Our Lord's Lenses of Love

Jesu Juva

St. Matthew 9:35-10:8                                        

June 14, 2026

Proper 6A      

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        Did the Son of God need glasses?  Did the Savior need spectacles?  It’s a possibility that our Lord’s vision was not 20/20.  As a true man, He was just like us—vulnerable to viruses and vision problems.  And based on today’s Holy Gospel, I’m more convinced than ever that there was something special about our Lord’s eyesight.  It’s as plain as the nose on your face:  Jesus just doesn’t see things the way we do.

        There’s a lot going on in today’s reading from Matthew.  It’s a time of transition in the ministry of Jesus.  But at every twist and turn, it’s obvious:  Jesus just sees the world differently.  He doesn’t act—or react—the way we would.  Our Lord Jesus sees it all through the lenses of love.

        Today’s reading begins with Jesus doing what He did best:  He was teaching.  He was preaching.  He was healing every disease and affliction.  Jesus was out there.  The Son of Man was a man of the people.  It’s what you would expect of any self-respecting Messiah.  But what you might not expect is how Jesus reacted to that vast sea of humanity:  When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.

        Jesus looked at those lost souls through the eyes of compassion—or, more accurately, he felt compassion for them in his bowels.  We westerners think that compassion is something you feel in your heart; but in Bible times the bowels (or the guts, if you prefer) were the seat of human feelings.  When Jesus saw the crowds, He had compassion for them—deep, deep down in His guts.  And this compassion is a divine compassion—divinely different from anything you or I might feel. 

And let me remind you of this: Jesus has this same divine compassion for you.  When you are harassed.  When you are helpless.  When you are weak.  When your spirit is crushed—the compassionate Christ comes calling.

        Such profound compassion is often the last thing we feel for harassed and helpless people.  On our best days we see other people as a drain on our time, our energy, our resources.  And on our worst days we view other people as worthless underachievers—as entitled, unenlightened, deadbeats who really don’t deserve our time and energy.  Compassion is not our strong suit. 

        But Jesus—He doesn’t see things the way we do (thankfully!).  Jesus sees people through the lenses of love and compassion.  He saw the crowds as “harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.”  Sheep without a shepherd aren’t long for this world!  Jesus knew that those harassed and helpless people were victims—victims of evil spiritual forces that were beyond their control. 

        These days, everybody claims to be a victim.  But Jesus sees who the genuine victims are.  He sees what that liar the devil does to you.  He sees what this dark world does to you.  He sees what your own sinful nature does to you.  He sees all that; but that’s not all He sees. 

The Russian writer Dostoevsky penned this profoundly helpful sentence:  To love a person means to see him as God intended him to be.  If you’re up for a challenge, give that a try sometime.  Start seeing people not as they are—not according to their faults and failings and sins—but as God intended them to be.  From experience I can tell you, it is much, much harder than it sounds.  Hard for us, but not for Jesus.

        This is the mystery of our Lord’s great love and compassion for us—for us who are harassed and helpless, selfish and sinful.  Our Lord sees us through lenses that are, on the one hand, perfectly accurate.  He sees our sin.  He knows how terribly needy we are.  But at the same time, Jesus sees us through the lenses of love and compassion—sees us as children of God, made in His image, created for eternal life and eternal love.  We can’t quite see that; but Jesus can.

        Jesus doesn’t see things the way we do.  As we look out at our world today, things look grim.  Strife and division and hatred and violence and lies—these things seem to have the upper hand.  Especially for you—for Bible-believing, Christ-confessing, baptized children of God—things don’t look good.  When it comes to the one, holy, Christian and apostolic church, things look bleak indeed. 

        But that’s not what Jesus sees.  Jesus looks at this world and He sees fields ripe for harvest.  The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few.  If you were to drive through my home state of Kansas right now, you would see amber waves of wheat for as far as the eye can see.  The time for harvest is approaching.

        Jesus sees that even now—a harvest of people who are ripe and ready to respond to the gospel in faith.  What should we do?  Step up our outreach efforts?  Invite more people to church?  Increase our gifts to our seminaries?  Recruit more men to serve as pastors?  Maybe so.  But Jesus simply says, “Pray.”  Pray earnestly to the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.  The harvest is His.  And behind every laborer—behind every priest and pastor and missionary—stands the Lord Jesus Christ who wants all people to be saved, who looks at all nations through the lenses of love.  We may not be able to see the harvest; but Jesus can.  Let’s pray earnestly concerning that harvest—just as we do every time we pray, “Thy kingdom come.”

        And to help with that harvest, St. Matthew tells us about the assembly of the Twelve disciples.  The starting Twelve are called and claimed, named and sent.  Simon Peter and Andrew, James and John, Philip and Bartholomew, Thomas and Matthew, James, Thaddaeus, Simon, and Judas Iscariot (who betrayed him).  Judas may be the most notorious, but all twelve are sinners.  All twelve will find spectacular ways to fail.  All twelve will do and say disappointing things.  Why would Jesus want to partner with these men?  Why would Jesus want to partner with pastors today like me?  Why does Jesus want to give these men a share in the mission when He knows full well that these sheep will be scattered and will all run away when the going gets tough?

        Well, once again, Jesus just doesn’t see things the way we do.  He came for a world of sinners—to save us from our sins.  He sees everything filtered through His cross and resurrection.  We’re all members of our Lord’s team.  Not all are apostles or pastors.  But we’ve all been named and claimed in the waters of baptism.  We’ve all been enlisted to lend a hand where the harvest is concerned.  We’ve all been entrusted to speak the truth in love.  And this is all grace. 

As with any team, we all have different roles as disciples.  Some are in the starting rotation, or batting clean-up.  Others of us just hang out in the bullpen most of the time, offering relief when needed.  One of today’s hymns reminds us: If you cannot speak like angels, if you cannot preach like Paul, you can tell the love of Jesus, you can say He died for all.

        How can this be?  Because Jesus sees us through the lenses of love and compassion.  He sees you, here and now, as one for whom He died—one for whom His blood was shed—one whose sins are forgiven—one who will not perish, but have eternal life.  While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. 

His love and compassion are at work in you, helping you to see things the way He does.  His lenses of love can correct your vision too.  You can’t do everything Jesus did.  But you can indeed begin to see the world the way He does, loving others as you yourself are loved by Jesus.

        In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

 

Mercy! Not Sacrifice?

Jesu Juva

St. Matthew 9:9-13                                               

June 7, 2026

Proper 5A                         

Dear saints of our Savior~

        A common refrain in marriage goes like this:  I just want you to listen; I don’t want you to fix the problem.  Have you heard that before?  Or said that before?  Apparently, some of us are too quick to the fix.  We fixers are seeking solutions when what the other person claims to want is only to be listened to attentively.  Really?  You just want to be listened to?  Even though I’ve got the perfect solution for you and your problem?  I don’t buy it.

        Let me tell you what’s going on here.  The person who demands only to be heard, while rejecting every possible fix and solution—that person is engaging in “dialectical negation.”  Dialectical negation is where one part of a statement is completely negated (as in, No fixes) in order to emphasize the other part of the statement (Just listen to me).  This, of course, is an exaggeration.  The truth is that while the person would, actually, appreciate having their problem fixed, yet it’s even more important that they be listened to.  It’s really not an either-or.  It’s a both-and.

        I mention this because today’s Holy Gospel hinges on a bit of “dialectical negation.”  But because the call of St. Matthew is so personal and profound—because it’s so dramatic as Matthew just walks away and leaves the tax booth behind—we often overlook the exaggeration Jesus employs.  We just gloss right over the dialectical negation Jesus pulls out from the Prophet Hosea.

        Go and learn what this means [Jesus says]:  I desire mercy, not sacrifice.  That’s textbook “dialectical negation.” Do you hear the hyperbole?  I desire mercy: Okay.  That makes sense.  That’s no surprise.  But not sacrifice?  Did Hosea and Jesus just forget that over half of the Bible centers on sacrifice?  That the Old Testament especially is constructed around a carefully crafted system of sacrifice, culminating in the sacrificial death of the Son of God for the sins of the world?  How can Jesus say I desire mercy, not sacrifice?  Now you know:  He’s just using dialectical negation.  What Jesus means is this:  I do not desire only sacrifice, but even more importantly, I desire mercy.

        Sacrifice is easy.  Sacrifice is what we do for God—in response to His love for us.  Sacrifice is that vertical dimension of our lives as children of God.  The Pharisees were really good at sacrifice.  They excelled at outwardly keeping the commandments.  Their church attendance was perfect.  Their fasting was fantastic.  They tithed everything, right down to the spices they grew in their gardens.

        Most of you are also really good when it comes to sacrifice—to tending that vertical dimension of life.  I mean, it’s Sunday, and here you are in church.  And you have a way of making this room swell with the sounds of your prayers and praises.  And in your tithes and offerings, also, you excel at sacrifice for God.  Bravo.

        But today God says:  I desire mercy, and not sacrifice.  And no matter how you splice and dice that sentence, you can’t ignore those first three words:  I desire mercy.  Mercy is what the Pharisees lacked.  Showing mercy is that horizontal dimension of our lives as the children of God.  Even more important that your carefully curated sacrifices of prayer and praise—much, much more important—is showing mercy.  The outward sacrifices of piety are great; but they do not please God if you lack a heart of mercy—like the Pharisees lacked.

        Now, the good news is, showing mercy can take many forms.  To show mercy is to reach out with care and compassion to those in need.  Even in Whitefish Bay there are plenty of people who need mercy and compassion and love.  The bad news is, they’re all sinners.  Every last one of them.  And that fact makes it exceedingly difficult to give them the mercy God desires. 

        Who needs mercy from you?  That’s easy. When their name comes up on caller ID, you let it go to voicemail even though you are perfectly free to talk.  They might need money.  Their life choices have mostly been bad; and they almost never take your advice.  And they’re loud and proud about their politics.  They press all your buttons and they’re probably not taking their meds.  And they probably don’t appreciate you, or your time, or all the emotional energy they have drained from you.  And just when you feel completely and totally justified in writing that person off for good and declaring a mercy moratorium—Jesus says, “Go and learn what this means:  I desire mercy.  Be ye kind, compassionate, gentle, forgiving, tender-hearted, and merciful.”  Without that, all our sacrificial, religious rule-keeping means nothing.

        God desires mercy.  He demands mercy.  But mercy is not what we are known for.  And that’s a big problem.  That failure to show mercy reveals the Pharisee in all of us—even worse, it reveals the depth of our sin.  Our condition is critical.  It is terminal.

        It’s time for us to see the doctor.  We have need of a physician because we are sick with sin.  Your PCP can’t help you here.  But how good it is to know that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.  In fact, Jesus calls sinners to follow Him through death to life.  Whether your sins are like Matthew’s sins; or whether your sins are like the proud and pretentious Pharisees; Jesus was delivered up for you—for your trespasses and raised for your justification.  Jesus sinners doth receive!

        Jesus comes calling here today with healing for His sin-sick people.  Jesus is the God who desires mercy—and the God who shows mercy.  Through one, supreme act of mercy Jesus has redeemed the world.  Through one supreme act of sacrifice Jesus has made you righteous through the shedding of His holy blood.  On the cross Jesus was denied all mercy, as the justice and judgment we deserve was unleashed upon His thorn-crowned flesh.

        For our sin, Jesus was crucified, died, and was buried.  But now He lives forevermore.  Through faith in Him, sin-sick sinners are counted righteous and holy.  In the cleansing splash of Holy Baptism, Jesus called you by name and gave you the gracious invitation:  Follow me.  We heard it with our own ears just minutes ago with little Canon.  Here today Jesus shares a meal of mercy with you.  And He Himself provides the main entrée—His own true body and blood for the forgiveness of sins.  That’s the best medicine of all—the medicine of immortality—from our Great Physician.

        Strengthened by His gifts, you are empowered to live lives of sacrificial service and to show mercy as you have received mercy from Jesus.

        Take a good look around this space today.  You will never see it again in just this way.  It’s tempting to be a little triumphant—to celebrate the sacrifice we’re making to transform this space.  Let’s not go there.  Our God desires mercy—more than sacrifice.  This space will change, and stay the same.  It will look and sound different; but it will continue to be what it has always been:  a field hospital for sinners.  Here those broken and wounded by sin find healing and forgiveness.  Here Jesus comes, not to call the righteous, but sinners.  And that is something worth celebrating.

        In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.