Mercy, Not Sacrifice
THE FEAST OF ST. MATTHEW, APOSTLE
From its very beginnings, Christianity has recognized the value of the arts. For most of her history, the Church has made wise use of various artistic forms to express her unvarying message of salvation to the world across history, languages, and cultures. Of course, the history of Christianity and art isn't without its bumps in the road. At times, the Church has been at odds with music; perhaps some of you come from traditions suspicious of instruments or singing.
St. Augustine, in his Confessions, spoke very freely about his own struggles with the artistry of music in the Church. He struggled with hymnody and chanting of psalms, writing, "I admit that I still find some enjoyment in the music of hymns, which are alive with your praises when I hear them sung by well-trained melodious voices." But he feared falling into the sin of pleasing his senses above worshipping God.
"I realize that when they are sung, these sacred words stir my mind to greater religious fervor and kindle in me a more ardent form of piety than they would if they were not sung; and I also know that there are particular modes in song and the voice, corresponding to my various emotions and able to stimulate them because of some mysterious relationship between the two. But I ought not to allow my mind to be paralyzed by the gratification of my senses, which often leads it astray."
He continues, "Sometimes, too, from over-anxiety to avoid this particular trap I make the mistake of being too strict... [but] when I remember the tears that I shed on hearing the songs of the Church in the early days, soon after I had recovered my faith, and when I realize that nowadays it is not the singing that moves me but the meaning of the words when they are sung in a clear voice to the most appropriate tune, I again acknowledge the great value of this practice." (Book 10.33). His personal struggles personifying the love/hate relationship the western Church has experienced.
At times, the Church has been at odds not only with the musical arts but with image and the visual arts as well. Iconoclast movements in the 8th century Eastern Church (destroying images, statuary, and icons) and resurfacing again during the protestant reformation are stark reminders of this history. But, for the most part, the Church has recognized the need of artistic beauty and healthy collaboration with artists- the architects of beauty- who somehow grasp treasures from the heavenly realm and clothe them in words, in colors, and forms, making divine realities more accessible, more intelligible.
In 1965, Paul the 6th wrote in a dialogue with artists, that "This world in which we live needs beauty in order not to sink into despair." True art not only infuses the human experience with beauty, but it speaks as well. Art has the mysterious capacity to communicate meaning in ways in which the spoken word cannot. Sculptures such as Michelangelo's Pieta communicates to the soul. Expressing deep things about the mother-child relationship, the beauty of physical form, the incarnation, and the atoning sacrifice of Christ. Somehow, great paintings put words to inexplicable emotions and convey the inexpressible experiences of the human condition.
It's one thing to read of Matthew's conversion, as we have done this morning on his feast day. It is quite another to see it. At about 1600, Caravaggio painted The Conversion of St. Matthew. At this time, he developed his famous style of extreme chiaroscuro (which paints FORM with LIGHTS and DARKS) known as "tenebrism," which was a turning point in the history of art. It's fair to say that Caravaggio represents the end of the Renaissance era and the birth of the Baroque.
Within his masterpiece The Conversion of St. Matthew, Caravaggio depicts the tax collector sitting at a table with four other men; he is dressed starkly in black. Jesus Christ and Saint Peter have entered the room. Peter is the sturdy-looking fellow with his back to us. We see the face of Jesus looking intently at Matthew, arm extended, pointing directly at Matthew. "AND as Jesus passed forth from thence, he saw a man, named Matthew, sitting at the receipt of custom: and he saith unto him, Follow me."
No prior history. No preliminary chit-chat. "Follow me." Like the grateful Samaritan healed from last week's Gospel account of the healing of the Ten Lepers, Matthew is himself an outcast, perhaps even more despised within Israelite society than lepers, for one could take pity upon a person deemed unclean by having contracted an unfortunate disease. But tax-collectors were sinners by choice, consciously and willfully unclean.
Matthew, in fact, not only handled money deemed impure because of its provenance from Gentiles, people foreign to the People of God, but he also collaborated with an alien and despicably greedy authority whose tributes, moreover, could be arbitrarily determined. This is why the Gospels frequently link "tax collectors and sinners" (Mt 9: 10; Lk 15: 1), as well as "tax collectors and prostitutes" (Mt 21: 31). Publicans (tax collectors) were also miserly, only liking those like themselves, their social sphere made up entirely of fellow tax-collectors (as portrayed in Caravaggio’s painting).
Tax collectors were shysters and thieves. To his own people, the Jews, Matthew was no better than "extortioners, the unjust, and adulterers" as we hear in the prayer of the pharisee in the Temple from the 18th chapter of St. Luke's Gospel, who stood and prayed thus with himself, "God, I thank you that I am not like other men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector" (Lk 18: 11).
Caravaggio's painting powerfully depicts this momentous encounter between the young and charismatic rabbi and the jaded tax collector. We see Matthew pointing to himself questioningly as if he cannot quite believe he is being singled out by Jesus, unsure if he even wants to respond if he is. The Gospel says that Jesus sees him, and he speaks: "Follow me." Our Lord has broken into the closed circle of tax-collecting sinners. He has come to save those in need of a physician, not those who are whole.
St. John tells us that by the incarnation of the second person of the Trinity, the true light has come into the world to save those who sit in darkness. Matthew is such a man, enslaved to sin and darkness, portrayed by Caravaggio dressed completely in black from head to toe. Look how the bright beam of light illuminates the men's faces at the table looking at Jesus Christ. Divine light directed by the finger of Christ penetrates the darkness of Matthew's soul: "follow me." Within the window shines the cross, directly above Christ's hand, telling us that by the crucifixion of our Lord (his willing oblation of himself), Matthew and all who respond in faith to God's calling are saved.
He has come to save sinners like Matthew. Jesus doesn't wait for you to clean up your act. To give up your unholy occupation or push back from the table of sin. He doesn't demand you find better friends or companions. No. Divine grace interrupts; it breaks into the midst of our depravity and ungodliness and shines the light of everlasting salvation: "follow me." If last week's parable of the grateful Samaritan reveals Christ's willingness to heal outcasts, then St. Matthew's calling shows Christ's willingness to come to sinners, call them from darkness, accept and welcome them into the Divine Life.
St. Paul tells us that Divine mercy is hidden to them that are lost by the hardness of their hearts, "unless the light of the glorious Gospel of Christ, who is the image of God, should shine unto them." This is the most incredible miracles of all: that a Holy God would leave the riches of heaven and shine mercy upon a tax-collector like Matthew; Magdalene a prostitute; Saul a persecutor of the Church; and upon miserable offenders like me and you.
Having therefore called him, Jesus also honored Matthew with very great honor by heading straight to his house to dine at his table. You see, Jesus does not exclude anyone from his friendship, and this doesn't sit well with the religious who express shock at the fact that Jesus is willingly associating with people who society turned their noses too. The Gospel tells us that "when the Pharisees saw it, they said unto his disciples, Why eateth your Master with publicans and sinners? But when Jesus heard that, he said unto them, they that be whole need not a physician, but they that are sick." In the words of St. Chrysostom, "For such is the quality of a physician; unless he endures the corruption of the sick, he frees them not from their infirmity."
And Why? Why does Jesus eat with tax-collectors, winebibbers, and sinners? Befriend publicans and harlots? How can Jesus, the righteous man, seemingly subvert the Divine law by his lavishly offered mercy and communion with known sinners? Because of love. God loves sinners. The answer lies in what is at the heart of Jesus, and that is love, which — as Jesus says elsewhere — is also at the heart of the law -- hear the words of our Lord rebuke these Pharisees, words spoken to us today, "I desire mercy not sacrifice."
The proper question is this, "how can Jesus not come to sinners and lavish them with grace and mercy?" To pass by the half-dead man on the road to Jericho and withhold healing from the leper goes against the very nature of God, who is love, who is grace, mercy, and compassion. Underlining each criticism leveled at our Lord reveals that his enemies were rarely, if ever, upset with him for laying down the law to sinners for making the "rules" clear for them. On the contrary, in almost every case in which the criticism involved Jesus' interaction with outcasts and ordinary people, it involved a critique of his being too merciful, too accepting, too ready to "eat and drink with sinners." Remember, "I desire mercy, not sacrifice."
In the conversion of St. Matthew, the Gospel presents to us a true and proper paradox: those who seem to be the farthest from holiness can even become a model of the acceptance of God's mercy and offer a glimpse of its marvelous effects in their own lives. In fact, a one-time tax-collector despised by his own people and consumed with filthy gain became an Apostle of our Lord Jesus Christ. Divine mercy has no prerequisites, no litmus tests. It sees value in broken and discarded things. It moves from the heights of heaven to lift the lowest from the dust.
THEREFORE seeing we have this ministry, as we have received mercy, we faint not; But have renounced the hidden things of dishonesty, not walking in craftiness, nor handling the word of God deceitfully; but by manifestation of the truth commending ourselves to every man's conscience in the sight of God... For God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined in our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ (2 Cor 4:1-4).
Friends, St. Matthew, who, having become an Apostle by God's gracious calling, continues to proclaim the depth of Divine Mercy towards us. So let us meditate upon it ever anew to learn to stand up and follow Jesus determined to be conduits of Divine grace and mercy. Amen+
