Do you know what it’s like to be told that you’re worthless…

useless…

and unwanted;

a parasite…

or a waste of space?

And to be told that over, and over again.

So often…

that you can’t help but believe it;

that you begin to see yourself that way.

Do you know what it’s like to feel excluded;

to be left out;

to be shunned;

to be a social pariah;

pointed at by small children;

avoided by decent folk;

the butt of jokes;

and the object of stares and whispers?

Do you know what it’s like to be dehumanised and demonised;

to become a topic of debate;

to be spoken of as a “social issue”;

as a “problem” that needs fixing;

or an illness that needs treating?

And people forget that you’re still a person.

A person who feels pain.

A person who longs for companionship;

And who yearns to be loved.

 

Well… that was my experience.

Simply because I was a tax-collector.

People detest us—

because we’re thought to be utterly dishonest;

no better than thieves and burglars.

But it’s not like I’m rolling in it.

In fact, I actually don’t make much at all—

scarcely enough to live on.

I only add a small surcharge on top of what I’m required to collect.

And that’s all I get.

Full-stop.

It’s those higher up the chain that do well out of it.

Yes, it’s a corrupt system.

I mean…

it’s not like all these taxes and tolls are collected for the community’s benefit…

and poured back into public works or services.

No!

It’s just an exercise in revenue raising for the rich and powerful:

for the Emperor;

for King Herod;

and for all those uppity rich folk down in Jerusalem.

But us lowly tax-collectors are the public face of it all.

We’re the ones who cop the abuse:

treated as thieves—

part of a corrupt system—

and as collaborators with the Romans.

But no one sets out to become a tax-collector.

It’s not something you aspire to be as a kid.

It’s not something you choose as a career path.

For most of us, it’s because we can’t do anything else;

because we’ve lost our land and livelihood;

aren’t any good at a trade or a craft;

and not strong enough to do other manual labour.

I mean, what was I supposed to do?

Starve?

Or should I have actually turn to thieving and burglary—

like old Caleb over here…

the one sitting and facing the door…

with the wizened face…

and the scar across his cheek.

 

Just look around this room— 

full of people, just like me.

People on the fringes.

People who don’t belong.

People who are despised by ordinary, “decent” folk;

and railed at by the righteous.

Labelled “sinners”—

because the religious folk think that we’re lax;

because we don’t behave in the way that they expect… or demand…

and we don’t follow their rules…

or live up to their standards;

because we can’t afford to offer the appropriate sacrifices;

or give ten percent of everything we earn to the Temple;

or we can’t go to the Temple or synagogue…

and go through all the proper rituals…

because we can’t get time off work;

or, simply, because we’re made to feel unworthy and unwelcome…

like we don’t have a right to be there…

given our occupations…

or something we’ve done.

Even if it was something about which we had no choice.

I mean…

look at Deborah, over there, the woman near the window…

in the cheap wig…

and wearing far too much make-up for someone her age.

Some years back, her husband was killed one night.

In a storm, out at sea, while he was fishing—

along with his father and brother.

She was left all alone…

still nursing her son…

with no one to support her.

Let’s face it, what choice did she have? 

What else could she do?

I mean, I doubt she ever dreamed of becoming a prostitute. 

But now she’s simply labelled a “sinner”…

and treated like a non-person.

Or Demetrius, the Greek merchant…

the one next to Deborah… 

in the bright red tunic…

with black hair and an earring…

who’s shunned because he’s a foreigner…

and he practices another religion.

 

But here we all are… 

a motley assortment of tax collectors…

thieves…

prostitutes…

money-lenders…

and foreigners.

Social outcasts and “sinners” in the eyes of society.

 

And yet… this is not just an ordinary gathering.

Not by any means.

Not this time.

Because this time, Matthew—

another tax collector—

had a special guest he’d invited home for dinner.

A surprising guest, really.

The sort of person who we’d never have expected in our midst—

sharing our food and wine;

sharing our company.

The sort of person who we would’ve expected to avoid us;

to look down his nose at us;

to treat us as non-entities;

to treat us like dirt;

to call us names;

to call us “sinners”;

and make us feel guilty… unworthy… or worthless.

But he didn’t.

Here he was sharing our table…

without ranting, raving, lecturing or preaching at us;

without any sense of embarrassment or ill-ease;

sharing our food and wine;

sharing our company,

and… seemingly… enjoying it.

 

Well… those outside were clearly none too pleased about it all!

We could see them through the window…

and outside the door.

A group of respectable, religious types…

in their sensible sandals and colourless cloaks.

Pacing up and down.

Muttering away to themselves.

Going bright red in the face and shaking their heads.

Periodically emitting an audible clicking of the tongue. 

Or sighing deeply.

After a while, though, it clearly became too much for them.

The mutters grew louder…

until they were quite audible to all of us inside:

“Why does this fellow eat with tax-collectors and sinners?”

At that, a couple of the fellow’s followers went outside—

probably to try to quieten them down a bit;

or, perhaps, to suggest politely that they move along.

But the respectable, religious types seemed to become only more agitated.

And all but screamed at them:

“Why does your teacher eat with tax-collectors and sinners?

The volume in the room also increased…

perhaps in an effort to drown them out…

or simply to pretend that we couldn’t hear.

But he stood up…

and went and stood in the open doorway.

You could have heard a pin drop—

even on these floors! 

“Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice’. For I have come to call not the righteous but sinners”.

“Wow!”— 

I thought—

“I desire mercy, not sacrifice”.

Like…

the rules can never become more important than people;

that what really matters in the end is treating people with kindness and love—

no matter what society might think of them or how it might label them;

no matter who they are;

no matter what they do…

or what they have done;

regardless of whether they “deserve it” or not;

Regardless of whether they’re able to change.

And that’s more important than any religious observance.

Wow!

Imagine… 

what would the world be like…

if other religious folk thought like this fellow!

Imagine… 

what would it be like…

if God treated us like that, too!