St Matthew's Day - Fr Philip Chester

September 21, 2025                                                                Choral Mattins

Genesis 14. 18-20; 1 Corinthians 11. 23-26; St John 6. 51-58

Laudabo Nomen Domini

Once a year, a large white envelope lands on the doormat, bringing with it a familiar sense of dread. The tax collector no longer sits in his booth on the street corner; instead, he arrives by way of a form through the letterbox, reminding us—grimly—that it is time to complete our self-assessment. ‘Tax doesn’t have to be taxing,’ we are assured. But if you delay you repay, and in truth, tax is taxing indeed.

On this feast of St Matthew—the tax collector who left his ledger to follow Christ—the focus is not on the life he left behind, but on the life that opened up before him, following his encounter with Christ. What did it cost to give all that up? And what kind of community is formed when a tax collector rises from his booth to join the company of Jesus Christ?

We know the story well. Jesus sees a man in the tax booth, one despised and distrusted, and simply says: ‘Follow me.’ And Matthew gets up and follows. He leaves behind not only a job, but an identity. He walks away from the very role that made him secure, if unpopular, and steps into a new life.

And the first thing Jesus does with him is not to set him apart, not to scold him for his past, not to demand penance before acceptance. No—Jesus goes to his house and eats with him. He breaks bread with Matthew and with his friends, the so-called tax collectors and sinners. The Pharisees are scandalised. Why does he eat with such people?

The answer comes back, simple and cutting: ‘Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I have come not to call the righteous but sinners.’

Here, in this moment, the Christian Gospel begins to take shape: the unconditional welcome of Christ, the generous inclusion of those who thought themselves beyond the pale, and the invitation to a costly, transforming discipleship.

What does this mean for the people of God here, at St Matthew’s, Westminster? It means that our patron teaches us both halves of the Gospel: welcome and discipleship. The welcome is without condition. The invitation is for all, no matter how complicated their lives, no matter what booth they are stuck in, no matter what burdens they carry. Jesus does not wait for Matthew to change before calling him; he calls him in order that he might change.

But the welcome is not an end in itself. The call is also to discipleship—to get up and follow, to learn Christ’s way, to be shaped by his teaching, to start creating the kingdom of God here and now. For Matthew, that meant leaving his books and coins. For us, the shape of that call may differ, but it will always mean is a rising from one life into another, shaped by the costly joy of the cross.

The Anglo-Catholic vision has always been deeply shaped by this double truth: unconditional welcome, and the call to discipleship, to holiness. From the slums of Victorian London to the streets of Westminster today, churches like this one have opened their doors to all who would come—rich and poor, the powerful and the marginalised, the young and the old, the devout and the doubting—and have said, ‘Here is Christ. Here is the place where heaven and earth meet. Here you are at home.’

This church, like Matthew’s house, is a place where Jesus still sits at table with sinners. The faith we share is not a reward for the perfect but medicine for those in need. We come not because we have made ourselves worthy but because Christ makes us new.

And from this place we are sent out as disciples, called to grow in holiness and to shape our lives by the pattern of the cross. This is no shallow belonging. It is a belonging that draws us ever deeper into sacrifice, prayer, generosity, and love.

In our own day the Church wrestles with how to be faithful to this vision. And it often gets it wrong. We speak much of inclusion—and rightly so. But inclusion without discipleship is sentimentality, and discipleship without inclusion is pharisaism. Matthew’s Gospel holds the two together: Jesus welcomes the tax collector, then calls him to follow.

So the question for us is not whether we will be inclusive—it is whether our inclusion will be deep enough to change lives, generous enough to reflect the heart of Christ, demanding enough to lead us to holiness.

This church, St Matthew’s, Westminster, is called to embody this vision: a community where the door is open, the welcome is wide, the teaching is rich, the discipleship is real. A community where the poor are lifted up, the stranger is embraced, the proud are humbled, and all are invited to walk the costly road that leads to life.

When Matthew rose from his tax booth, he left behind the security of wealth for the adventure of following Christ. He discovered, as countless saints have since, that what seems daunting at first is in truth the way of freedom and joy.

For us too, meeting Jesus together in this place is enough to reveal our lostness and our need. It is enough to show us that there is more, and that here - in this community, in the breaking of bread, in the sharing of our lives—we find true direction, true healing, true joy.

So, my brothers and sisters, on this feast of St Matthew, hear again the call of the Lord:Will you get up?Will you leave what binds you?Will you follow?

And may this church, under the patronage of the tax collector turned apostle, always be a place of radical welcome, generous inclusion, and costly discipleship: a foretaste of the kingdom of heaven, here in the heart of Westminster.

Amen.

For the foolishness of God is wiser than our understanding, his grace is sufficient for us and his strength is made perfect in our weakness.