Tuesday, May 04, 2010

Levi

            The room was hushed as the messenger rose and strode to the front of the room.  Pausing for a moment to glance toward the door, he reached into his robe and pulled out a parchment scroll— dusty, travel-stained, yet precious.  He balanced it in his fingertips as he glanced around the room, a smile playing around his lips.  Opening the scroll, he cleared his throat and began reading in his deep, rolling voice.
            “The beginning of the gospel of Yeshua ha’Mashiach, the Son of God . . .”[1]


            Levi was miserable.
            And hot.  He was very, very hot.
            As the sun beat upon his back, Levi sat, head bowed over his table, and tried not to think about the state of his life.  Deep in his heart, he mourned over the many sins he had committed.  When the Baptizer was at the Jordan, many of his friends had gone down to the river to repent and be cleansed, and Levi had almost gone with them.  But somehow, much as he told himself that was what he wanted, he could never make himself join them.  He saw the way their lives had changed— how they no longer overcharged taxes to make a profit for themselves, how they lost their wealth and popularity, how their favor with the Romans plummeted.  Once they had lost their greedy edge, they were nearly useless as employees, and were often replaced.  Slowly, these repentant men lapsed into their old way of life— lying and cheating and stealing, just to get ahead— or lived their new lives and faded out of memory.
            Being forgotten— that was exactly what Levi feared.
            Though he wanted more than the life he had—a life defined by amounts and numbers and records— he saw no way out.  To turn his back on Rome meant losing all he’d accumulated, and any chance at any future employment.  He had nowhere else to turn; he had burnt all his bridges with his family, his people, even his synagogue.  His only friends were other tax collectors, and if he left their ranks, he would be viewed by them with high suspicion.
            There was nowhere to go.
            There was nothing else to be.
            Levi slumped in his seat, feeling the hopelessness wash over him.  A shadow fell over his table, and he glanced up, squinting and shading his eyes with his hand.
            It was a man standing there, gazing down at Levi.  He said nothing, at first.  Levi looked back at the man.  He was a holy man, wearing the tassels; a working man, with calloused large hands and strong arms; a kind man, marked by compassionate twinkling eyes—and as He looked at Levi, really looked, He opened His mouth and spoke to Levi as if to someone worth the breath—the first time in years that any good Jewish man had deigned to do so.
            What else could Levi do, but obey the words He said?

            “. . . and as He passed by, He saw Levi, the son of Alphaeus sitting at the tax booth, and He said to him, ‘Follow Me.’”[2]
            Out of the corner of his eye, Levi glimpsed a sudden movement.  He turned his head to find a small girl staring at him from where she sat, wedged between two of her brothers.  As Levi met her gaze, she blinked hard, then glanced at the reader.  Looking back at Levi, she furrowed her small brow, her mouth moving as she puzzled over this information.  Stifling a laugh, he smiled at her and nodded, pointing a finger at his own chest.  The girl’s eyes and mouth opened wide, then she grinned.  Turning her face toward the reader, she focused all her attention on his words.  Her small hands clenched in her lap, and Levi smiled again.  He could almost read the burning thought running through her mind.
            This is a true story.

Levi froze at the man’s angry voice, unsure of what he should do.
            “Tax collector,” the scribe sneered, the phylactery on his forehead bobbing with each jerk of his head.  “Sinner!  That’s all you’ll ever be, and yet this rabbi sits and dines at your table?”  The man shook his head in disapproval, waggling his finger in the other’s face.  Levi flushed brilliant red and spat on the ground at the man’s feet.
            “Get yourself off my property,” he growled.  “Before I beat you within an inch of your life.”  Surprised, the scribe fell back a step, toward the others huddled behind him like a flock of vultures, but Levi followed, crowding into the man’s face.  “You have no business here,” he continued.  “Any of you!  I certainly did not invite you, you arrogant, self-righteous—”
            “But why?” the man hissed, his pride and irritation overcoming his uncertainty.  “Why is He eating and drinking with tax collectors and sinners?”[3]  Levi opened his mouth to speak when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
            “What is going on here?” a voice demanded.  Whirling, Levi felt the blood drain from his face, shame coursing through his body at what he had been about to do, about to say.
           
Yeshua.
            There stood the carptenter-man, the rabbi, His stance relaxed, but His eyes stormy.  He gave Levi a tight smile, then turned the fury of His gaze upon the group of religious men crowding the doorway.
            “I heard your question,” Yeshua continued, stepping past Levi to confront the Pharisees’ scribes.  His hands fell to His sides.  “You asked why I choose to associate myself with ‘sinners.’”  A deep, rolling laugh sounded from behind the religious men, and a young Jewish man, dressed in Roman robes, pushed his way through the other men.
            “Associating with sinners?  A rabbi?”  The man laughed again, his wide grin nearly hiding the birthmark on his left cheek.  “You have come to the right place, then, Rabbi,” he said, giving an exaggerated bow.  “Because Levi is the worst of us all.”  Levi flushed again, but this time with guilt.  Yeshua glanced at Levi as the other man plunged on.  “Oh, yes, brother Levi— we can always count on him for a good time.  He knows just the right places to get wine, food, women—”
            “Stop!”  Shocked, Levi realized it was his own voice that had shouted.  He felt the eyes of everyone present staring at him, but he ignored them and flung himself to the ground.  “It’s true, Rabbi,” he cried, pounding his fists in the dusty earth, tears coursing down his face.  “What he says is true.  I— I— I’m not worthy to have You in my house.  I’m not worthy to follow You!  I’m not even worthy to speak the name of the L
ORD!”  Levi buried his face in his hands and wept.
            For a few moments, the courtyard was silent except for Levi’s sobs.  Then Yeshua flung Himself to His knees at Levi’s side, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder.
            “Levi,” He said.  “Levi!”
            “Yes, Rabbi?” Levi choked.
            “Listen to what I say, Levi.”  Yeshua raised His head and met the eyes of the scribes’ spokesman, His voice rising in a challenge.   “Here is My answer to your question!”

“. . . Yeshua said to them, ‘It is not those who are healthy who need a physician, but those who are sick.  I did not come to call the righteous, but sinners’”[4]
            The reader paused, his gaze roving the audience.  In his seat, Levi bowed his head and wiped tears from his eyes, thankfulness and awe overwhelming him once again.  As he lifted his face, he met the gaze of the reader.  In a moment, a wide grin split the reader’s face, nearly hiding the birthmark on his left cheek.  Levi returned the grin, knowing that his own thoughts were echoed in the other man’s mind.
 

            This is indeed a true story . . . and thank God we are part of it.


[1] Mark 1:1
[2] Mark 2:14
[3] Mark 2:16
[4] Mark 2:17