As a Gentile and a Tax Collector…
Proper 19 Year A; Matt 18:15-20
Matthew’s Gospel contains five blocks of Jesus’ teaching; they are probably meant to suggest the five books of Law given by Moses, presenting Jesus as a new law-giver and a new prophet to guide Israel. The Sermon on the Mount was first (chapters 5-7), then instructions about Mission (10), then the Parables (13); this Gospel is part of the fourth (18), and concerns life in Community (the fifth, on the End times, is still to come).
The section had begun with the disciples asking Jesus who was greatest in the Kingdom (18:1). Jesus teaches of the necessity to come as children (“little ones” will then recur as a way of talking about the believers), and for children themselves to be welcomed (vv.1-5), then about the stumbling-blocks and pitfalls that believers may encounter in relation to these (vv. 6-9), then Matthew’s version of the lost sheep parable (10-14) which refers again to the “little ones” of the reign of God—not just children, but all who make themselves like children. The passage we read this Sunday improves when we read it in this context, where the point is not just community business but the nature of that business; the welfare of the most vulnerable, and the end of reconciliation, not the significance of disciplinary rules as such, is the most basic message.
In this Gospel Jesus seems to speak to a “Church” which does not yet exist. Matthew’s is the only Gospel to use the word “Church” (ekklēsia), and the only other time he does was in Jesus’ blessing of Peter, read a couple of weeks ago (which also refers to binding and loosing), where the glance toward the future is perhaps clearer. While presented during Jesus’ ministry, this teaching like the episode with Peter points beyond the time during which it is set.
The center of this Gospel is a process for discipline, or better, for reconciliation, between Church members. The intent and process are reminiscent of the principles of restorative justice, such as were practiced in the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission led by Desmond Tutu. Justice here is not people getting their “just” desserts, but the restoration of community and the good of the whole, and by implication the healing of those wronged. This unfolds in a common-sense way, starting from the interpersonal level and then through a wider process as needed, to the whole Church, which is thus given significant responsibility for reconciliation.
The process starts with “you” (v.15) making this very personal, and emphasizing the way for the wronged person to act; there is a hint here perhaps of Paul’s concern (see 1 Cor 6:1-7) that members of the Church might use litigation to solve problems. Instead, the Church itself is given the responsibility of resolving conflict, which here is placed within an exhortation to humility and protection of the weakest.
The final recourse, when processes fail, to treat the other as a “gentile and a tax collector,” is curious. At least during the period when this discourse is set, during Jesus ministry to Israel, the conclusion could perhaps be taken to mean something as harsh as it probably sounds at first reading. Separation and expulsion have certainly been a usual way of thinking about this passage; but this is less because of the text itself, but because separation and expulsion are perennial temptations for human beings as ways to “solve” problems, and sometimes we dress these up in theological language.
We have noted before that Matthew depicts Jesus as sent strictly to the lost sheep of Israel, quite explicitly avoiding ministry to non-Jews, but also always foreshadows a universal mission, grounded in what Jesus is yet to do. This anticipation goes back as far as the visit of the Magi to the cradle of the new Jewish king. Yet even during the Matthean narrative of Jesus’ ministry to Israel, neither gentiles nor tax collectors are beyond the reach of the good news. The Canaanite woman of chapter 15 is a case in point. And of course this Gospel is named for the famous tax collector called from his office. Thus there is a tension left within the text between the narrator’s present and the future Church.
When “the Church”—a post-Easter community—is mentioned, a different future is being envisioned; these boundaries are imagined as having shifted. The eventual failure of discipline is now not exclusion, but simply a new start, since gentiles and tax collectors were once beyond the pale, but are no longer. To treat someone as in need of salvation is not to shun them, but to acknowledge the need to be begin again. It is no accident that the account of this process immediately follows the parable of the lost sheep, and it should be seen as an expression of the same principle.
Even in quite contemporary and progressive settings, the adequacy of a process of justice seems often to be assessed (especially by those at a great distance from it!) by the level of shame conferred on the offender and the punitive outcomes, rather than by an end result of reconciliation. This happens in part because glib talk of reconciliation—not the real thing—has often been used both to paper over cracks, and to protect those who misbehave. This caution cannot however be an excuse to consider anything other than reconciliation as the end of real justice.
These instructions should be cautionary to any temptation either to rush to judgement by denunciation, or to ignore real issues of pain and injustice because they are uncomfortable. The fact that Jesus begins with “you” rather than “one” or “they’ indicates they are not provided as a template to assess how well other people are doing with their responsibilities, but for how we are dealing with our own.
The process outlined here concludes with two additional weighty instructions. First, whatever is “bound”—determined or resolved—on earth is bound in heaven. This amounts to a sort of delegation of divine authority to the Church, but again the idea is not just to emphasize the level of power exercised without content; the power given to the Church is to restore and to reconcile.
Second, “if two of you agree on earth about anything you ask, it will be done for you by my Father in heaven.” This is often taken out of context, with disastrous results. It must refer here not to the power of prayer in general, but to the current issue of discipline, and so reiterates the point about binding and loosing. The point is that a resolution of conflict here on earth will be ratified in heaven, not that there is a bottomless supply of cars and miracle cures waiting in heaven for the genuinely faithful who pray hard and in the right company. There is no hint in this text of a prosperity theology that will mark Christians as faithful by their success in prayer or otherwise; this is a theology of reconciliation and mission, that suggests Christians will be marked by unswerving commitment to bind up whatever, and whoever, has been broken.
The concluding statement, that Jesus is in the midst when there are two or three, could also be misinterpreted; the context is the same mission of reconciliation which this whole chapter has been addressing. So this is not some vague assurance of divine power or spiritual indwelling; Jesus’ authoritative presence, now as then, is likely to be a challenge as much as a comfort. Jesus, after all, has not been inclined to speak and act in this Gospel without the character of the reign of God being made known. So when two or three are actually gathered “in my name,” they must be doing the same. This faithful handful assured of his presence are not merely bearers of religious authority because they are called Christians; they will be those who remember just who Jesus is, and who will recall his mission of protecting the little ones, of seeking the lost, and of reconciling all people in the one who has called them.
This is very helpful. Thank you!
A sermon to accompany my breakfast. And a great start to the day. Greetings from St Kilda.