M AY 2 4 , 2 0 1 5
THE WALK
Unlikely Friends
Scripture Lesson: Matthew 9:9-16
©
Dr. Victor D. Pentz | Senior Pastor
Jesus’ movement is not
doing well these days. In
many places where his
name appears, Jesus’
people lack their founder’s
passion. Where do we go
to get it back? Let’s go to
the source—the person
of Jesus. Watch Jesus’
dazzling people skills as
he loves people and makes
them believe there is
actually a God who knows
us. Talk a walk with Jesus.
Would you have followed
him?
W
ell, class, it is time to put on your thinking caps. How many of you ever
studied a poem by Robert Frost when you were in school? Almost all of us have.
Here’s one of my favorites. It’s called “Mending Wall.” And here is the question:
what is the “something” that he refers to in these lines?
Listen carefully: “Something there is that doesn’t love a wall.” What is that
something?
“Something there is that doesn’t love a wall That sends the frozen-ground-swell
under it, And spills the upper boulders in the sun; And makes gaps even two can
pass abreast.”
Okay, let’s see. There’s something that doesn’t love a wall and it’s really cold. It
“sends the frozen ground swell under it.” It’s so cold it puts cracks in walls and
makes the boulders of the wall come tumbling down onto the ground. What is
this mysterious force?
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So it’s really cold, knocks down walls and
represents the poet’s point of view. I’ll give you
the answer. It’s – FROST. Friends, Robert Frost is
saying, “I don’t love walls. Wherever and
whenever I can, I knock down walls.”
You and I are here this morning because of a
man who lived long ago who didn’t love walls –
who knocked them down every chance he got.
His name was Jesus.
My friend Dale Bruner says Jesus goes through
the gospels like a karate expert, shattering walls.
A wall separated lepers from God. “Ha ya,”
went Jesus and down came that wall. A wall
separated Gentiles from God. Jesus said, “Ha
ya,” and down came that wall. A wall kept
women from the full presence of God. “Ha ya,”
went Jesus and down came the wall. The same
with the poor, the marginalized, outcasts –
down went those walls!
But greatest of all was at the moment of his
death when the last barrier fell. The veil of the
Holy of Holies was “rent in twain.” So this
morning you and I worship with nothing between us and God. We are inside the veil.
But here’s the thing. The God who tore down
the walls between us and him does not love the
walls we put up between each other.
Something in God doesn’t love a wall.
In fact, one of the most astounding things about
Jesus was that people who by all rights should
have hated each other came to love each
other in his presence. The best case in point I
can think of for this is what we’re going to talk
about this morning – two of his own disciples,
Matthew the tax collector and Simon the Zealot.
If they had met in any other setting, they would
have hacked each other to pieces.
Let’s first meet Matthew as he introduces
himself to us in his own gospel, chapter 9,
verses 9-16. We read:
As Jesus went on from there, he saw a man
named Matthew sitting at the tax collector’s
booth. “Follow me,” he told him, and Matthew
got up and followed him. 10 While Jesus was
having dinner at Matthew’s house, many tax
collectors and “sinners” came and ate with him
and his disciples. 11 When the Pharisees saw this,
they asked his disciples, “Why does your
teacher eat with tax collectors and ‘sinners’?”
12
On hearing this, Jesus said, “It is not the
healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. 13 But
go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy,
not sacrifice.’a For I have not come to call the
righteous, but sinners.”
9
Bridging Divides and Bringing Down Walls
The other day we got our property tax bill in
the mail, and I went through the roof: “Are you
kidding me? This is robbery.” Do you know the
feeling? In Jesus’ day it really was. What the
Romans would do was very ingenious. They
would outsource collecting taxes to the highest
bidder among the native people they’d
conquered. Then that person, supported by the
Roman army, would fleece the population for all
they could get, pay the Romans their cut and
pocket all the rest. Imagine how we would feel
if, for example, the Soviets had taken us over
during the Cold War and one of your neighbors
was living the high life in a Buckhead mansion
with servants all financed by collaborating with
our oppressors. That was Matthew. The words
used for him you don’t hear in church:
“scumbag,” “low life,” “traitor.” In Jesus’ day a
tax collector was not allowed to set foot in a
house of worship.
That means the first time Matthew heard Jesus
speak was in the out-of-doors.
And what is Matthew famous for? The Sermon
on the Mount. And what are CPAs best at?
Keeping records. Matthew compiled for us three
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full chapters of the sayings of Jesus. Can’t you
see him at the edge of the crowd scribbling on
his yellow pad?
But Matthew was a slime ball, an oppressor of
his own people. As we know from history,
oppression gives rise to violence, and sure
enough there arose a group in violent
opposition to Matthew and his ilk – the Zealots.
Like Al Qaeda today, these were urban terrorists
who joyously martyred themselves just to take
out people like Matthew. Only instead of bombs
they used blades.
On the street a Zealot would sneak up beside
an unsuspecting tax collector or Roman soldier
with that long, thin stiletto blade hidden in the
folds of his robe. Then he’d strike and be gone
before the victim hit the ground. The Zealots
would even kill those who married outside the
Jewish faith. They were hate-filled fanatics. So
say hello to our second disciple this morning:
Simon the Zealot.
Here are two despicable human beings: Matthew who stepped on people to achieve wealth,
and Simon who slaughtered people in the name
of God.
But here’s the thing. In the presence of Jesus
these two men came to love each other. They
ate together, they prayed together, they walked
together, they slept on the ground together for
three years, and then when Jesus disappeared
into heaven there’s no hint that their friendship
diminished. In fact it may have even kicked up
a notch because those two were now the new
role model for the church if it was going to grow
and include all people of all nations and all races
and all walks of life in one great global family.
This is hard to believe but it’s the absolute
truth: before Jesus nobody ever taught that you
should love all people. That’s literally true. In
ancient times you were taught to hate people
who were not like you.
Greeks were taught to hate the barbarians, just
as the Jews were taught to hate Gentiles.
Romans despised the people they conquered.
Free people hated and feared the slaves. Then
out of nowhere came this carpenter who said,
“You know that tender compassion you feel for
that narrow slice of your own kind of people?
That is totally bogus unless you extend that love
to all people everywhere. God – who shines his
sun down on all humankind – is your model.
What’s more, Jesus did not make this
optional. Anyone who drew lines or made
exceptions based on race and nationality or
gender or social class or past record of
sinfulness was not of his kingdom.
The reason Christianity swept the world, says
historian Paul Johnson, was that Jesus
himself was so universal. It’s hard for us to feel
the shock of people back then when he said, “I
will draw all people to myself.” (John 12:32) He
said, “For God so loved the world….” (John 3:16)
He told his disciples go to all nations and make
disciples of all people, “teaching them all that I
have commanded you, baptizing them into all
of God [Father, Son and Holy Spirit] and behold
I am with you all the days.” Jesus went “ha ya.”
He hated walls. So he took out the “w.” He said,
“All.”
Living with Differences
So how then ought we to live? What difference
should this make for you and me? You might
like the first part of this sermon better than the
next part, because now I want to get really real.
Here’s what I wonder: did Matthew and Simon
just give up their politics when they followed
Jesus? Did Simon the Zealot say, “Now that I’m
a Christian it doesn’t matter how the Romans
are treating my people”? Or, “Hey, if you want
to be a tax collector, if that’s your gig, I’m cool
with that.” In other words, as a Christian I have
some very deep disagreements with some other
Christians about some very important things.
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So how do we live together with those
disagreements?
For example, chances are what you believe
about pro-life versus pro-choice or Biblical
marriage versus today’s alternatives is based
on some strongly held and deeply felt beliefs.
If we don’t see eye to eye, how do we live
together in the body of Christ?
This world doesn’t need any more feuding,
fighting Christians.
Nor, on the other hand, does the world need
any more limp, wishy-washy, whatever-youbelieve-doesn’t-matter-as-long-as-you’re-sincere kind of Christians. As a matter of fact, that
latter kind of squishy watered-down Christianity
is evaporating off the face of the earth according to the latest Pew poll, as you may have seen
in the media. In a few years the only Christians
you are going to see are those with strong
core beliefs. So here we are with our nonnegotiables. How do we get along?
Then, just as an individual, how do you live like
Jesus? How do you go “ha ya”? How do you
break down walls – in your job, in your school,
in Atlanta and our world?
Let me give you three “ha ya’s” to take with you
today – three ways to break down walls.
How to Break Down Walls
The first “ha ya” is make unlikely friends. Be like
Matthew and Simon. Think for a moment. Are all
of your friends pretty much a clone of you? Do
you have any friends who are Muslim? Do you
have any friends who are Jewish? Do you have
any friends who are gay? Do you hang out with
any atheists? I heard about a pastor who felt like
he wasn’t having an impact in his church so he
up and quit one day and became a shoe salesman in San Francisco. We say, “How sad. He quit
the ministry.” He says, “No, my ministry has just
begun with my new friends who are Marxist
professors, bohemian artists, aging hippies, and
gay couples,” whom he refers to as “my flock of
‘not yet Christians.’” Isn’t that an odd ministry?
He’s a lot like a fellow named Jesus who went
out of his way to make unlikely friends.
But when those San Francisco types come to
Christ they probably aren’t going to become
conservative Republicans – just like when a
Buckhead developer comes to Christ he or she
isn’t going to start crusading for income redistribution.
Is there still a force around in the world today
that can bond together a Matthew the Tax
Collector and a Simon the Zealot? Or a Tea
Party member with a Ferguson protestor?
The Bible has very few untranslatable words.
Two of them are “Hallelujah” and “Amen.” But
Eugene Peterson says another Bible word is so
unique and loses so much in translation it never
should have been translated. That word is
“homothumadon.” It’s usually translated “of one
accord” or “of one mind” or simply “together.”
When the 120 were in the upper room on the
day of Pentecost – that’s today; we’re
celebrating Pentecost today – we read that
“with one mind (homothumadon), all of them
kept devoting themselves to prayer.” (Acts 1:14)
Then after that great Pentecost gathering, as
they lived day by day, says Acts 2:46,
“…continuing daily (homothumadon) with one
accord in the temple, and breaking bread from
house to house.”
Amidst the signs and wonders of those early
days, says Acts 5:12, “And they were all
(homothumadon) with one accord….”
There was controversy at the Council of
Jerusalem when the church could have split
apart on the lines of Jews and Gentiles but then
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we read in Acts 15:25, “It seemed good to us
(homothumadon) being assembled with one
accord, to send chosen men to you with our
beloved Barnabas and Paul.”
“Ha ya” number one: make unlikely friends.
“Ha ya” number two: go ahead and disagree.
Point out how wrong they are. Stick to your
guns. But do it with humor and grace.
Then finally the Apostle Paul uses that word
one more time in the last chapter of Romans,
praying that you may (homothumadon) with
one mind and one mouth glorify… God.”
(Romans 15:6).
As a conservative pastor in a very liberal
denomination, I can relate to the story I read
the other day of Father Avery Dulles, a
conservative Catholic priest, who was asked
to officiate at mass for a community of
self-described “progressive Catholics.” When
Father Avery arrived, he noticed that the lectern
from which he was to be speaking had a banner
hanging in the front declaring “Love is God,”
which made Father Avery’s blood curdle. Father
Avery informed the leader who had just greeted
him that he was not comfortable speaking
with what was basically a heretical statement
hanging in front of him. Love is not God; God
is love, but love is not God. But the leader said,
“Sorry, but that banner has to stay.”
“Of one mind” or “of one accord” is just too
wimpy to capture the dynamism of this word
“homothumadon.” We see this when we break it
down. It’s a compound adverb. “Homo” means
“the same.” Here’s what’s interesting: “thumas”
meaning a strong emotion of anger, and
“don” simply means it’s an adverb.
That middle word “thumas” is what won’t
translate. It’s a fiery word, like flying off the
handle, losing your temper, lashing out – except
in these texts there’s nothing negative about it.
It’s a togetherness more passionate than anger
itself. It’s a ferocious love that cannot be broken
apart.
“Homothumadon” is a unity based not on
singing sixteen compulsory verses of “Kum Ba
Ya” or arm-twisting. Eugene Peterson describes
it as “the passion of a unanimous response to
something God does.” It’s like the bond you
have with the people who are in the room
with you just moments after a baby’s born.
Seventeen years ago I walked in the room 10
minutes after Mark and Marnie Crumpler had
their first baby. Today John’s much taller than
I am. You can imagine the bond that has been
between us. “Homothumadon” is the
togetherness you feel when you experience a
miracle of God together. So even Simon the
Zealot and Matthew the Tax Collector can walk
arm in arm, held together by the gravitational
pull of God’s spirit.
What did Father Avery do? Did he storm out
of the building? No. Instead before the service
he went into the men’s room. He got a paper
towel, just big enough to cover the word “is” on
the banner. He also happened to have a paper
clip in his pocket. When it came time to speak
Father Avery told the audience that he wanted the banner in front of his lectern to capture
the theme of his message. He leaned over and
covered the “is” with the paper towel, and stuck
that paper clip on there. He then preached an
enthusiastic message for them to “love God”
in all of their words and all their deeds. Fixing
heresies can be pretty complex, but sometimes
is as easy as finding a paper towel and having a
sense of humor. (Thanks to Richard Mouw.)
Father Avery went “ha ya”. I’ll bet he won some
hearts that day. There’s a third “ha ya” to shatter
walls like Jesus: always see the humanity in your
opponent. It’s so sad when we get to the point
where we dehumanize those who disagree with
us. The irony on Memorial Day Weekend is that
very often soldiers in war are our role models
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for what it means to love your enemy.
We all know that story from World War One
of that Christmas Eve when the British and
German troops sang Christmas carols together.
Did you also know that after the Civil War there
were Union soldiers who gave up their pensions
to pay medical expenses for injured
Confederate soldiers who’d been wounded
in the war?
And sometimes, even more amazing, from time
to time you hear of soldiers risking their lives
to save the lives of enemy soldiers.
This is one of the most amazing stories I’ve
ever heard.
In December 1943, in World War II, Charles
Brown, a 21-year-old West Virginia farm boy,
was on his first combat mission as the pilot of
an American B-17 bomber. His bomber had been
shot to pieces and was struggling alone in the
skies above Germany. Half his crew was
wounded, and the tail gunner was dead, his
blood frozen in icicles over the machine guns.
It was then that German fighter pilot Franz
Stigler began pursuing the crippled bomber,
looking to shoot it down. Shooting down that
plane would have earned Stigler the Knight’s
Cross, the highest honor for a German soldier.
But as he approached the plane, Stigler could
see the plane did not have a tail gun and the
nose was missing. So much of the skin was
blown off that Stigler could see right inside the
plane, where he observed terrified young men
tending to their wounded. Stigler could not pull
the trigger. He just could not shoot the plane
down. His brother, also a pilot, had just been
killed. Stigler later said, “It would have been like
shooting down a parachute.” Even in war there’s
a code of honor. Stigler, a Catholic, fingered the
rosary inside his pocket. If Hitler had found out
about this Stigler would have been executed. He
motioned for the American to land: “I’ll escort
you.” But Charles Brown was not going to land
in Germany. He decided to take his chances on
getting to England, so he turned away.
Stigler’s last thought was a prayer: “Go with
God.” At the same moment Charles Brown put
his hand on the little New Testament he kept in
his vest pocket. Later he did land in England. He
continued his Air Force career for two decades,
but never got over this incident. Then finally in
1990, he took out an ad in a newsletter for
fighter pilots, looking for the one “who saved
my life on Dec. 20, 1943.” Stigler, living in Vancouver, Canada saw the ad and yelled to his
wife: “This is him! This is the one I didn’t shoot
down!” He immediately wrote a letter to Brown.
The two connected in an emotional phone call
and then met at a hotel in Seattle and became
best friends, and even more. The news reports
spoke of the two men being Christians and
praying together.
I want you to meet Franz Stigler and
Charles Brown. https://www.youtube.com/
watch?v=_8EkmyoG83Q
Adam Makos, the author who wrote their story,
A Higher Call, came across a note from Franz as
he was going through Charles Brown’s effects
after he died.
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Charlie,
In [the war]), I lost my only brother as a night
fighter. On the 20th of December, 4 days before
Christmas, I had the chance to save a B-17 from
her destruction, a plane so badly damaged it
was a wonder that she was still flying.
This morning from this table we’re serving
“homothumadon” to go for wherever you need
it – your home, your family, your marriage,
your church, your job, your city, your world.
Where will you go “ha ya” and bring down a
wall?
The pilot, Charlie Brown, is for me, as precious
as my brother was.
As Jesus hung on the cross, he looked down
and saw the two people closest to him in the
whole world. There was his John, best friend,
and Mary, his mother. Jesus said to John,
“Behold your mother.” Jesus said to Mary,
“Behold your son.” It is still true today: the
nearer we come to the cross, the more of a
family we become. So come to the table that
breaks down the walls – the table that makes
us family.
Thanks Charlie.
Your Brother,
Franz
If even amidst the horrors of war and the stress
of kill-or-be-killed combat a soldier can see the
humanity of the other side, shouldn’t we
even more so in our petty arguments and little
disagreements?
This morning who is the enemy you need to
turn into a sister or a brother?
Prayer:
Lord Jesus, this morning reach down and yank out by the roots anything in us that divides
your world – all bitterness, all failure to forgive, any hint of racism or prejudice or pride or
jealousy. Lord, take it away that we might come worthily to your table. Make us one with all
your children at the foot of the cross. Amen
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