Bethel, Little Falls & Immanuel, Hillman
Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26
Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.
I have a confession to make.
I am a full-blooded norwegian
Though i do take pills for it
And if there are any Norwegians here this morning, you know we can sometimes be a little stubborn.
Now, we don’t usually call it stubbornness.
We call it independence.
We call it self-reliance.
We call it figuring things out ourselves.
But sometimes it’s just stubbornness wearing nicer clothes.
Many years ago, before I was a parish pastor, I worked as a backpack guide in the mountains of Colorado.
One summer I was leading a group that included a pastor named Scott.
Years later, Scott and I would serve in neighboring congregations and become close friends.
But at that point, he was simply part of my backpacking group.
One day we were hiking at about 11,000 feet and preparing to cross a mountain pass when Scott badly injured his ankle.
Not a little twist.
Not a “walk it off” injury.
A real injury.
It quickly became obvious that we weren’t going over the mountain that day.
We needed to turn around and head back to camp.
Now there were six or eight people in the group.
A sensible person would have taken Scott’s gear and divided it among everyone.
Everybody carries a little.
Nobody carries too much.
Problem solved.
But apparently I wasn’t feeling particularly sensible that day.
Instead, I thought,
“I’ll just carry it.”
So I put on my own pack.
Then I put on Scott’s pack.
And off we went.
When we finally got back to camp, I was curious how much weight I had been carrying.
So we put both packs on a scale.
Eighty-five pounds.
Eighty-five pounds.
Now, when you’re young, eighty-five pounds sounds like a challenge.
When you’re older, eighty-five pounds sounds like an orthopedic surgeon.
And I have little doubt that some of the aches in my knees today are God’s way of reminding me of decisions I made in my twenties.
The funny thing is that I wasn’t trying to be a hero.
I was just unwilling to ask for help.
There were plenty of people available.
Plenty of people willing.
Plenty of people capable.
But somehow it felt easier to carry the burden myself.
The older I get, the more I realize how often we do that.
Not just with backpacks.
With life.
With grief.
With worry.
With illness.
With faith.
We carry things alone that were never meant to be carried alone.
And that brings us to today’s gospel.
Because every person Jesus encounters in Matthew 9 is carrying something they cannot carry by themselves.
Matthew the tax collector is carrying a life that has left him isolated from his community.
The woman with the hemorrhage has been carrying twelve years of suffering.
Twelve years.
Think about that.
Twelve years of hoping.
Twelve years of disappointment.
Twelve years of doctors.
Twelve years of wondering whether anything will ever change.
And Jairus is carrying every parent’s worst nightmare.
His daughter is dying.
Each of them is carrying a burden that has become too heavy.
And each of them finally does something courageous.
They ask for help.
Now, that may not sound courageous at first.
But I think it is.
Because asking for help requires admitting something most of us would rather not admit.
It requires admitting that we cannot do everything ourselves.
Matthew leaves his tax booth and follows Jesus.
The woman reaches out and touches his cloak.
Jairus falls at Jesus’ feet.
None of them come from a position of strength.
None of them have solved their problems.
None of them have everything together.
They simply come to Jesus as they are.
And that’s where things start to get uncomfortable for people like us.
Because we admire independence.
Especially here in the Midwest.
We admire people who work hard.
People who figure things out.
People who don’t complain.
People who take care of their own business.
Those are good qualities.
But sometimes those same qualities can become barriers.
Sometimes we become so committed to being strong that we forget how to be needy.
Sometimes we become so committed to solving our own problems that we forget how to receive help.
And sometimes we bring that same attitude into our relationship with God.
We think:
“I’ll get my life together first.”
“I’ll fix this problem myself.”
“I’ll get my act together and then I’ll come to God.”
“I should be stronger than this.”
“I should be handling this better.”
But that’s not what happens in today’s gospel.
Jesus doesn’t say to Matthew,
“Come back after you’ve cleaned up your life.”
Jesus doesn’t say to the woman,
“Come back after you’ve fixed yourself.”
Jesus doesn’t say to Jairus,
“Come back when you’ve figured things out.”
Instead, Jesus meets them in their need.
He meets them in their weakness.
He meets them in their desperation.
And he does the same for us.
That’s the gospel.
The gospel is not that God helps those who help themselves.
The gospel is that God helps those who cannot help themselves.
The gospel is not that Jesus waits for us to become worthy.
The gospel is that Jesus comes to the unworthy.
The gospel is not that we save ourselves.
The gospel is that Christ saves us.
And maybe that’s why these stories are so beautiful.
Because every one of these people comes to Jesus empty-handed.
And every one of them leaves with more than they could have imagined.
Matthew receives a new life.
The woman receives healing.
Jairus receives his daughter back.
And all of them receive mercy.
The same mercy that comes to us.
The same mercy that meets us when we are grieving.
The same mercy that meets us when we are afraid.
The same mercy that meets us when we are exhausted.
The same mercy that meets us when we discover that the burden is simply too heavy.
And here’s something else I’ve learned over the years.
Asking for help is often a gift to the person helping.
People like to matter.
People like to contribute.
People like to know they can make a difference.
When we refuse all help, we sometimes rob others of the opportunity to share their gifts.
The church understands this.
That’s why we bear one another’s burdens.
That’s why we pray for one another.
That’s why we show up with casseroles.
That’s why we visit hospitals.
That’s why we sit with grieving families.
That’s why we worship together.
Because God never intended us to carry everything alone.
And there’s one final thing.
Looking back on that backpacking trip, I carried Scott’s burden because he couldn’t.
But eventually we got back to camp and I could set the pack down.
The gospel tells us something even better.
Jesus carries burdens that we could never carry.
The burden of sin.
The burden of guilt.
The burden of death itself.
Those burdens were never ours to carry.
Jesus carried them all the way to the cross.
And unlike my aching knees, Jesus knew exactly what carrying that burden would cost him.
Yet he carried it anyway.
For you.
For me.
For the whole world.
So maybe the invitation this week is simple.
If you need help, ask.
If you’re hurting, tell someone.
If you’re worried, pray.
If you’re carrying a burden that’s become too heavy, don’t carry it alone.
Because asking for help is not weakness.
Sometimes it is faith.
Faith that believes God can work through other people.
Faith that believes Christ is present in our weakness.
Faith that believes grace is greater than our strength.
And faith that remembers we follow a Savior who is never ashamed to help those who need him.
Amen.
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