FRIEND OF FLOPS
As Jesus was going down the road, he saw Matthew sitting at his tax-collection booth. 'Come, be my disciple,' Jesus said to him. So Matthew got up and followed him. (Matt 9:9).
The surprise in this invitation is the one invited -- a tax collector. Greedy embezzlers, combining audacity of an ambulance-chasing lawyer and the cowardice of a drive-by sniper, add a pimp's morality and add the drug peddler's code of ethics and what do you have? A first-century tax collector.
According to the Jews, these guys ranked barely above plankton on the food chain. Caesar permitted these Jewish citizen to tax almost anything -- your boat, the fish you caught, your house, your crops. As long as Caesar got his due, they could keep the rest.
Matthew was a public tax collector. Private ones hired other people to do the dirty work. Public publicans, like Matthew, just pulled their limo into the slums and set up shop.
You can bet he was shunned. The neighborhood cookouts? Never invited. High-school reunion? Somehow his name was left off the list. The guy was avoided like H1N1 virus. Everybody kept a distance.
Everyone except Jesus. "'Come, be my disciple,' Jesus said to him. So Matthew got up and followed him."
Within a punctuation mark, Matthew's shady friends and Jesus' green followers are swapping e-mail addresses. "Then Matthew gave a big dinner for Jesus at his house. Many tax collectors and other people were eating there, too" (Luke 5:29).
Can you picture the feeling of Matthew at that time? Let's try to imagine a little. I can see Matthew going back to his office to pack up. His coworkers start asking questions.
"What's up, Matt? Headed on a cruise?"
Matthew doesn't know how to answer. He mumbles something about a job change. But as he reaches the door, he pauses. Holding his box full of office supplies, he looks back. They're giving him sad, puzzled look.
He feels a lump in his throat. Oh, these guys aren't much. Parents warn their kids about this sort. Salty language, bad morals. But a friend is a friend. Yet what can he do? Invite them to meet Jesus? Yeah right. It's like telling them to tune in to the religious channel on TV.
So, not knowing what else to do, he shrug his shoulders and gives them a nod. "These stupid allergies," he says, rubbing the mist from one eye.
Later that day the same thing happens. He goes to the bar to settle up his account. The decoration is seedy, smoky place with pool table and a jukebox in the corner. Not much for the country club, but for Matthew, it's his home on the way home. And when he tells the owner he's moving on, the bartender responds, "Whoa, Matt. What's comin' down?"
Matthew mumbles an excuse about a transfer but leaves with an empty feeling in his gut.
Later on he meets up with Jesus at a diner and shares his problem. "It's my buddies -- you know, the guys at the office. And the fellows at the bar."
"What about them?" Jesus asked.
"Well, we kinda run together, you know. I'm gonna miss them. Take Josh -- he's slick, but he visits orphans on Sunday. And Bruno at the gym? Can crunch you like a roach, but I've never had a better friend."
Jesus motions for him to go on, "What's the problem?"
"Well, I'm gonna miss those guys. I mean, I've got nothing against John or John, Jesus...but they're Sunday morning, and I'm Saturday night. I've got my own circle, ya know?"
Jesus starts to smile and shake his head. "Matthew, Matthew, you think I came to quarantine you? Following me doesn't mean forgetting your friends. Just the opposite. I want to meet them."
"Are you serious? But Jesus, those guys...half of them are on parole, and they have not gone to synagogue since..."
"I'm not talking about a religious service, Matthew. Let me ask you -- what do you like to do? Bowl? Play Monopoly? How's your golf game?"
Matthew's eyes brighten. "You ought to see me cook. I get on steaks like a whale on Jonah."
"Perfect!" Jesus smiles. "Then throw a little going away party. Get the gang together."
Matthew's all over it. Calling the caterer, his housekeeper, his secretary. "Get the word out, Sara. Drinks and dinner at my house tonight. Tell the guys to come and bring a date."
And so Jesus ends up at Matthew's house, a classy split-level with a view of the Sea of Galilee. Parked out front is everything from BMWs to Harleys to limos. And the crowd inside tells you this is anything but a clergy conference.
Earrings on the guys and tattoos on the girls. Music that rumbles teeth roots. And buzzing around in the middle of the group is Matthew, making more connections than an electrician. He hooks up Peter with the tax collector bass club and Martha with the kitchen staff. Simon the Zealot meets a high-school debate partner. And Jesus? Beaming. What could be better? Sinners and saints in the same room, and no one's trying to determine who is which. But and hour or so into the evening the door opens, and an icy breeze blows in. "The Pharisees and the men who taught the law for the Pharisees began to complain to Jesus' followers. 'Why do you eat and drink with the tax collectors and sinners?'" (Luke 5:30).
Enter the religious police. Big black books under arms. Clerical collars so tight that veins bulge. They like to grill too. But not steaks.
Matthew is the first to feel the heat. "Some religious fellow you are," one says, practically pulling an eyebrow muscle. "Look at the people you hang out with."
Matthew doesn't know whether to get mad or get out. Before he has time to choose, Jesus intervenes, explaining that Matthew is right where he needs to be. "Healthy people don't need a doctor -- sick people do. I have come to call sinners to turn from their sins, not to spend my time with those who think they are already good enough" (Luke 5:31-32).
Quite a story. Matthew goes from double-dealer to disciple. He throws a party that makes the religious right uptight, but Christ proud. The good guys look good, and the bad guys hit the road. Some story indeed.
What do we do with it?
That depends on which side of the tax collector's table you find yourself. You and I are Matthew. Don't look at me that way. There's enough hustler in the best of us to qualify for Matthew's table. Maybe you've never taken taxes, but you've taken liberty with the truth, taken credit that wasn't yours, taken advantage of the weak. You and me? Matthew.
If you're still at the table, you receive an invitation. "Follow me." So what if you've got a bad reputation? So did Matthew. You may end up writing your own gospel.
If you've left the table, you receive a clarification. You don't have to be weird to follow Jesus. You don't have to stop liking your friends to follow him. Just the opposite. A few introduction would be nice. Isn't that exactly what I'm doing right now, sharing with you these stories?
Christ followers mustn't walk with heads held so high that you can't see the road anymore. And we shouldn't lower standards either. We should be nice. Normal and nice. Discipleship is sometimes defined by being normal.
A woman in a small Arkansas community was a single mom with a frail baby. Her neighbor would stop by every few days and keep the child so she could shop. After some weeks her neighbor shared more than time; she shared her faith, and the woman did what Matthew did. She followed Christ.
The friends of the young mother objected. "Do you know what those people teach?" they contested.
"Here is what I know," she told them. "They held my baby."
I think Jesus loves that kind of answer, don't you?
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