Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26 on June 7th, 2026
Above is audio of the sermon pulled from the video and amplified.
Below is transcript pulled from the video and formatted by artificial intelligence. There may be inconsistencies or errors.
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Jesus Calls Us Daughter: A Sermon on Mercy and Belonging
There is a whole lot happening in these verses from Matthew. There are three stories going on: a tax collector, a recently deceased girl, and a hemorrhaging woman all get some air time in this passage. Any one of those stories could be a full sermon in and of itself. But there is a connection between the three and a very close connection between the last two characters.
The Sandwich Technique
If you notice, Matthew the author—not the tax collector—takes the two stories of a dead girl and a bleeding woman and sandwiches them together. It's a story technique as old as storytelling itself, and there's a purpose to it that goes beyond just chronological accuracy. Interrupting one story with the other invites us to reflect on each story a bit more and almost forces us to compare and contrast them.
Similarities and Contrasts
Starting with similarities, we might notice that both scenes involve women: a girl in the prime of her life who has died and a woman who has suffered for much of her adult life. The contrasts, though, really start to add up fast.
We have old versus young. The first has someone to advocate for her; the second has to advocate for herself. The girl is quite passive in the whole thing, obviously, yet the woman is very active in her search for healing. There is chronic suffering against sudden death. The differences just seem to keep coming.
The Word That Binds Them
And yet, no matter the differences—no matter the age or the illness, the actions or the advocates, no matter who they are—Matthew uses one word that pulls these two strangers together: Daughter.
One is a father's daughter. The other is called daughter by Jesus. That word describes, encompasses, and holds both of them, and that is gospel. That word daughter is key. It is a word of belonging. It is a word of family. It is a word that says you are known. You are claimed. You are part of this.
The woman who had been ritually unclean and isolated for twelve years reaches out to touch Jesus, and he doesn't scoff. He turns. He sees her and he says, "Daughter." The leader's daughter is dead. There is no more belonging, no more family. And yet Jesus ensures she is not outside of a relationship or community life.
Matthew the Tax Collector
Here is where we can bring back Matthew the tax collector—not the author—back into the story. Working through the daughter's stories can help us understand his welcome a bit better.
See, Jesus doesn't have this type of welcome just for sympathetic figures. He does it for those people that others have already disqualified. Or to say it a little differently, Jesus does this for everybody.
Matthew the tax collector was, shall we say, unlike. Tax collectors were in cahoots with the occupying enemy, skimming off the top and often seen as people who chose a paycheck over their own community. And yet Jesus calls him to follow. This is evidence that the grace extended to those women isn't a special case—it's the pattern. This is who Jesus is.
Jesus doesn't call a religious professional or a community hero. He calls a traitor, a collaborator, a man most have written off entirely. And Jesus says, "Follow me." That's it. No prerequisites, no repentance, no prayers.
Jesus Doubles Down
And then Jesus doubles down. He eats with the whole crew. When the Pharisees object, Jesus responds by saying, "I desire mercy, not sacrifice." And of course he does. We just watched him do it.
We hear Jesus preach about mercy and grace. We watch him cross every line, touch every untouchable, sit at every wrong table. And we nod. We agree. We think, "Yes, those Pharisees really had it wrong."
And yet we still kind of do the same thing they did.
Our Struggle with Mercy
Maybe it's not in ways that we recognize right away. I mean, we're smart people, open people. We'd never say out loud that someone has to earn their place. Yet we constantly try to calculate worthiness. We still sort people into boxes. We add strings or conditions. We can't imagine that there is not some sort of threshold to meet before mercy begins. We desire sacrifice before mercy. We do it to others. Sometimes we even do it to ourselves.
Yeah, Jesus doesn't do that. Not a single time in this passage, not ever.
He doesn't ask the woman why she deserves to be free from her twelve years of suffering. Nor does he make her clean herself up before he heals. He doesn't tell this little girl's father that he'll help, but first they need to have a conversation about a few things. He doesn't ask Matthew to resign from the tax booth, clean up his reputation, and come back in six months after he's made some amends.
The Pattern of Jesus
The bleeding woman reached out hoping for healing, hoping to be seen. And Jesus calls her daughter. A grieving father came with death already done its worst, and Jesus heads toward the pain. A tax collector was at the wrong table, wrong job, wrong life. And Jesus says, "Follow me."
Again and again, Jesus moves toward people everyone else had already written off. And he still does. Saying, "Follow me. Be well. Get up. Daughter."
Mercy first. Everything else after. That's the pattern.
And I think we have to confess that we don't always live that way. But here's the thing that Jesus does despite ourselves: Jesus sees you. Jesus turns to you. And Jesus says, "Daughter. Son. Child. Follow me. Be well. Get up."
Grace Before Deserving
Because for God, mercy comes before deserving. Jesus names us before we have ourselves figured out. Grace is not a reward for being lovable. It's the thing that makes new life possible in the first place.
Jesus desires mercy, not sacrifice. And if you ever forget it, if you ever need that reminder, you have a splash of water to jog your memory. You are named. You are claimed. You are a child of God.
Not because you're always merciful, always well, always on the right side, but because God is. Because God, as our confession says, is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. Because God has already said, "You are mine. You are called a child of God. You are named and claimed and loved and welcomed."
And that changes things. Changes us.
Living Out Mercy
Because people who have received mercy start to show mercy. People who have been welcomed begin to welcome. And people who know they belong start making room for others to belong too.
So when you see someone that the world has already written off, when the world compares and contrasts, when they are on the other side of the line, call them what Jesus has called you: Daughter, son, child of God.
Because that is the way of Jesus. Mercy first. Everything else after.
Amen.