Jesus’ choice to eat with tax collectors wasn’t a polite outreach effort – it was a radical act of solidarity with society’s most complicit. Tax collectors weren’t just “sinners” but active participants in systemic oppression, collaborators with Rome’s violent occupation. By calling Matthew and sharing a meal, Jesus redefined mercy as more than pity for victims – it meant confronting perpetrators with transformative relationship. This mercy unsettled the Pharisees’ sense of justice, exposing how our categories of “deserving” often protect our own moral superiority. True grace disrupts the systems that let us feel safely righteous. [28:15]
“As Jesus passed on from there, he saw a man called Matthew sitting at the tax booth, and he said to him, ‘Follow me.’ And he rose and followed him. And as Jesus reclined at table in the house, behold, many tax collectors and sinners came and were reclining with Jesus and his disciples.” (Matthew 9:9-10, ESV)
Reflection: Who do you instinctively label as “complicit” or “beyond redemption” in our world? How might Jesus’ disruptive table fellowship challenge that categorization?
Tax collectors weren’t cartoon villains but people caught in systems of exploitation – both victims of Roman oppression and perpetrators against their neighbors. Jesus’ mercy acknowledges this complexity, refusing to reduce anyone to their worst choices. The Pharisees’ outrage reveals how trauma (like living under empire) can calcify into rigid moral binaries that dehumanize others. God’s justice sees beyond our roles as oppressor or oppressed to our shared need for liberation from cycles of harm. [33:36]
“Tax collectors also came to be baptized and said to John, ‘Teacher, what shall we do?’ And he said to them, ‘Collect no more than you are authorized to do.’” (Luke 3:12-13, ESV)
Reflection: When have you been both victim and perpetrator in a broken system? How might this dual reality soften your judgments of others?
The Pharisees’ anger wasn’t petty – it mirrored our visceral reaction when abusers go unpunished. Jesus’ response (“I desire mercy, not sacrifice”) reframes justice not as balancing scales but healing relationships. This stings because it confronts our desire for retribution, our secret hope that someone will pay for the harm done. Yet God’s mercy doesn’t ignore sin – it absorbs the cost through Christ’s cross, making restoration possible without minimizing wrongs. [30:16]
“For I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings. But like Adam they transgressed the covenant; there they dealt faithlessly with me.” (Hosea 6:6-7, ESV)
Reflection: What unresolved hurt makes you crave punishment over restoration? How might Christ’s cross both validate your pain and challenge your vision of justice?
Buechner’s metaphor of justice as a house’s structure and mercy as the life within it reshapes our either/or thinking. The Pharisees saw only collapsing walls when Jesus dined with Matthew; Jesus saw a home being built. God’s justice provides boundaries that make mercy possible – not leniency, but space for transformation. Our limited perspective often mistakes structural repair (punishment) for the ultimate goal, missing God’s deeper work of making all things new. [31:25]
“Do not judge by appearances, but judge with right judgment.” (John 7:24, ESV)
Reflection: Where are you demanding God tear down “walls” (justice) when He might be nurturing “rain” (mercy) inside them? What hidden growth might He be fostering?
Reverend Jimenez’s forgiveness of his son’s killer embodies Jesus’ call to “learn what this means.” Restorative justice isn’t weakness – it’s the harder work of holding accountability and grace together. Like Christ with Matthew, it says “What you did matters” and “Who you’re becoming matters more.” This path transforms both offender and victim, refusing to let evil have the final word by writing new stories of redemption. [36:27]
“Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.” (Colossians 3:12-13, ESV)
Reflection: Where are you clinging to retribution in your relationships or society? What first step could you take toward restorative curiosity instead?
Jesus calls Matthew in the thick of scandal. The line, follow me, lands not on a harmless outsider but on a collaborator with Rome who profits from an occupied people. Matthew rises, and Jesus sits at a table full of tax collectors and sinners. The Pharisees ask the burning question anyone under the boot of empire would ask: why does he eat with them? Jesus answers with a doctor’s image and Hosea’s summons: it’s not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick; go and learn what this means, I desire mercy, not sacrifice. He has come not to call the righteous, but sinners.
The text refuses a tidy story about the “margins.” Tax collectors in Judea are not merely misunderstood. They skim off the top in a system that bleeds the poor and funds imperial luxury. Think Vichy collaborators, blood diamond dealers, sweatshop bosses. No wonder the Pharisees bristle. Their anger is the sting of real injustice, not petty prudishness. And here is the difficulty: the mercy of God sometimes feels wrong. It can look like letting people get away with it. The gut wants a reckoning. Someone should pay.
Hosea, though, pairs judgment and mercy in the same breath. Frederick Buechner’s house helps: justice is the pitch and the walls; mercy is the rain on the roof and the life inside. From God’s vantage point, mercy and justice are one thing. Only from street level does mercy to Matthew feel like injustice to those harmed. So the call is to go and learn. First, humility and curiosity about others. Sorting people into “innocent” and “guilty” flattens their stories and inflates human certainty. C. S. Lewis reminds that God judges by moral choices, not appearances. The closer the look, the clearer the truth: everyone needs healing from something and restoration for something done.
Second, shift from retributive to restorative justice. Retribution measures debt and exacts payment. Restoration seeks a repaired people. Jesus practices restoration when he calls Matthew closer. Come be my disciple. Come learn another way to live. Calling in, not calling out, creates room for transformation.
Cristobal Jimenez’s story brings this home. A father meets the boy who killed his son and chooses mercy that costs. Forgiveness becomes freedom, not denial. It rebuilds a life that could have been thrown away. That is mercy, not sacrifice. What good is so-called justice if it wastes another son and chains another father in resentment? The call of Jesus holds mercy and justice together, opening a path where Pharisees, tax collectors, and sinners can all be made new. Follow me. And Matthew got up and followed him.
What good is it for anyone if giving someone what they deserve also leaves you trapped in resentment? But restorative justice opens the door for something good to come out of what had previously only been tragic. That's what Jesus was inviting Matthew to become a part of when he called him from his booth, a life that holds mercy and justice together, one that paves the way for transformation for all of us, pharisees, tax collectors, and sinners alike. Follow me, Jesus told him. And Matthew got up and followed him.
[00:37:15]
(41 seconds)
#MercyAndRestoration
So you see, when Jesus is hanging out with tax collectors and sinners, he's not showing kindness to a group of misunderstood civil servants. He was partying with Nazi sympathizers in Vichy, France. He was sitting down to dinner with blood diamond dealers. He was passing the bread and pouring the wine for the man running a child labor sweatshop in China. Imagine the last time you heard a news story about something that really upset you. Whoever was the bad guy in that story for you, that's who Jesus was inviting to become a member of his inner circle.
[00:28:05]
(38 seconds)
#JesusWelcomesAll
In this story, it's the pharisees who have been oppressed. And to them and everyone else who had suffered under the brutality of Roman rule, when Jesus called a tax collector to be his disciple, he was rewarding behavior that was so wrong and unfair that it makes your blood boil just to think about it. So of course, the pharisees were upset. Their question is not the petty finger wagging of a bunch of killjoys. It's the very real outrage that we feel when we witness something wrong.
[00:28:43]
(32 seconds)
#RighteousOutrage
Secondly, forgiveness is a huge tenant of my faith. I couldn't say that I'm a practicing Christian if I can't forgive. It was the hardest thing I ever did. Don't ever think that forgiving someone for putting your little boy in the ground is ever going to be easy, but it sure was freeing. That's what Jesus means when he says, I desire mercy, not sacrifice. What good is it to anyone if the supposed justice for one boy's death is the total waste and sacrifice of another boy's life?
[00:36:40]
(35 seconds)
#ForgivenessHeals
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