We focus today on the call of Levi,
also known as Matthew. Now, before we
delve into this story, it’s important to say a few things about Levi’s chosen
profession. Levi was a tax
collector. To you and I, this doesn’t
sound entirely objectionable. While we
all make occasional jokes about the IRS and do not enjoy giving them large sums
of money, I don’t think we harbor grievances against all those who work there.
Ancient Jerusalem worked a little
differently. See, Rome was reviled as an
invading army, but they had the Roman army, so people had to do what Rome
said. Rome also needed to collect taxes,
but rather than send people from Rome to Jerusalem, they hired Jews to do this
for them. So any Jew who elected to work
for Rome was choosing to be employed by the occupying army. They were reviled as traitors. Also, they were given free rein to collect as
much as they wanted. As long as Rome got
their cut, they didn’t care how much extra the tax collectors picked up. So tax collectors were notoriously corrupt,
but people had to comply, because the tax collectors had the Roman army at
their beck and call. No one liked tax
collectors.
It’s important to understand
this. In our story today, tax collectors
even get their own special category.
They’re not just ‘sinners’, like everyone else—the sinners don’t look so
bad when compared to tax collectors. No
one of good repute would be associated with tax collectors. They’d probably cross the street if they saw
one coming. When people thought of the
Kingdom of God, they may have had some questions, but I’m sure they didn’t
expect tax collectors to be associated.
With that knowledge tucked in the
back of our minds, let’s dive into Mark 2:13-17.
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Mark 2:13-17
Mark 2:13-17
13 He went out again beside the
sea, and all the crowd was coming to him, and he was teaching them. 14 And as
he passed by, he saw Levi the son of Alphaeus sitting at the tax booth, and he
said to him, “Follow me.” And he rose and followed him.
15 And as he reclined at table in
his house, many tax collectors and sinners were reclining with Jesus and his
disciples, for there were many who followed him. 16 And the scribes of the
Pharisees, when they saw that he was eating with sinners and tax collectors,
said to his disciples, “Why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners?” 17
And when Jesus heard it, he said to them, “Those who are well have no need of a
physician, but those who are sick. I came not to call the righteous, but
sinners.”
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How many of you passed a fast food
restaurant on the way here? How many did
you pass? Did you pay attention? Or did you notice the billboards that line
Shallowford Road?
I imagine you saw them—they’re hard
to miss. But the question is how much
attention did you pay to them? We’ve all
seen them so many times that we don’t pay much attention to them. They’re like commercials on television—your brain
is so accustomed to being shouted at that it turns down the attention whenever
they come on. We see, but we don’t
really see.
Now, this isn’t too much of a
problem for us. It’s not like we’re
missing anything. But the problem
results when we start to act this way around people. It’s easy to do—we pass by so many people in
a given day that we can’t possibly spend in depth time with all of them. Also, we’re often so wrapped up in our own
lives and busy-ness that we don’t really pay attention to them. Anymore most people you see have their faces
buried in some sort of device anyway.
It’s easy to pass by people without
truly seeing them. We don’t notice when
their faces are contorted by grief, or when their souls are heavy with
troubles. We don’t see them when they
are consumed by joy or want to share some good news. We’re so wrapped up in ourselves that we fail
to see people.
Jesus, however, didn’t have this
problem. He saw people, and when he
looked he saw more than just a human shape.
He instantly was able to see their needs and desires, to recognize them
as the individual child of God that they are, to treasure and celebrate
them. So in an age when most people
would have passed by the tax collector with little more than a sneer, Jesus saw
Levi, and he went to him.
Now, this is all relatively simple
narrative, but it’s so important for us to notice the little things. Jesus went to Levi. He didn’t wait for Levi to recognize who he
was and then come to Jesus. He didn’t
sit back and hope that Levi got it all sorted out so that he could approach the
throne of grace. Levi, in the midst of
his tax collecting, was approached by Jesus.
In the same way, Jesus comes to
us. He sees us for who we truly are,
sons and daughters of God, and he comes to us.
He notices each and every one of us, and he approaches us. He doesn’t coldly sit back and hope we sort
it all out—he reaches out in love to us.
He initiates our life of faith and beckons us into the waters of discipleship. He invites.
We, like the tax collector, may be in the midst of sin, but Jesus still
comes to us. We don’t have to be perfect
or ready for the call—we just have to be willing to hear it.
So Jesus comes to us, just as he
came to Levi, and invites him to follow.
Levi, we read, gets up and
follows. Just like that. His life is disrupted.
Here we see the disruptive love of
Jesus Christ at work. When Christ calls
us, he doesn’t call us to stay the same.
He doesn’t just add to what we have—we are transformed, waken from some
half-slumber and bid to walk in the light, to experience the abundant life of
which our souls have always dreamed, often unconsciously. We are called from death into life, and it is
disruptive. The sins which we have been
carrying for so long are called to be left behind. The patterns of living for ourselves are set
down. Old habits that no longer fit are
shed so that new life can be put on. The
love of Christ is disruptive, jostling us, transforming us, and when we rise to
follow, we are never the same.
Notice, though, that all is not
left behind. As we discussed last week
with Jesus and the fishermen, Jesus wanders into our lives and transforms what
is there. In the same way, Jesus
wandered into Levi’s life and changed what was already present. When Jesus called Levi and Levi responded
with obedience, we often assume that Levi never returned to his familiar
surroundings. Instead, we see here that
Jesus is now dining in Levi’s home with all of Levi’s friends. Jesus knocks on the door and comes in, sits
down and makes himself comfortable.
Jesus longs to have an intimate relationship with us, to know us at our
deepest level, to sit down at table and dine with us. Jesus calls Levi and ends up in Levi’s house,
surrounded by his friends, and the table conversation is surely transformed by
the presence of Christ. What might have
been sinful conversation is now centered around Christ, and surely more than
one of Levi’s friends comes to understand just who the Messiah is.
Now, if it were you or I, we might
be afraid to wander into a house like Levi’s.
Surely, our reputations would be on the line. We might be afraid to be seen with someone
like Levi. We might be nervous about
what other people might think. We wouldn’t
want our spotless image to be tarnished, right?
Jesus isn’t concerned about
that. He is willing to engage with all,
regardless of what their previous choices might have been. He doesn’t worry what others might think—he sees
people for who they are, and he sees their need. He recognizes that within the brokenness we
have created is a person, made in the image of God, precious in God’s
sight. To that person, he goes.
We, too, are called to go and
love. We can’t be so worried about what the
world thinks. We can’t be so caught up
in believing that our reputations are more important than loving others. We can’t let fear prevent us from love.
The scribes and Pharisees see Jesus
eating with these sinners, and they can’t believe that the Messiah would act in
such a way. They believe the Messiah
should only be there for those who are living rightly. They can’t see that all people are in
desperate need of a Savior. They don’t
recognize their own need for a Savior.
What they really want is a Savior to show up and congratulate them for
saving themselves. Their pride prevents
them from seeing their own sin.
Jesus tells them that he hasn’t
come to call the righteous, but sinners.
At first, we may wonder what this means, for it would seem like the
righteous should be included, too. But
Jesus understands what is really at the heart of the claim of
righteousness. If we believe we can
manufacture our own righteousness, we believe that we are our own saviors. If we can save ourselves, what need have we
of Jesus?
Tax collectors and sinners easily
recognize that they cannot save themselves.
They believe they are outside the scope of religion, that their lives
are too messed up for any religious figure to care about. Jesus comes to correct that, to remind them
that it was God who crafted them, that it is God who loves them, and that it is
God who wants to save them. Sinners are
wise enough to be humble and let Jesus be Lord.
The proud want to be their own Lords.
So what will it be for you? Will you accept Christ as Lord, and recognize
that you cannot save yourself? Will you
be wise enough to be humble, to accept the love of God that does what we
cannot?
If we are willing to be this
humble, we then understand that we are led forth in humility. Once we see ourselves as sinners who need to
be saved, we are then able to understand our position as servants of
others. When we humbly see ourselves as
sinful and broken, the brokenness of others is no longer an obstacle. When we are proud, we look down on the sins
of others. When we are humble, we see
ourselves reflected in the sins of others, and we recognize our common
humanity, our unity as sinners, and how important it is that we remind each
other of the central truth of a Savior who sees us, who comes to us, and who
invites us into life everlasting.
Let us pray
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