down some gossip there. Neither the hidden nor the public ministry is more important than the other. The wisdom is knowing when to be hidden and when to be out. Salt here; flame there. We learn this wisdom by prayer, and from each other.

Third, and I don’t want to shock you here, but: salt is salt and flame is flame! I mean: the vocation of salt is to be salt, the saltiest salt it can be. Flame is called to be flame, the brightest and flamiest flame it can be. And we are to take comfort in this.

Our ministry in the world is not to do things that are utterly alien to us, that oppose or harm our true nature. Our ministry is to be our authentic selves, whatever that means. It doesn’t always mean doing what seems to come naturally, as our instincts and drives are not always right (to put it mildly). But it does mean that our vocation will be a coming to know ourselves as we really always were, as we always are. Further, we are right to be curious about our selves, and interested and find enjoyment in discovering our selves.

You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world. The Greek sentences do include the verb to be (este). You may (just perhaps) remember that I’ve said that both in Hebrew and Greek you typically do not need the verb to be. It can be implicit. You the salt of the earth. You the light of the word. These would be perfectly good Greek sentences. So it may well be that the addition of the verb to be here is emphatic. You are. Who you are is the salt of the earth. Who you really are is the enlightening flame of the world.

·       So, most of your Christian life is to be lived dispersed in the world, the world in all its pain, mess and doubt.

·       Sometimes what you do will be hidden and unthanked; no matter.

·       Sometimes what you do will be public and so risky; no matter.

·       Don’t worry. In each and every moment, you are being called to do one thing only: to be what you are. To be who you are.

I’ll add: in all the renewal we are engaged in as a parish and as a worshipping community, all the change – the small and the big - is really all about helping us – as persons and as a gathering – to become who we are. Just as we want salt to be salty and the light of the flame to be light.

As this has been a reflection on a New Testament text, and knowing you as I do, I am aware that it is very unlikely I have said anything original. I give no apology. It is said with care and love. I address this to each of you as a disciple of Christ, and, yes, to me as one such too: By the grace of Gd, be who you are.

Amen.

Sermon. Are we/should we be passionate with Gd?

Sermon. 22 January 2017. St Michael and All Angels, Little Ilford.

Epiphany 3 (Year A)

Psalm 27.1, 4-9

Matthew 4.12-23

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. [Then immediately:] Simon Peter, Andrew, James and John were the first disciples called.

Did you get what I said?

Did you get what I did?

I preached 'immediately'. And it was not quite comfortable for us (I think). Something of a shock. We may be in the habit of saying 'I'll see to that immediately'. But as and when we actually do, it can be shocking. It's not part of everyday experience.

And it may be that you already see where I am coming from. Let us look at the calling of those first disciples I have just, if rather ineffectively, named.

Jesus says to Peter and Andrew, '”Follow me, and I will make you fishers of people”. And immediately they left their nets and followed him.. he saw... James... and... John... and he called them. Immediately they left their boat and their father, and followed him.'

Can we picture the scene? Can we? What was it about those encounters with Jesus – who is, at least at this point, not especially well known – that made these fishermen – successful business men we might also call them – abandon their comforts and livelihoods, and even their own father, to go with Jesus on some kind of mission - one that had no guarantees about it, and for that matter no clear plans for it? What was it? We don't know. But go they did. And... immediately.

By the way, it is true that in Mark's gospel, very many things happen 'immediately'. It is one of Mark's favourite words. He seems to want to give the impression that everything about Jesus happened in top gear, was relentless, was breathless. But this is not Mark; this is Matthew, and he uses our word, 'immediately' much less. So he must mean it. There was no delay. There was no deliberation. They set off with Jesus immediately.

And think of it this way. If any of our number came into church first thing... hey, let's make it interesting and say it's Fr Brian... Brian races in and says: 'Can't stay. Can't take part in the service. I've met someone new, someone surprising, someone different, and I'm going off with them. No time to explain. Gotta go. Bye...'. And – immediately – he goes.

I think we'd be... perturbed. And not only because that meant you'd be dependent on me for all priestly ministrations in today's service. Throwing everything away at a stranger's command is not what we do. It is not the done thing. It is not the mark of a careful, or indeed a caring person.

It may be that we have at heart just two models for thinking about people stopping what they are doing, and turning to a new life. One is when they do so out of force. You hear that your village is about to be attacked, for example, so you drop everything and flee. (A sadly much too common phenomenon in our troubled world.) The other is, well, romance. 'This is the one!' the lover says. 'Nothing else counts!' So they too drop everything, and they too flee – to Gretna Green or Marbella or wheresoever.

But don't mishear me here. I need to be clear. I am not suggesting that there was anything sexual, romantic or 'anything-like-that', about today's encounter between Jesus and Peter, Andrew, James and John. Not that! I am, though, saying that, if Matthew is right (and we might wonder), there must have been something equally as intense about that encounter. As overwhelming.

And immediately they left everything to follow him.

If we wanted to think not so much about Jesus and his disciples, but more broadly about the relationships of human beings to Gd, and think of those relationships as - not sexual but - as intense as any romance, one place we might turn to is today's psalm. Here are some of its themes (though there are more – do take the sheet away and pray with it through the week):

Gd is my light, my salvation, my helper.

Gd keeps me safe, Gd hides me, so that I am without fear.

I will sing and make music to Gd.

Gd, do not leave me, do not forsake me.

Already there is some of the language of love here, or the tone of something of a love affair. But there is also this:

'One thing have I asked of the Lord;

one thing I seek;

that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life;

to behold the fair beauty of the Lord

and to seek him in his temple...

You speak in my heart and say: “Seek my face.”

Your face, Lord, will I seek.'

Does that not sound like someone besotted? Someone saying:

'Look, I just want to be with you,

sit on the sofa with you, look into your eyes.

Nothing more'..?

I think it does.

So the questions we seem led to today are:

Are we besotted,

do we know passionate love for Gd?

Do we long to gaze upon the fair beauty of Gd?

Does a life given over purely to seeking Gd

sound frustrating if not pointless...

or does the seeking itself seem exciting, enticing and what we are made for?

I am letting the silence hang.

I am not going to attempt to answer that question.

Because I don't think there is one right answer.

There certainly are Christians who think that Christianity is always, everywhere, about demonstrating a passionate love-affair with Gd, and, yes, with Jesus Christ. Many, though by no means all of them, would think the best way of worshipping is to sing choruses where you announce, literally hundreds of times 'Jesus, we love you' and such like.

That's not us. And I am not suggesting that should be us. Indeed, you could say that if you need to say 'I love you' literally hundreds of times to someone, whether human or divine, you are really just expressing your insecurity. You are trying to convince yourself, at least as much as the other.

So actually I am not going to say that we should always be intense and passionate when we worship. It sets up unrealistic and unattractive expectations.

Sometimes, indeed (we know this), worship is just something we get on with, because we know or feel it is the right thing to do. And that is perfectly valid. A friend of mine goes so far as to say: 'If people complain to me that their worship is dry, I say, “What's the problem? Why do you want to be wet all the time.”' And we may insist that boring or bored worship is still worship.

But I think we should be open to worship which is itself open to intensity and passion, to something at least a little like a love affair with Gd. Of course, it will be a love affair very different from any love affair we may have within our human relationships. Most obviously, a love affair with Gd does not stop us loving our human partners passionately. Gd is not – is never - in competition with the people we are attracted to, ever.

If we go to church at all, or a lot, we will hear that Gd is love. I wonder – it is an open question; I genuinely don't know – how often we think that this means that Gd is always, gently but persistently inviting us to love Gd back,

• love, often calmly,
• love, be it formally or ritually (that can count),
• love, sometimes, passionately and intensely?

I leave you with my own translation of some of today's psalm verses. Listen out, because they are quite different from the translation we have been hearing. And listen in, listen to what your own inner self is saying about your relationship to Gd.

You may like to close your eyes.

Just one thing I ask from Gd, this.

I seek to stay in the House of Gd all my living days,

to gaze upon the attractiveness of Gd

and to go on searching out, in Gd's Temple...

To you my heart speaks,

telling all-of-me to seek your face.

It is your face, your presence, O Gd, I am seeking.

Don't go. Don't leave me, O Gd of my healing.

Just one thing I ask of Gd, this.

Amen.