We didn’t go in. Of course we didn’t.

There are lines you don’t cross. Places you don’t sit. People you don’t eat with. Everyone knows that.

So we stood outside where guests were spilling out onto the porch. Close enough to see through the doorway. Far enough to remain… clean.

The room was full.

Too full.

Tax collectors. Sinners.
The kind of people who make a place unfit just by being there.

And at the center of it—Him.

Sitting. Eating.
As if nothing was wrong.

Doesn’t He know who these people are?

Of course He knew. That’s what made it worse.

He wasn’t being tricked.
He wasn’t unaware.
He chose this table.

We asked one His followers:
“Why does your teacher eat with people like this?”

It was a fair question. A necessary one.

Because if this is what holiness looks like—
then everything we’ve built to protect it starts to come undone.

Inside, they were laughing.
Actually laughing.

One of them—Matthew—was leaning forward, listening like his life depended on it. It did, because he had decided to drop everything and follow this renegade teacher. This was his house—his going away party.

 And the others…

They didn’t look guarded.
They didn’t look ashamed.
They looked… at ease. At home.

That was the most unsettling part.
Not that He was there.
But that they were comfortable with Him.
As if they belonged.

Then He answered the question. That in itself was unsettling. He couldn’t possibly have heard me. Yet He answered as if He had. And I swear He looked through the open door right at me:

“Healthy people don’t need a doctor. Sick people do.”

There it was.
A simple explanation.
Too simple.

At first, I felt justified.

Yes, I thought. Exactly. They’re the sick ones.

But then He kept speaking.

“I have not come to call those who think they are righteous… but those who know they are sinners.”

And something in that sentence… shifted everything.

Because suddenly, the question wasn’t about them.
It was about me. Am I a sinner? Or one who thinks he is righteous?

We had built our lives around staying on the right side of the table.

Clean.
Separate.
Certain.

We knew who belonged—and who didn’t.

That’s how you keep things straight.

That’s how you protect what matters.

But He didn’t guard the table.
He expanded it.

No—more than that.
He redefined it.

Inside, there was no sorting.
No quiet ranking of worthiness.
No careful distancing.

Just a table.
And seats filled with people who didn’t know exactly why they were there.

And outside—
we stood.

Certain.
Careful.
Unmoved.

But not untouched.

Because if He was right…
If the table wasn’t for the deserving…
If it wasn’t reserved for the ones who had it together…
Then something else had to be true.

There might be a seat inside—
we didn’t think we needed.

I looked again through the doorway.

At the table.
At the faces.
At Him.

And for the first time, I wondered:
Not why He was sitting with them?

But why wasn’t I?

And maybe that’s still the Question.

Some stand at the table.
Some sit at it.
Some stay just outside—watching, measuring, deciding.

But the table remains.

Not controlled.
Not guarded.
Not reserved for the ones who think they belong.

It’s open.

And even now—
there’s a place at the table.

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 of welcome–grace turned outward–to everybody everywhere. We must band together in these critical days and be awake and alert to the truth with so many false teachers around. Becoming a MemberPartner will help you do that.

MemberPartners are holding a place at the table for you.

It’s time to
👉 Become a MemberPartner

(To become a MemberPartner, click above and sign up for a monthly donation of $20 or more.)

👉 Questions? Write to me privately: [email protected]