Furtively sneaking up to the side of the house, they cautiously peered through the windows. The sight was disgusting. Abhorrent. Offensive. Apparently, every rascal and ragamuffin in the area had received an invitation to dinner at Matthew’s house. Of course they had all accepted. Being a tax collector and social outcast didn’t preclude the man from having money. Those scruffy dregs of society probably hadn’t eaten like this in ages. The table overflowed. Their plates were heaped high. The conversation was animated. And, seated right in the middle of all the organized chaos, comfortably taking part both in the talking and feasting, sat Jesus. It was an utter disgrace. (John 2:13-15)
Not that they expected anything else. Quite the opposite. This rather proved their opinions of Him true. No matter the number of miracles He performed. Regardless of the excellent truths He taught. In spite of the fact He could quote the law better than they themselves did, the Pharisees were determined to find something by which to discredit Him. The scene inside the tax collector’s house would certainly do the trick. Those people were having the time of their lives. Prostitutes. Tax collectors. Unfaithful men. Dishonest women. Lawbreakers of every kind. Jesus was definitely a magnet for the dregs of humanity, the unclean, the socially unacceptable. People known for their poor choices and illegal acts. People who didn’t keep the letter of the law. People who wouldn’t know the truth if it walked up right beside them. People with whom Jesus should have no affiliation. If He was a real prophet. If He was the Son of God. If He really was their long-awaited Messiah. Of all their measurements that said He wasn’t, this one spoke the loudest. There He sat. Brushing elbows with the unholy. Listening. Smiling. Talking. Teaching. Acting like those people, those sinners, those social rejects, could become part of the kingdom of God.
The very thought was preposterous! Those obviously lost souls hadn’t spent their entire lives memorizing the law and carefully keeping every word. They didn’t count their steps on the Sabbath. Fast with regularity. Pray publicly. Give noticeably. They hadn’t earned a designated seat in the synagogue by perfect attendance. No. They were unclean. In word. In deed. There were no redeemable qualities in them. Especially those useless scraps of humanity called tax collectors. Everyone hated them. They were wretched. Worthless. Unsalvageable. Cheats lining their pockets with money from inflated taxes. Yet, when Jesus could have surrounded Himself with perfect, upright, righteous men like the Pharisees, He chose instead to sit down to dinner with a bedraggled group of unrighteous ragamuffins. (Matthew 9:9-11; Mark 2:13-16)
It was not to be tolerated. And that was fine by them. Assuming one’s character is reflected in the company they keep, the Pharisees couldn’t stop the frisson of triumph that coursed through their souls. They had been right about Jesus all along! He wasn’t so great of a guy. How He managed to heal so many people and do so many miracles, they didn’t really know, but He clearly wasn’t their Messiah. He couldn’t be. Their Messiah wouldn’t spend so much time courting the scumballs and lowlifes of society. He wouldn’t be so busy healing their diseases and forgiving their sins. He wouldn’t be so careless about the rigidity of the law. His disciples would be fasting and praying and not picking grain on the Sabbath. And Jesus would be spending time with them, the righteous Pharisees, not with the miscreants now surrounding Him. (John 2:18,23-24)
It wouldn’t be the last time Jesus sat down to eat with tax collectors and sinners. The occurrence became common enough that the Pharisees and scribes complained about it. Even when it turned out in their favor. Like when Jesus met Zaccheus. Carefully hidden up in a tree, Jesus still saw him. Called to him. Specifically. Told him to come down. And invited Himself over to stay at Zaccheus’ house. There was a lot of complaining that day. By everyone. No one in the crowd following Jesus, hoping to get His attention, touch His garment, feel His hand, appreciated the fact Jesus gave time to Zaccheus. They were all affronted by His decision to go home with him. But they all benefitted. Zaccheus chose repentance and restitution. He did something unheard of. The tax collector gave money back. To the people. Yet it didn’t stop the question frustrating the minds of the Pharisees. Why did Jesus spend so much time eating and hanging out with people the religious leaders deemed unclean, socially unacceptable, worthless, when He could simply hang out with them? (Luke 15:1-10; Luke 19:1-10)
Knowing their thoughts, Jesus answered. More than once. He was busy being about the Father’s business. He was seeking His precious straying sheep. He was searching for His treasured lost coin. He was healing souls sick with sin. He had come to seek and save the lost and to give them abundant, magnificent life in Him. Jesus wasn’t looking just inside the synagogue. His efforts weren’t limited to those who meticulously obeyed the letter of the law. He wasn’t seeking only the properly pedigreed people from the right side of town. No. Jesus came for everyone. Physically sick. Spiritually dying. Those dead in trespasses and sin. The people whose list of sins was so great as to be insurmountable until Jesus came and erased the debt with all its obligations. The already righteous didn’t need a savior. Sinners did. That’s who Jesus came to seek and save. The lost. The sinners. The socially unacceptable. Those surely unsalvageable. People on the margins of society. People like me. People like you. (John 9:4; Mark 2:17; Colossians 2:13-15; Ephesians 2:1; Luke 15:11-24)
No matter how good you are, how upstanding your character, or whether your house is in a gated community or a ghetto, there is a sinner in all of us. An addict. An adulterer. A liar. A thief. The list of sins standing against us should separate us from God eternally. Except Jesus. Jesus came that we might be saved from our sins and extricated from our mess. He walks right into where we are, the darkest alleys of our lives, and makes a table right there. He welcomes us to pull up a chair and have lunch with Him. Talk to Him. Listen to Him. Learn from Him. He offers us a feast of love and mercy and grace. And He gives us the opportunity to stay in that space. Live there. Continually partake of His offerings. All are welcome. No one is ever turned away. There’s always an open seat at the table of grace. (Romans 1:16; 3:22-24; 4:16; 5:18-19; 8:14; 10:9-13; John 3:16; 6:35; 7:37-38; Revelation 22:17; Isaiah 55:1)
The disciples found this true. Seated with Jesus at the frequently painted, often preached, very well-known meal dubbed, “The Last Supper,” the disciples gathered around Jesus. They were used to being there. Eating with Him. Talking to Him. Learning from Him. Maybe they had even gotten a little complacent about it. Maybe the shine of sitting with Jesus had worn off a little. But this final supper together wasn’t like the others. It was darker, more somber, the mood heavier. The words Jesus spoke held more gravity. Someone was going to betray Him. Someone was going to offer Him up to death and destruction. Someone who sat at His table. Someone who had consistently been offered His grace was going to sell Him out. Someone else was going to verbally, vehemently deny knowing Him. In fact, at some point, all of them were going to abandon Him and run for their lives. The fact changed nothing. Jesus didn’t remove their seats at His table because He knew what was coming. No. The love kept streaming. The mercy kept flowing. The grace kept pouring out. They were all still welcome, no matter what their past, present, or future held. Why? Because all are welcome at God’s table of grace. (Mark 14:-20; 27-31; Matthew 26:31,56)
You are too. No matter what your past says about you. Where you’ve been. What you’ve done. No matter the ugliness of your present. Where you are. What holds you captive. No matter how bleak your future looks. Where you are headed. How limited your options appear. There is a seat with your name on it at God’s overflowing table of grace. There’s room for you there. When no one else wants anything to do with you, Jesus does. When everyone else thinks you are too far gone, Jesus doesn’t. When few can see your potential through the filth of your failures, Jesus pulls out your chair and welcomes you to His table. The main course is grace. It’s plentiful. Overflowing, in fact. The sides are unending mercy and unfailing love. For you. Regardless of all the reasons you aren’t fit for His kingdom, you are still welcome to come. Always. Take a seat at the table. And let His grace cover your sins. Now. Today. Just as you are. From near. From far away. From a place you think grace doesn’t reach. From a space you believe grace can’t flow. From the prison of sin that tells you grace can’t extricate you. Come anyway. Because it can. It does. It will. The grace of Jesus Christ extends beyond the extraordinarily far-reaching fingers of your sin and degradation. You have only to come to the table. Sit in the seat inscribed with your name. A space saved just for you. Your own personal place at the table of grace. (Ephesians 1:7; 2:4-5, 8, 17; 4:7; Romans 3:20-24; 5:1-2, 8; 9:16; Titus 2:11; 3:4-7; John 1:16-17)