08/06/2026
Sermon June 7th
“As Jesus was walking along, he saw a man called Matthew, sitting at the tax booth, and he said to him, ‘Follow me.’” (Matthew 9.9)
(St. Clement’s, Hastings, First Sunday after Trinity, 7th June 2026)
Not 666, the number of the beast in Revelation. But 66,000. There are 66,000 of them. 66,000 people who work for His Majesty’s Revenue and Customs, bringing light and joy to people’s lives. I cannot be the only person here who does not look forward to completing my annual tax return. Tax is so very complicated and even Albert Einstein, doubtless with a wry smile on his lips, is alleged to have said that “the hardest thing in the world to understand is income tax.” I suppose that, depending upon individual financial circumstances, Einstein’s statement must have been relative.
But HMRC is not a manifestation of the beast of the Book of Revelation. My experience of HMRC is that its workers or, more correctly, its “client services managers”, are very helpful and courteous – once you get through to someone on the telephone – and I know a lovely retired HMRC inspector, currently his church’s treasurer. And the 66,000 perform an important public service. We might very well query how some of our tax is spent but, as an American historian once wrote, Taxation is the price which civilized communities pay for the opportunity of remaining civilized.”
Paying tax is a moral obligation as citizens, our contribution to the common good.
But what about St Matthew the tax collector?
Was St. Matthew performing a public service? Was he contributing to the common good? Well, not really. Matthew was not a client services manager.
My head began to ache as I researched Roman tax in the First Century: There was a tax on the value of transported goods, including slaves and animals, an inheritance tax, a sales tax, a business licence fee, a poll tax on men aged fourteen to sixty-five and women from aged twelve to sixty-five. In Jerusalem they may well have been a tax on homes to pay for the maintenance of the city wall. In addition, Jews had to pay a Temple tax. Some tax would have been for the common good – paved Roman roads without potholes and a reliable postal service for example – but much of it would have paid for the occupying Roman army and administration.
Tax collectors like Matthew in the Galilee and Zacchaeus in Jericho did not work for the Roman equivalent of HMRC. Basically, they operated a franchise, leasing the right to collect taxes in a given area. Their pay came through a levy on the tax collected, perhaps adding as much as 25% to an individual’s tax bill. Becoming a tax collector was a career choice of financial self-enrichment rather than working for the common good.
So we can see why Matthew and Zacchaeus were counted amongst the sinners and why people were astonished that Jesus would eat with them.
But tax collectors were unpopular not simply because they collected taxes, and then some. They were unpopular because they were collecting taxes on behalf of the occupying power.
In other words, Matthew and Zacchaeus were collaborators. Just think of the hatred shown to collaborators in occupied Europe at the end of the War.
War films tend to divide occupied people into two categories: Collaborators and resisters. In the post-war France of General De Gaulle, the myth developed that virtually everyone had been in the Resistance. This is nonsense, of course.
There are two helpful French words: collaborateur and collaboriste. The former denotes someone who actively supported the German occupation whereas collaboriste denotes someone who, whilst not actively supporting the occupation, enabled it by simply going along with it.
So where am I going with all this? The obvious sermon here is to contrast the love of money with the love of God and the change in Matthew’s priority when he accepted the call to follow Jesus. But we’ve all heard that one before. I think that there is rather more here in following Jesus than forsaking the worship of material wealth.
Matthew collaborated with the dominant power of his day. The temptation facing us is collaboration, not with Roman culture, but with a culture and societal pressure increasingly opposed to the values of the Gospel.
First, the culture of self-enrichment: As we see with Matthew and Zacchaeus, this is not exactly new. I read recently in The Guardian – and so it must be true – that the current resident at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue has enriched himself by at least $3 billion since his inauguration. Jesus warns, doesn’t he, about the rich fool tearing down his barns to build a bigger barn to store his wealth. I suppose that these days a rich fool might simply tear down the East Wing of a world-famous building and build a much, much bigger one.
Secondly, there is the culture of self-promotion: I was staying in a Berlin hotel last year and one morning visited the gym. A young woman came in wearing her gym kit. She posed by a running machine, took several “selfies” as I think they are called, posted them on her social media and then left without having exercised anything other than her vanity.
She will be one of the many people who measure their self-worth by their number of followers on social media and the number of ‘likes’ for their posts. CVs used to be simply factual. We are now expected to puff ourselves up on our CVs saying how wonderful we are.
Next, there is the assault on truth: Fake News, alternative facts, figures in public life who just lie and lie and lie.
Then we have the culture of rage and hate: Why does almost everyone seem angry about something? Much of this is stoked by social media algorithms and utterly irresponsible public figures, as well as by the less thoughtful newspapers. People are described as slamming or blasting someone else: X slams Y over Z. People can say the most hateful things whilst hiding in the darkness of social media pseudonymity.
And what about what I call the culture of exhaustion: There’s a lot of grabbing going on. We’re told to grab a coffee or grab a bargain with the suggestion that we might miss out if we don’t act swiftly. It’s the cricket season. Bowlers are grabbing wickets in response to batsmen who are hammering or plundering the bowling in return. Arsenal, unlike Tottenham, have grabbed the Premier League title. We are constantly pressured to act quickly, often with automated countdowns, before someone else grabs what should be our special offer or we miss the deadline. It’s all so breathless.
This breathlessness is aligned with the culture of hyperbole: This not just Trump for whom everything is big, bigger or biggest or the greatest or most beautiful or simply “very perfect”. I recently received an automated e-mail from Premier Inn. It reminded me of my date of arrival and check-in time and then told me, and I quote, “We can’t wait to meet you!” This sentenced was concluded, not with a full stop, but with the ubiquitous exclamation mark. Now it's perfectly understandable why the Premier Inn staff at Gatwick couldn’t wait to meet me. I get it. But really? I call this the exclamation mark culture and, again, it reflects the breathless culture of exhaustion. They simply can’t wait to meet me.
Self-enrichment. Self-promotion. The assault on truth. Rage and hate. Exhaustion and breathless excitement.
The questions for us as followers of Jesus are simple. Do we actively collaborate with today’s global culture? Or do we do our best to pretend that it’s nothing to do with us, keep our heads down, and just ‘do our own thing’? Or, as Christians, do we actively challenge and resist?
Do we challenge the worship of wealth and material goods and the increasing social inequality that comes with it?
Do we challenge shameless self-promotion and see it for what it is? Do we seek prayerful and meditative self-understanding in ourselves rather than self-enrichment or self-promotion? What value do we place on truth in a world of fake news and downright lies?
Do we challenge the irrational hatred and bile stoked by irresponsible sections of the media, particularly on-line, and by certain politicians? Do we truly love our neighbour?
Do we challenge the culture of breathless exhaustion and hyperbole by setting time aside to be still and quiet and to rest in the Lord? Thoughtful silence is more truthful than false hyperbole.
Matthew left not only his place of toll but also the dominant culture of his day. Jesus calls us to follow him and not what St Paul refers to as the principalities and powers and darkness of this present age.
Jesus calls us to follow Him.
To follow Him and to resist.
© Paul Hunt 2026