Earlier this week, Vice President Cheney was taking questions before the National Press Club, when one intrepid reporter asked him about an interesting coincidence. Turns out, our Vice President is the 8^th cousin, once removed, of Democratic Presidential candidate Barack Obama. Interesting bit of trivia. He commented that he had done some genelogical research and found another interesting bit, that he had Cheney’s on both his mother and his father’s side of the family.

His comment, “So I had Cheneys on both sides of the family and we don’t even live in West Virginia,”

Yep, our Vice President made an incest joke about West Virginia. He has thankfully apologized, after our representatives and Senators from both parties condemned his little joke.

Now, when I first heard about it, before the apology, there was a part of me that wanted to take this as proof about “those Republicans.” Two things stopped me. One, because I know a number of people who are conservative in their politics, who are Republicans, who are of such quality of character that while I may not agree with their politics, I cannot but have the highest respect for them. Two of them stood at my side at my wedding, and there are several in this room.

The second thing that stopped me was that if I had any inclination that my fellow progressives were somehow better on this issue, it was quickly dashed. I first heard this bit of news through a liberal webblog, and in the comments section under the article were things to the effect of “no apology needed…people need to get a sense of humor,” a few comments about the invention of the toothbrush (I’m sure you’ve heard that one), and a few more incest comments. Yeah, the people on my side of the political divide are so much more enlightened.

I’m bringing all this up because it illustrates this ugly human tendency, and we often fall into this trap also, of defining for ourselves this “inferior other.” A group of people on which we can look down our noses at, that we can say to ourselves, “well, at least I’m not like ‘those’ people.” I was doing it, when I first heard the Vice President’s comment, and I had to catch myself. I’m sure you’ve done it on occasions yourselves.

And my use of current politics to illustrate this is not coincidental. My first illustration with our Vice President and his progressive detractors shows that neither side is terribly saintly in regards to this. But there are also plenty of examples in the current race for the presidency. We are the midst of history, with an African-American and a gentleman in his 70s, and up until recently a woman all in this race. All three of them have commented, either directly or through their surrogates, that they may not be getting a completely fair shake. Obama’s camp has complained of racism. Hillary’s of sexism. And McCain has had to deflect questions of his age.

Now much of that is hyperbole, exaggerated so each can play a bit of the victim in the campaign, but in truth, none of them are completely off base, are they?

They have been defined, at various points, as that “inferior other.” I’m not going to vote for Obama because he’s black, or because he has a Moslem name. I’m not going to vote for Hillary because she’s a woman. Not McCain because he’s too old. Most people are not so crass as to voice such thoughts aloud, but they have thought it.

And there are more than a few who have been crass enough to say such things aloud. What a load of garbage. I wish we were beyond this, that we can simply judge candidates for office by their positions on the issues, and that we can judge our fellow human beings by the quality of their character alone, and not on such petty things as what color their skin is, or how old they are.

But we’re not there, are we? We’re always defining that other, that persons or persons against whom we are the superior, we’re the better. And we divide ourselves from our fellow human beings. White from black. Man from woman. Young from old. Republican from Democrat. American from foreigner. Christian from Moslem. Protestant from Catholic. Outlander from hillbilly. And so forth and so on. We define these others as our lesser and then act accordingly.

First, it’s just ridicule and mockery. But if we let our baser natures get the better of us, it devolves quickly. From ridicule to discrimination, and from discrimination to persecution. From persecution to violence and murder. How much blood has been shed throughout the centuries because one group decided the best way to deal with “those people” was to wipe them from the face of the Earth? The nightmare of the Holocaust was only different from much of history by matter of degrees, and we would be naïve if we were to believe something like it could never happen again.

As Christians, we should be above all this. Jesus is. For proof of that, we have our Gospel lesson for today. Within it, three encounters with “those people.”

The first is with the tax collector Matthew. Certainly, in those days, one of those people, a collaborator with the hated Roman government. Jesus sees him and walks over and says to him, “Follow me. Become a disciple.” And Matthew does. And so exited is he over this invitation that he asks Jesus to dinner and he brings all his friends, all his fellow outcasts. Well, this scene upsets the establishment, the “good people,” the Pharisees. Jesus puts them in their place by stating his mission clearly. “I have come not to call the righteous, but sinners.”

But while this is happening, one those “good people” comes to Jesus, probably while he’s still sitting there at table. A leader of the synagogue practically throws himself at Jesus’ feet, “Please come. My daughter has died.”

Now Jesus could have looked on this man and seen yet another of his detractors, another of those Pharisees who were proving such a pain in the rear to his ministry.

After all, he just said he’s not here for the righteous people. But Jesus knows better. He knows this man is not as righteous as he may claim, that he is, like all of us, a sinner and in need of a savior. Pharisee or no, Synagogue leader or no, Jesus sees a person in need, and so he gets up and he goes.

His journey is interrupted by a woman, another outcast. Already regarded as an inferior in their society by her gender, she has the added burden of being declared unclean because of her ailment. Because of these realities, she feels she cannot approach Jesus directly, but instead reaches out to merely touch him.

Again, Jesus could have ignored her. Probably not the first time someone has bumped into him in a crowd, or grabbed at his clothes. But Jesus knows her purpose, knows that her contact is no mere accident, and he turns, looks her in the eye, and says, “Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well.”

Daughter, he calls her. Daughter of whom? Daughter of God. Child of God.

Who are we really? White? Black? Young? Old? Man? Woman? West Virginian? Outlander? We create these labels, base them upon certain biological and sociological realities and then use them to divide us one from another. Is that who we really are? A label given to us by someone else? Or is it more accurate to say that we are children of God, fallen from our imago dei origins, fallen into sin and now in need of a savior.

That is the only reality that truly matters to God. Not what label we give or receive and all the prejudices and judgments we give and receive accordingly. Jesus came to call sinners and all children of God back into the kingdom. He shows this by his actions and reactions to these three people in these stories. He shows this in countless other examples in his life, and then by the example of his death and resurrection, once for all humanity. To save all of us, regardless of labels, regardless of who’s in and who’s out, good people or ‘those people,’ God seeks to save them all. Christ came for them all.

Came, died, and rose again for all of us. You, me, and all of humanity. Amen.