We heard about Him before we ever met Him.
Hard not to. Everywhere He went, something happened. People got healed. Storms stopped. Demons left like they’d just been fired.
And then one day… Matthew left. Just got up from his booth. No warning. No explanation. One minute collecting taxes, the next—gone.
You don’t do that job unless you’ve already accepted being hated. You don’t walk away from it unless something—someone—is worth more. We all assumed he’d lost his mind.
Then came the invitation. Dinner at Matthew’s house. His going away party?
That alone was strange. Matthew didn’t host dinners. People didn’t come to Matthew’s house unless they were like us—or had no better options.
But this time it was different. Matthew said, “He’s coming.” We knew who he meant.
That teacher. The one everyone was talking about.
So we showed up. Of course we did. Curiosity alone would have dragged us in. That, and the quiet hope none of us would admit out loud.
Maybe this would be different.
The room was full. The usual crowd—tax collectors, a few “known sinners,” the kind of people others cross the street to avoid.
But then there was them too—his disciples. They didn’t look comfortable. Honestly, neither did we.
And then He walked in. No hesitation. No scanning the room like He’d made a mistake. He just… came in. And sat down. With us.
You ever have someone look at you like they already know your story—and don’t flinch? That was Him. No tightening of the jaw. No polite distance. No subtle shift at the table.
Just presence. Like we belonged there… and so did He.
We tried to act normal. Talked a little louder than usual. Laughed too quickly. Someone made a joke that didn’t land. But underneath it all, there was this question hanging in the air: Why is He here?
We knew what people said about us tax collectors. We’d heard it enough. Traitors. Thieves. Sellouts. They weren’t entirely wrong. So what was He doing at our table?
The answer came from outside the room. They didn’t come in. The religious ones. They stood at a distance—close enough to see, far enough not to be associated.
“Why does your teacher eat with people like this?” They said to one of His disciples. People like this. We didn’t need to hear the rest. We knew what we were.
But He heard it. And He answered. Not to them, really… to us: “Healthy people don’t need a doctor. Sick people do.”
There was a pause. You could feel it. Not an insult. Not a condemnation.
A diagnosis.
And strangely… it felt like relief. Because finally, someone was telling the truth about us—without turning away.
Then He said something that hit the religious leaders right between the eyes: “I didn’t come for people who think they’re righteous. I came for people who know they’re not.”
And just that fast, everything shifted. The room didn’t feel like a hiding place anymore. It felt like a waiting room. And He wasn’t avoiding me and my friends.
He was there for us. He came for me?
I don’t remember much else about the meal. What we ate. What we said. But I remember this: For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I had to defend myself. Or explain myself. Or pretend. I just sat there. At the table. With Him.
And somewhere between the bread and the silence, I started to wonder: If He’s not ashamed to sit with us… maybe I didn’t have to be ashamed to be me.
[Tomorrow, “The Pharisee”]
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Sinner or Pharisee
We’ve got both. And everything in between. And we are all seeking to keep our faith on fire and our hearts bent on introducing the gospel–grace turned outward–to everybody everywhere. We must band together in this critical time and be awake and alert to the truth with so many false teachers around. Becoming a MemberPartner will help you dothat.
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