When I was a teenager, I spent three summers on the road in a touring worship band called New Way. Auditions were held every fall at the state youth convention. Then, the following July, after a week of rehearsal bootcamp, the band – teenage singers, brass players, a drummer, guitarist, bassist, and keyboard player – packed into a charter bus – and the tour began.
For two or three weeks, our friendly bus driver hauled us over more than a thousand miles of Florida highway. One year, we even went all the way up to Nashville to participate in the national youth convention.
Our venues were churches. We played at little churches in the swampland of central Florida; big churches in West Palm Beach and Sarasota; old churches in Jacksonville and Tallahassee; and the school cafeterias and auditoriums of church plants in Tampa, rural Alabama, and beyond. The premise seems pretty glamourous for just a regular kid from Florida. But there were many cost-saving measures.
For one, kids were split into work committees: Some unloaded baggage, some were roadies, some ironed the concert uniforms, some organized the snacks, and still others were on a prayer team. One year I was the head of the ironing committee…and that’s why I don’t iron anymore!
But the most impactful thing we did on the road was rely on the “hospitality of strangers.” At each venue church, a group of parishioners prepared the welcome meal. Then, after the concert, we were split into small groups to be housed at the parishioners’ homes.
The number one rule of New Way was to accept hospitality without complaining. No matter if the food tasted like mothballs, or the bedding was scratchy. Whether the parishioner talked your ear off, smelled funny, woke you up too early, or made you your least favorite breakfast – the only acceptable response was, “thank you.”
We were at their mercy – and sometimes it felt like a sacrifice. But in the end, what I learned from all these peculiar people with their peculiar lives was that accepting hospitality is just as important as giving it. Because, in the act of accepting hospitality, you humble yourself for long enough to really honor the giver’s intention – their heart, their sacrifice, and their dignity.
“Thank you” says, “You have been a blessing to me.” Warts and all.
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In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus invites Matthew, a tax collector, to join his new way. Unlike many of Jesus’ followers, Matthew is not poor or marginalized in the typical sense. As an employee of Rome, he has higher civic status than most of his Jewish community. And the nature of his job means that he can set his own fee when he collects taxes and that commission he collects likely makes him a rich man. But these two aspects of his job make his community distrust him.
As scholar Danny Zacharias points out:
“…tax collectors were viewed as traitors within Jewish society. Working for Rome, they were associated with economic oppression, often collecting excessive taxes to benefit the empire and themselves. Matthew’s presence at a tax booth signifies his active role in this system—yet Jesus sees him, calls him, and invites him into his circle” (Working Preacher).
As Christians, we talk a lot about welcoming everyone and caring for everyone. But, oftentimes, I think the “everyone” in our mental image is someone who looks nothing like Matthew. When we think about who needs to be cared for, we often think of the sick, the poor, and the homeless.
But Jesus makes clear in his calling of Matthew that “all are welcome, no exceptions.” In other words, you don’t have to have the right identity or credentials in order for Jesus to seek you out. He will always seek you out – the way the world sees and judges you doesn’t change his mind.
Matthew’s identity as a tax collector is already a remarkable part of this story. But it doesn’t stop there…
As soon as Matthew drops everything to follow Jesus, the narrative jumps ahead to a shared dinner at someone’s house. While the text isn’t super clear on exactly whose house it is, most scholars believe that Matthew isn’t dining at Jesus’ house. Jesus is actually dining at Matthew’s house.
It would have been scandalous enough for Jesus to simply hang around Matthew. But receiving food and drink from Matthew is a bridge too far for their community.
As scholar Andrew McGowan puts it:
“…in dining with prosperous sinners, Jesus takes the more vulnerable position of guest. Scrupulous, observant Jewish diners would have been concerned about receiving food or drink from those liable to be impure, because their own ritual status would be at risk. It was not problematic in the same way to share one’s own (pure) food” (Andrew’s Version).
Because Matthew was involved in a lifestyle seen as impure by his community, they thought this impurity would basically “rub off on” others. In choosing to go to Matthew’s house anyway – and in choosing to accept his peculiar hospitality – Jesus is not just saying, “I tolerate you” or even “I accept you.”
He is looking at this lonely rich man and saying something no one ever says to a tax collector: “Thank you. You are a blessing to me.”
Can you imagine the sheer relief Matthew must have felt in Jesus’ acceptance of his dinner invitation? That this holy man would dare to have something of Matthew “rub off on” him? That Jesus would look past the gossip and the dirty glances, risking his own reputation, to be at the mercy of a lonely tax collector?
I imagine that Matthew’s initial acceptance of Jesus’ invitation to “follow him” was a self-conscious one. What if those who witnessed his faithful response thought he was doing it just for show? What if they dismissed him the way we sometimes dismiss people as “not a real Christian” – because his life was so different from their own?
When Jesus “deigns to be his guest” – as the Easter hymn says – he frees Matthew from self-consciousness, by taking him seriously. He becomes a part of Matthew’s household. And, in this, he recognizes his God-given dignity.
And this is what Jesus still does for us.
…Where do you see yourself in this story?
Are you like Matthew, beaten down by others’ judgment, but still working up the courage to say “yes” to his call? Are you like his community, trying to protect a God who doesn’t need protection, by determining who is in and who is out? Are you like Jesus, ready to humble yourself to accept love and care from someone who is different from you?
Do you trust that God will make you family anyway?
The beauty of God’s family is that everyone is invited to the table. Rich and poor, young and old – no matter your gender, your appearance, your profession, your identity, or your language. Jesus sees your heart, open in hospitality, and he wants to come to the potluck.
He wants to join you. He wants bless you, so that you may be a blessing. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Amen.
Leah Wise 