Wastefully Compassionate

For the past several years, I have often found myself asking, “What is the church?” Or put differently, “What is this messy mob we call ‘the church’?” In order to answer such questions, it is rather appropriate to ask various other questions including, “Who is Jesus?” This question finds its relatedness in the fact that the very existence of the church is organically linked to Jesus. The church then must be understood by looking to Jesus. However, in looking to Jesus, we may very well find how unlike him we are, and especially in the past weeks as a chaplain at a hospital, I have realized in a new way how like him we need to become. With that in mind, Matthew 20:29-34 accentuates a particular characteristic of Jesus’ life.

In Matthew 20:29-34, Jesus and his followers were nearing the end of their journey to Jerusalem, but they were not the only ones on their way to Jerusalem. Many other Galileans were on their way to Jerusalem also. You can may imagine the clamor of the crowd trotting to Jerusalem as they were making their way for Passover. Jericho would be their last stop before they would began the long climb up to Jerusalem.

As the crowd leaves Jericho, just outside Jericho are two men on the side of the road. These two men are not precisely in Jericho nor are they part of the crowd trekking to Jerusalem. These two men are in between, and they are going nowhere fast. They are on the side of the road, and it seems that they are sitting with little intention of joining the crowd making its way to Jerusalem. These two men are in between cities and outside the crowd. However, not only are they in between and outside, they are blind, and in part this is probably why they are excluded from the journey to Jerusalem. They are not part of the community. They are on the margins.

We have seen these two blind men before. Perhaps in Pasadena but certainly in south central Los Angeles. Their skin is sun beaten and leathery; their gnarled fingernails have weeks of dirt underneath. Their hair is a mangled mess that hasn’t known soap in months, and their clothes are in worse shape. They look hideous, but they smell worse. We have seen them before on the street corner with their empty soup bowl sitting in front of them hoping to catch the loose change of passers by. Perhaps we have dropped a few unwanted coins in their bowl. We have seen these two men before.

Above the clamor of the crowd these two men shouted. They called out above the bustling feet and buzzing voices of the crowd. These two men shouted into the passing mass of people, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on us!” After they shouted, the eyes of the crowd turn on these two men, and the crowd tries to stop them; the crowd attempts to silence them. But again the two men shout; this time louder than before. “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on us!” 

These two blind men recognize Jesus for who he is, and he does not deny that they have rightly identified him. Somewhat ironically, we seminarians who have spent so much money cramming the heavens into our heads would learn who Jesus is from these to blind men. These two blind men tell us that Jesus is the Son of David. And what Jesus does next shows us a glimpse of what it means for Jesus to be the Son of David.

In contrast with rulers such as the tyrannical Herod who augments his own power by using fear and violence killing multitudes of children, in contrast with rulers such as Herod, Jesus calls children to himself. And in contrast with this crowd leaving Jericho that would silence these men’s loud pleading, in contrast with this crowd, Jesus stops and listens; he draws near to these two men blind going nowhere. Jesus draws near to these two men who have nothing to offer. Jesus comes alongside these two men on the margins, and he draws them to himself. This is the sort of ruler he is.

Moreover, Jürgen Moltmann explains, “[Jesus] ‘compassion’ is not charitable condescension. It is the form which the divine justice takes in an unjust world…Jesus does not merely go to the people in the name of God…he is one of theirs, and they are the least of his brothers and sisters…he is the brother of the poor, the comrade of the people, the friend of the forsaken, the sympathizer with the sick. He heals through solidarity, and communicates his liberty and his healing power through his fellowship.” 

Jesus is the Son of David, and this is what it means for Jesus to be the Son of David. This is what it means for Jesus to be the ruler of Israel. Jesus draws near to them and asks them what they would have him do. They ask to be healed, and he heals them. Jesus rules not with self-obsession but with an ear for the margins. Jesus rules not with power hungry ambition but with a tender heart. Jesus rules not with an iron fist but with a healing hand.

In addition to Jesus’ compassionate action, the timing is also significant. Jesus heals these two men only a short while before what would be a triumphant entry for Jesus into Jerusalem. Multitudes of people would welcome him into Jerusalem, and yet what does he do here? He does what he has been doing all along. He makes time for those outside, for those on the margins. This is the sort of ruler he is.

If we use our imaginations and develop a weak analogy, it could go something like this. Imagine you are the president-elect and you are on your way to give your inaugural address, you don’t need to help these two beggars. The votes are in. It would be entirely superfluous; it would be immensely unnecessary to help these to beggars. And yet that is precisely what Jesus does. Jesus is wastefully compassionate. This is the sort of ruler he is.

By healing these to men of their blindness, by removing the blemish that would exclude them from full membership in the people of God, Jesus enables them to make the trek to Jerusalem. They need not remain on the side of the road, on the margins. By healing them, Jesus includes them in the membership of God’s people. This is what it means for Jesus to be the Son of David. He gathers the broken pieces of Israel; he frees those stuck on the fringes; he extends membership and fellowship even to those well outside the normal boundaries. And he does this at a moment in his ministry when it would seem completely unneeded.

From beginning to end, the Gospel of Matthew is about who will rule Israel, and it is about how that ruler will rule Israel. In this sense, the Gospel of Matthew is about Jesus. As Jesus makes his way to Jerusalem, we see the sort of ruler he will be; we see the sort of ruler he is. Moved by compassion, he draws people from the roadside, from the margins to himself. Moved by compassion, he draws near and restores the blemished to the community. Those on the margins enjoy fellowship with him, and they continue alongside him. He is one of them. Just as they have been on the outside of Jericho, Jesus was born and dies on the margins, in Bethlehem and outside Jerusalem. This is the sort of ruler he is. He is one of them. But not only is one of them; he listens, and he heals. This is the sort of ruler he is.

Earlier I asked the question, “Who is Jesus?” And the two blind men tell us: Jesus is the Son of David; Jesus is the ruler of Israel. And Jesus shows us what this means: he has an ear for those on the roadside, and he rules with unmeasured compassion. I asked, “Who is Jesus?” in order to answer, “What is this messy mob we call the church?”

In response, we may say: amidst the clamor of a culture that speaks loudly and with little concern for those on the margins, in contrast with a consumer culture that encourages self-centered amassing of wealth, in contrast with such a culture, the church stops and listens; the church draws near to those on the fringes of society. Moved by compassion, the church draws people from the roadside, from the margins into fellowship. In contrast with a culture of materialistic individualism, the church listens and heals. Moved by compassion, the church draws near and restores the wounded into community. Those on the margins enjoy fellowship as full members of the church. The church is one of them. Just as they have been on the outside, the church was born on the margins and continues to live on the margins. That is the sort of community the church is to be. The church is one of them because they are part of the church. This is who we are.

The question remains, are we listening? Without making arrogant presumptions that we know what others need, are we listening with sensitive hearts? Are we moved with compassion? If we are attuned to the margins, then we must ask other questions including, Who are on the margins? Who are the voices that our culture so readily silences? Or perhaps we should ask, who are those voices that our culture fails to hear? Children in abusive homes. The severely disabled. Immigrants with the wrong color skin. As we think about the character of the church, we must ask ourselves, Do we have ears to hear the voices of these people? Do we have ears to hear the voices of those afraid to speak? Are we listening to the margins? Are we wastefully compassionate? We are the church. This is who we are.