Beginning around 1740, Europe and North America experienced a dramatic rise in cases of the disease then called “consumption.” Because residents of small towns were less likely to contract the disease, many physicians hypothesized that it was caused by urban life and thus prescribed relocation to rural areas. Such treatments did little to cure patients, however. In 1882, the world learned why, when Robert Koch discovered that the true cause of the disease, we now know as tuberculosis, was bacteria. Before that, insufficient diagnosis led to ineffective cures. When it comes to the spiritual disease known as sin, many of us are tempted to insufficient diagnosis. The problem, we might conclude, is simply that we make bad choices. Why do we act in ways that are greedy, gluttonous, prideful, or cruel? Because in the moment we choose to do so rather than to behave in a righteous manner. But such a diagnosis comes up short. Jesus suggests the true cause of sin lies deeper, for “an evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored up in him” (v. 35). Our sin does not simply result from a momentary bad decision but from the deep reservoirs of our souls. We have within us evil stored up that leads us to act in evil ways. On our own, there is no way to root out the cause. While it can be discouraging to recognize the depth of our sin, it can also be healing. Much like physicians searching for a cure for tuberculosis, efforts to remedy the problem of sin are unlikely to succeed if we do not properly understand the problem. And yet, if the problem is not just a mistake or a slip here and there but is found in the core of our beings, how can we be cured? It will certainly not be by our own efforts. Rather, we must trust in the grace of Jesus the Great Physician.

Rising 20,310 feet above sea level, Mount Denali is the highest peak in the United States. Unfortunately, clouds veil the mountain approximately two days out of every three. When the skies clear, however, visitors are treated to a stunning view as Denali’s greatness and majesty overwhelm them. For those of us who worship Jesus Christ, it is easy to imagine that the people who encountered Him in His earthly life had a similar experience. Surely Christ’s greatness and majesty would have been overwhelming, readily apparent to all, right? Perhaps not. Some certainly seem to have perceived something great about Him immediately, such as John the Baptist (3:14), Peter (4:22), and Matthew (9:9). But it may be that, like Denali, His greatness was veiled to many. Chapter 11 opens a section of Matthew’s Gospel (running through chapter 16) in which many raise questions about Jesus’ identity or doubt His greatness. Ironically, the first question came from John the Baptist, who was among the first to perceive that greatness. From prison, John sought assurance that his earlier impression was accurate and thus sent disciples to ask if Jesus is “the one who is to come” (v. 3). Meanwhile, the crowds appeared to doubt Jesus’ greatness because He “came eating and drinking” and was “a friend of tax collectors and sinners” (v. 19). In response, Jesus pointed to the healings and miracles He performed (vv. 5, 20). The crowds were misled by their first impression and needed to revise their damning judgment by considering more than superficial appearances. But beyond that, all people needed not only to look or listen but also to take up Christ’s yoke and learn from Him (v. 29). There is no better way to understand this King’s mysterious majesty.

On November 10, 1928, a subpar Notre Dame football team faced a formidable, undefeated Army squad. Although apparently overmatched, Notre Dame rallied to a 12–6 victory, inspired by a pep talk that their legendary coach Knute Rockne delivered at halftime. Recalling the untimely death of Notre Dame All-American George Gipp, Rockne famously challenged his team to “win just one for the Gipper.” As depicted in the 1940 movie Knute Rockne—All American, they responded by rushing out of the locker room and pulled off the upset. In Matthew 10, Jesus addressed His disciples before sending them out to face a formidable task. One might understand if they did not respond by rushing out of that huddle and into the world. After all, among the things Jesus told them they would confront were rejection (v. 14), arrest (v. 19), beatings (v. 17), and being “hated by everyone” (v. 22). They would be vulnerable, “like sheep among wolves” (v. 16), and liable to betrayal, even by their closest family members (v. 21). Despite such hostility, however, the disciples were not without consolation. Jesus sent them forth with authority over demons and diseases (v. 1), the pledge that the Spirit of the Father would speak through them in times of trial (v. 20), and the promise of rewards to those who welcomed them (v. 42). Moreover, they went in the confidence that God’s kingdom has come near (v. 7), that the time is coming when God will redeem the world. As Jesus’ followers, we inherit those promises and more. Even in a world that often stands opposed to the values Jesus preached and embodied, we trust that His kingdom is coming and that no hostility we might encounter can resist the power of God’s love.

Groucho Marx was the star of dozens of films, author of multiple books, and host of You Bet Your Life. One of his immortal lines remembered today came from a telegram, however, not a comedy act. In the telegram sending his resignation from the Friar’s Club, Groucho said: “I don’t want to belong to any club that would accept me as one of its members.” As depicted in Matthew’s Gospel, the Pharisees who confronted Jesus seemed to harbor the opposite sentiment: They didn’t want to be part of a kingdom that would accept others as members. When Jesus called a tax collector, Matthew, to follow Him (v. 9), Matthew immediately responded. Soon he and Jesus went to Matthew’s house, joining a dinner whose guests included other tax collectors and sinners. This situation scandalized the Pharisees, who questioned His disciples: “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” (v. 11). Jesus detected the antagonism within the question, which presumed such associations made Him a sinner. He responded by pointing out that it is just such people who require the kind of healing and forgiveness that He had brought into the world. After all, people who are sick need a doctor most. We might also recognize that the Pharisees’ self-confidence is misplaced. It is not just “tax collectors and sinners” who needed the healing and forgiveness Jesus brings—the Pharisees did, too. After all, John the Baptist had already noted that they did not “produce fruit in keeping with repentance” (3:8). And as Jesus’ own conflict with them ultimately reached its climax, He condemned them because they “do not practice what they preach” (23:3). No one is perfectly righteous. But Jesus promises that we can be healed.

Many cultures have practices to maintain the glory of kings and queens, including wearing sumptuous attire, bearing symbols of authority such as crowns or scepters, residing in inaccessible palaces, and developing traditions about how they are to be addressed and by whom. Such practices isolate royals not only from commoners but also from the more unsavory parts of common life, including crude manners, dirtiness, and disease. The widespread character of such practices makes Jesus’ behavior all the more striking. This King neither wears fancy clothes nor carries symbols of authority nor stands on ceremony. Rather than isolating Himself, He enters into some of the most unsavory parts of life. He did so, for instance, by ministering to those suffering from afflictions: touching a leper (v. 2), taking the hand of a woman suffering from fever (v. 15), and caring for those possessed by demons (v. 16). Matthew underscores the significance of such acts with a quote from Isaiah: “He took up our infirmities and bore our diseases” (v. 17). And Jesus did not dwell in some distant, inaccessible palace but among the people. Despite the fact that His home is a heavenly throne, Jesus renounced such glory, and He possessed even less than most animals: “Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head” (v. 20). In Philippians 2, Paul reflected upon this aspect of Jesus’ life, writing that although He was “in very nature God . . .  he made himself nothing” (Phil. 2:6–7). He did all this for a reason. He was willing to dwell in the muck of human existence so that our infirmities and diseases, and most of all our separation from God, could be healed.

Worrying, especially excessively, can produce major negative effects. Studies have shown that excessive worry can lead to less restful sleep, weakening of the immune system, digestive problems, and even heart attacks. Worriers also report greater problems in their relationships with others. Beyond such physical and social impacts, worry can also be spiritually damaging. The very nature of worry involves obsessing over uncertain things: “‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’” (6:31). Am I smart enough for this job? Will I make friends in this new community? What will I do with my life? Taking measures to answer such questions is not a problem. For instance, planting crops for food is a repeated theme in Jesus’ parables. But to worry about and thus to obsess over such matters leads to many problems. Above all, worry diverts our attention from where it should be—the kingdom of God. Jesus teaches us to “seek first his kingdom and his righteousness” (6:33). Why would we turn away from that glorious kingdom to worry about problems that may never develop? Winston Churchill once recalled the story of an old man who said that “he had had a lot of trouble in his life, most of which had never happened.” Or why would we turn away from God’s kingdom to obsess over things we cannot control? Thus, Jesus asks, “Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?” (6:27). We can focus on the kingdom of God only if we stand on the bedrock of trust in God. We must recognize that our loving Father in heaven knows what we need, and He will “give good gifts to those who ask him” (7:11). May we have such faith.

T. S. Eliot’s Murder in the Cathedral recounts the martyrdom of Thomas Becket. As the Archbishop of Canterbury, the senior bishop in England, Becket came into conflict with King Henry II. That conflict threatened his life. Facing this threat, Eliot imagines Becket tempted to pursue martyrdom in order to attain fame. But Becket rejects the temptation, saying, “The last temptation is the greatest treason: To do the right deed for the wrong reason.” The reason for which we act, Becket suggests, is crucial, and it is evil to do a good deed for a bad reason, such as fame. Eliot’s famous line helps us understand Jesus’ teachings in Matthew 6. Here, Jesus warns His disciples against practicing their righteousness in front of others (v. 1). At first glance, this teaching seems to contradict Jesus’ command, scarcely a chapter earlier, that His disciples should “let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds” (5:16). How does it fit with His later instructions to give alms (vv. 2–4), pray (vv. 5–6), and fast (vv. 16–18) in secret? The key comes in the phrase “to be seen by them” (v. 1). Jesus does not warn against practicing our righteousness altogether; nor does He teach that we should never act righteously in public. Rather, He wants His disciples not only to do righteous acts but to do them for the right reason—so that others will “glorify your Father in heaven” (5:16). The kind of self-righteousness displayed by hypocrites who seek their own glory does little to lead others to glorify God. Rather than hypocrites, God desires (and the world needs) people so devoted to God that they do the right thing even when no one is watching. Anything less is tantamount to treason.

At least since the fourth century, people have recorded experiences in which they have felt as though they had lived through a particular moment before. In the 1800s, this was given the name déjà vu. Although research has found no clear cause of déjà vu, it is a widely reported phenomenon. Studies have found that 60 to 70 percent of healthy people experience it. For those in Jesus’ day, as for today’s readers of Matthew, the Sermon on the Mount may have occasioned déjà vu. A leader called out of Egypt (2:15) and destined to save his people (1:21) takes his place on a mountainside (5:1) and proclaims God’s will for how people of faith are to live. All this describes not only Jesus but also Moses, Israel’s most prominent teacher. Most memorably, Moses ascended Mount Sinai to receive the tablets containing the Ten Commandments, which he then proclaimed to God’s people (see Exodus 34). Jesus takes up Moses’ mantle in Matthew’s Gospel, which features five extended teaching sections (chapters 5–7, 10, 13, 18, and 23–25), much as the Old Testament begins with five books attributed to Moses. Yet not everything is exactly the same. Jesus quotes from the Law of Moses: the commandments that prohibit murder (v. 21) and adultery (v. 27), and direct us to love our neighbors (v. 43). But He intensifies the commandments. It is not enough to refrain from murder; we must stifle our anger (v. 22). Not only must we avoid adultery, we must restrain our lust (v. 28). We must love not only our neighbors but also our enemies (v. 44). Only by doing so can we “be perfect” as our “heavenly Father is perfect” (v. 48).

In the dark, the human eye adapts by enlarging the pupil. This allows as much light as possible to pass into the eye and onto the retina. If a bright light suddenly blazes—for instance, if a camera flashes or headlights abruptly come into view—large amounts of light pour through the pupil and can overwhelm the retina, leading to a condition called “flash blindness” when one’s vision is partially or even totally impaired. The brighter the light and the deeper the darkness, the more intense the effects of flash blindness are. Those living in Capernaum during Jesus’ time may perhaps be said to have experienced an acute form of spiritual flash blindness. Drawing on Isaiah, Matthew describes them as “people living in darkness” who in Jesus saw “a great light” (v. 16). That light blazed brilliantly. From Capernaum, Jesus launched His public ministry, proclaiming: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near” (v. 17). And in the surrounding area, He performed many miracles that heralded this kingdom, “healing every disease and sickness among the people” and even driving out demons (v. 23). Despite the nearness and brilliance of Jesus’ light, Capernaum was ultimately blinded. Jesus would soon denounce the city, declaring, “And you, Capernaum, will you be lifted to the heavens? No, you will go down to Hades” (11:23). While thrilled with Jesus’ miracles, Capernaum seemed unable to perceive their meaning and the nature of the kingdom they signaled. Perhaps the reason was that the kingdom was led by a King who defied their expectations by rejecting the temptations of earthly power (vv. 1–10). Let us commit ourselves to closely following Jesus in His ministry and to examining our earthly assumptions to avoid being blinded by His light.

The talented composer Antonio Salieri produced dozens of operas in multiple languages, and in 1774 he became the court musician of the Habsburg monarchy. In the early 1780s, however, he met a rare man widely regarded as his musical superior and whom many saw as his successor—Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. At least according to legend, a series of intrigues ensued as each sought to undercut the other. While the most outlandish claims, such as that Salieri poisoned Mozart, are likely false, they illustrate just how tense relations between predecessors and successors often are. This makes the relationship between John the Baptist and Jesus all the more notable. John had prominence, drawing crowds “from Jerusalem and all Judea” (v. 5). But he did not think he needed protection against a possible successor. Rather, he waited eagerly for that successor and humbly proclaimed the coming of One “whose sandals I am not worthy to carry” (v. 11). When his successor arrived, John readily acknowledged His superiority. John’s attitude is perhaps best captured in the Gospel of John, in which he says of Jesus: “He must become greater; I must become less” (John 3:30). Just as notably, however, Jesus did not seek to negate the ministry of His predecessor. Rather, He validated it, receiving John’s baptism and declaring it necessary “to fulfill all righteousness” (v. 15). He preached a similar message about the coming kingdom (4:17), and praised John and his work (11:7–14). Jesus built upon the foundation laid by John and the other prophets in a unique way. But in acknowledging the importance of their work, He shows that God’s kingdom advances not through jealous competition but by righteous cooperation.