Dinner with Tax Collector

The evening air was thick with the scent of burning olive oil lamps as Matthew, formerly known as Levi the tax collector, hurried about his spacious courtyard, directing servants in their final preparations. His home in Capernaum, built from the wealth he had accumulated during his years as a tax collector, was perhaps the largest private residence in the fishing village. Tonight, it will host the most important dinner of his life.

The sun was setting over the Sea of Galilee, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and purple. Matthew had invited not only Jesus and his fellow disciples but also many of his former colleagues—tax collectors and others whom the religious authorities deemed “sinners.” He knew this would raise eyebrows, but since the day Jesus had called him from his tax booth with those simple words, “Follow me,” Matthew had ceased to care about the opinions of those who looked down upon him.

The guests began arriving as the last rays of sunlight disappeared behind the western hills. Jesus arrived with Peter, James, and John—his closest companions—followed shortly by the other disciples. Matthew noticed how some of his old associates from the tax office shifted uncomfortably in their fine robes, uncertain of their place in this unusual gathering where holy men mingled with public sinners.

As was customary, servants brought water to wash the guests’ feet, and Matthew personally attended to Jesus, an act of hospitality that carried deep significance. Jesus looked at his host with warm appreciation, understanding the profound transformation that had occurred in Matthew’s heart since their first encounter.

“Matthew,” Jesus said softly as the former tax collector poured water over his feet, “you have prepared a feast that brings together heaven and earth.” His words carried a weight that made Matthew’s heart swell with emotion.

The tables were arranged in a U-shape, with cushions placed for reclining in the Roman style. Jesus took his place at the center, with John on his right and Peter on his left. Matthew had carefully planned the seating to ensure that his former colleagues would be close enough to hear Jesus’s words, yet not so close as to make the other disciples uncomfortable.

As the first course was served—fresh bread, olives, and fish from the nearby sea—one of Matthew’s former colleagues, a wealthy tax collector named Jairus (not to be confused with the synagogue leader of the same name), couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer.

“Rabbi,” he addressed Jesus, “I must ask: why do you choose to eat with us? Surely you know what the Pharisees say about our profession?”

Jesus took a piece of bread, dipped it in olive oil, and responded with a gentle smile. “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.”

The words hung in the air for a moment before Jesus continued, “Tell me, Jairus, when you count your coins at the end of each day, do you not ensure that each one is accounted for?”

“Of course, Rabbi. Every denarius must be counted.”

“And if you found that one coin was missing, would you not search diligently until you found it?”

“Indeed, I would turn my house upside down until I located it.”

Jesus’s eyes sparkled as he looked around the table. “Then understand this: there is more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.”

Andrew, sitting nearby, leaned forward. “Master, is that why you called Matthew from his tax booth? You saw in him a lost coin waiting to be found?”

“Not just a coin, Andrew,” Jesus replied, breaking more bread and passing it around the table. “A lost son returning home. Look around this table—what do you see?”

The disciples and guests glanced at one another. It was Peter who spoke up, “I see tax collectors, fishermen, zealots… people who would never normally share a meal together.”

“Exactly,” Jesus said, his voice carrying across the courtyard. “This table is a picture of the kingdom of heaven. In my Father’s house, there are no divisions between people as you make here on earth. All are welcome at his table if they come with humble and repentant hearts.”

One of the tax collectors, an elderly man with a deeply lined face, spoke up. “But Rabbi, how can this be? We have taken more than our share from our own people. We have collaborated with Rome. Surely we cannot be welcome in God’s kingdom?”

Jesus turned to him with compassion in his eyes. “Let me tell you a story about two men who went up to the temple to pray…”

And so began one of Jesus’s most famous parables, about the Pharisee and the tax collector. The guests listened intently as he described how the Pharisee stood proudly listing his righteous deeds, while the tax collector beat his breast and pleaded for mercy. When Jesus concluded by saying that it was the tax collector who went home justified rather than the Pharisee, several of Matthew’s former colleagues wiped tears from their eyes.

As the evening progressed and more courses were served, the conversation deepened. The disciples, who had initially kept their distance from the tax collectors, began to engage them in genuine dialogue. Matthew watched with joy as barriers broke down and understanding grew.

James, the son of Alphaeus, asked Jesus, “Master, when you call us to follow you, what must we leave behind?”

Jesus looked thoughtfully at Matthew before responding. “When Matthew left his tax booth, what did he abandon?”

Matthew spoke up, his voice thick with emotion. “Not just my occupation, Lord. I left behind my old way of seeing the world. My old values. My old measures of worth.”

“Yes,” Jesus nodded approvingly. “Following me requires letting go of whatever stands between you and the kingdom of heaven. For some, it might be wealth,” he glanced at the tax collectors, “for others, it might be pride, or fear, or anger.”

Simon the Zealot shifted uncomfortably at these words, knowing his own struggles with anger toward the Roman occupation.

As the main course was served—lamb prepared with herbs and spices—Jesus began to speak more directly about the kingdom of heaven. He used images that his diverse audience could understand: coins, sheep, fishing nets, wedding feasts. Each parable seemed to unlock new understanding in his listeners’ hearts.

“The kingdom of heaven,” he said, taking a piece of lamb, “is like this feast we share tonight. Many are invited, but not all choose to come. Some are too busy with their business affairs, others too concerned with what others might think. But those who do come—those who set aside their prejudices and preconceptions—they find themselves part of something far greater than they could have imagined.”

Thaddeus, who had been quiet most of the evening, asked, “Master, how can we be sure we’re truly part of this kingdom? How do we know we’re worthy?”

Jesus looked at him with gentle authority. “You become worthy not through your own righteousness, but through accepting the invitation with a humble heart. Look at our host—” he gestured toward Matthew, “did he make himself worthy before I called him? No, I called him as he was, and his response to that call transformed him.”

Matthew felt his eyes filling with tears as he remembered that transformative moment at the tax booth. The memory was interrupted by a commotion at the courtyard entrance—a group of Pharisees had gathered, watching the dinner with obvious disapproval.

Jesus, noting their presence, raised his voice slightly so they could hear: “If you had known what these words mean, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice,’ you would not have condemned the innocent. For the Son of Man is Lord of the Sabbath, and where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.”

The Pharisees withdrew, muttering among themselves, but their brief appearance had created a moment of tension in the gathering. Jesus used it as an opportunity to address the fear that many felt about associating with him.

“Do not fear those who can kill the body but cannot kill the soul,” he said, his voice carrying authority yet comfort. “Instead, fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. Even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.”

As the evening wore on, the conversation turned to more practical matters. Several of the tax collectors, moved by Jesus’s words and example, asked what they should do with their wealth. Jesus’s response was both challenging and compassionate.

“If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.” Seeing their troubled expressions, he added, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”

Bartholomew, who had been observing quietly, asked, “Master, when we leave everything to follow you, what can we expect to receive?”

Jesus smiled. “Truly I tell you, no one who has left home or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields for me and the gospel will fail to receive a hundred times as much in this present age: homes, brothers, sisters, mothers, children and fields—along with persecutions—and in the age to come eternal life.”

As the evening drew to a close, Jesus called for everyone’s attention one final time. The lamps had burned low, casting long shadows across the courtyard, but his face seemed to glow with an inner light as he spoke.

“My children, I give you a new command: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another. What you have seen tonight—tax collectors and fishermen, zealots and sinners, all breaking bread together—this is the beginning of what the kingdom of heaven looks like.”

He turned to Matthew. “You have done well, my friend, to gather these people together. Remember this night, for it is a foretaste of the great banquet to come in my Father’s kingdom.”

The guests began to leave, transformed by what they had experienced. Many of the tax collectors approached Matthew privately, asking how they too could follow Jesus. The disciples, who had initially been skeptical about dining with “sinners,” now understood more deeply why their Master had chosen Matthew to be one of them.

As the last guests departed, Matthew stood in his courtyard, watching Jesus and the other disciples walk into the night. The dishes would need to be cleaned, the courtyard straightened, but none of that seemed to matter. His house, once a symbol of his separation from his community, had become a place of transformation and reconciliation.

The next morning, as news of the dinner spread through Capernaum, many questioned Jesus’s choice of dining companions. But for those who had been present, the evening remained a powerful reminder of the radical inclusivity of God’s kingdom. They had witnessed how a simple dinner could become sacred space, how ordinary conversation could carry divine truth, and how the barriers between people could dissolve in the presence of love.

Matthew would later record many of the parables and teachings from this evening in his gospel, but he knew that no written account could fully capture the transformative power of that night. It wasn’t just the words Jesus spoke, but the way he embodied them—the way he could make every person at the table feel seen, known, and valued.

The dinner at Matthew’s house became a model for the early Christian community, showing how the kingdom of heaven could break into ordinary life, transforming not just individuals but entire social networks. It demonstrated that the message of Jesus wasn’t just about personal salvation but about creating a new kind of community where traditional barriers between people ceased to matter.

Years later, when the early church struggled with questions of who could be included in their fellowship, they would remember nights like this one—when Jesus deliberately chose to break bread with those whom society had rejected. The dinner became a touchstone for understanding that the gospel was not just for the righteous but for all who would respond to Jesus’s call to “Follow me.”