My Name Is Levi
Drama
Bit Players In The Big Play
Peter K. Perry
The tax collector Levi, who becomes Matthew, tells his story.
My name is Levi, son of Alphaeus. I am not important in the way the world judges importance. But I am important in the eyes of God, and in the end, that's really all that matters. Let me tell you how I learned this lesson ... perhaps you will see yourself in my story.
As I said, I am Levi, son of Alphaeus. I grew up in the village of Nahum, what is called today Capernaum. Capernaum is a beautiful village built on the northwestern shore of the Sea of Galilee. It is a fishing village, of course, but the area is also very fertile, producing abundant crops of grapes and olives and barley. On the hills far outside of the city, shepherds tended their herds of sheep and goats. But Capernaum is also a popular stopping off place for the traders who journey from Damascus to Samaria and Jerusalem and the cities on the coast of the Great Sea.
My father was not a fisherman, or a farmer, or a shepherd ... he was an innkeeper. And so our livelihood came not from the water or the land, but from the flow of travelers. As a boy I would watch them as they enjoyed a day of respite from their journeys. They enjoyed the meals my mother prepared. My father tended to the needs of our guests and served the meals. I took care of the guests' animals, feeding and watering the donkeys and the camels, and guarding the packs which they bore.
I remember one morning I was fetching a guest's donkey from the stable. The donkey was being cantankerous, and I pulled on the harness, but the beast wouldn't budge. I got behind it and carefully tried pushing it. Nothing. I screamed at it; I tried to bribe it with a carrot. Nothing I did could get that donkey to move. Then the owner came out of the inn. He laughed. "Old Ezekiel won't budge, son," he said. "At least not for you. But watch this!" The man looked the donkey in the eye and he said, "Ezekiel, follow me." That donkey sprang to its feet and promptly fell in line behind the man as he started down the lane out of town. I ran to catch up.
"How did you do that, sir?" I asked. "I tried and tried, and I couldn't get that old donkey to move an inch!"
"Son," he said, "Ezekiel trusts me. He knows I will take good care of him. When he hears my voice, he will follow me anywhere."
It wasn't too long after that when the trouble all started. My mother grew sick and died. My father tried to keep the inn open, but it was hard without mother's help. Fewer and fewer guests came to stay with us.
Finally, I had to look for work. I was apprenticed out to a man who worked for the Roman government, collecting taxes. Apprentice! Now there's a funny word ... slave is more like it! I did what I was told, even when what I was told to do was dishonest. I manned the tollbooth outside of Capernaum, where the road nears the sea. I was told to collect the Roman duties plus twenty percent. My master kept ten percent of the overage, and the soldiers who were stationed just beyond the tollbooth got the other ten percent. I got nothing but a subsistence wage and the undying hatred of everyone who had to use the roadway. People shunned me, even the people my age with whom I had grown up. I was the tax collector, though I never received a penny of the ill-gotten gains. Even my father was ashamed of me.
For three years I served my master in this way. And then one day, the soldiers demanded fifteen percent instead of ten percent. My master objected and refused to increase the amount the soldiers received. The next morning he was found floating face down in the Sea of Galilee. The soldiers came to me that morning and demanded fifteen percent. I agreed, and I kept the extra five percent for myself. I decided that since everyone already thought so poorly of me, I might as well be the man they thought me to be. I became the master I had always hated.
But though I now had money, I was never happy. I trusted no one. No one trusted me. I believed in nothing. No one believed in me. I just did my job, watched my back, and dreamed of the days long ago, before my mother had died, before father had lost the inn, when life had been worth living. Literally, at night I dreamed of my childhood. It was the only time I had ever been happy.
For a while I thought the money would make things all right again. I became wealthy. I bought a house, new clothes, and made investments. I even gave money to the synagogue, though the rabbi acted as though he didn't want it from me. I was still shunned. I was still despised.
One of my old friends came to talk to me one day. He said, "Levi, why don't you give up this work you do for the Romans? You don't need it anymore. You could do anything you want. Why don't you just quit?"
I scoffed at him. "Do you think people would just forget my past? Do you think all would be forgiven? I don't. No, Joshua, no. I am like a leper. People are afraid of me. People love to hate me. No. I cannot change." But Joshua's words weighed heavy on my mind. Deep down inside, I wanted to change. I just didn't believe I could. I didn't know where to start.
The next morning I took my usual place in the tollbooth by the sea. It was usually pretty quiet in the morning, but this morning was different. A preacher was teaching a crowd not too far away. Sometimes when the wind was right, I could hear his words. I strained to listen. He spoke words of hope to the people around him. He told them that God loved them. He told them that God believed in them. He told them that God would bless them, even though they were poor and powerless, even though they were hungry and thirsty, even though they mourned, even though they were persecuted, even though they were sinners. Strange words from this strange man. He spoke of being made new, of being reborn, of having the Spirit of God within us. He said that God makes all things new. He had been speaking a long time when someone offered him a drink from an old wine skin. He held it up and he said to the crowd, "Do you put new wine in old wineskins like this?"
Everyone laughed. "Of course not," he said, "for when the new wine ferments, it bubbles up with excitement and it bursts the old wineskin. You must put new wine in new wineskins." I swear as he said those words, he looked at me. I looked away, but I heard him say, "So it is with our lives. If we want to be different inside, we must be different outside as well. If we would change our hearts, we must change our lives."
He taught some more, but I was too busy thinking to listen. Could he have been talking to me? Could the teacher by the sea have known how much I wanted to change? Could he know how much I longed to be the person I knew I could be, the person I believed God wanted me to be? I had been a tax collector for a long time. I had cheated my brothers for a long time. I had served the Romans for a long time. I had nurtured my own self-loathing for a long time. I wasn't sure that I could change.
When I looked up, he was standing right in front of me. And he said, "Levi, follow me."
And I did. I followed him. I learned from him. And I never, ever went back to the tollbooth. Oh, it took some time for the people to understand that I could change. The religious people especially, it seems, had a hard time believing that I could change. The scribes and the Pharisees ... I remember ... before Jesus left Capernaum, he and the disciples ate a meal at my house. I was so happy that night. But the Pharisees and the scribes complained, saying, "How can he eat with this tax collector and all of these other sinners?" It hurt, but Jesus caught my eye, and he said to the scribes and the Pharisees, "Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I have come to call not the righteous but sinners." Jesus was my physician. He healed a hurt deep inside that most people didn't even know was there. To most people, I was just the tax collector. I was a sinner. Even I saw little more than what they saw. But Jesus saw what no one else saw. Jesus saw a child of God, a soul loved by God.
That night, when I finally fell asleep despite my excitement, I dreamed again of my childhood. I dreamed of the day when the old donkey Ezekiel wouldn't move. I dreamed of the old traveling merchant and the way he said, "Ezekiel trusts me. He knows I will take good care of him. He will follow me anywhere." When I awoke from the dream, I realized that I had been much like that donkey, except that I trusted no one and followed no one.
Now when people ask me why I followed Jesus that day ... why I just left everything behind and followed him, I just tell them about the old donkey named Ezekiel. I don't really know why I followed Jesus. I know that I was tired of being a stubborn, angry, foolish sinner. My heart was ready for a change. When Jesus said, "Levi, follow me," I at long last heard a voice that I knew I could trust, and so I followed. I hope and pray that others will hear the voice and will follow, too. For this is not just my story. It is our story. God makes us all new.
The tax collector Levi, who becomes Matthew, tells his story.
My name is Levi, son of Alphaeus. I am not important in the way the world judges importance. But I am important in the eyes of God, and in the end, that's really all that matters. Let me tell you how I learned this lesson ... perhaps you will see yourself in my story.
As I said, I am Levi, son of Alphaeus. I grew up in the village of Nahum, what is called today Capernaum. Capernaum is a beautiful village built on the northwestern shore of the Sea of Galilee. It is a fishing village, of course, but the area is also very fertile, producing abundant crops of grapes and olives and barley. On the hills far outside of the city, shepherds tended their herds of sheep and goats. But Capernaum is also a popular stopping off place for the traders who journey from Damascus to Samaria and Jerusalem and the cities on the coast of the Great Sea.
My father was not a fisherman, or a farmer, or a shepherd ... he was an innkeeper. And so our livelihood came not from the water or the land, but from the flow of travelers. As a boy I would watch them as they enjoyed a day of respite from their journeys. They enjoyed the meals my mother prepared. My father tended to the needs of our guests and served the meals. I took care of the guests' animals, feeding and watering the donkeys and the camels, and guarding the packs which they bore.
I remember one morning I was fetching a guest's donkey from the stable. The donkey was being cantankerous, and I pulled on the harness, but the beast wouldn't budge. I got behind it and carefully tried pushing it. Nothing. I screamed at it; I tried to bribe it with a carrot. Nothing I did could get that donkey to move. Then the owner came out of the inn. He laughed. "Old Ezekiel won't budge, son," he said. "At least not for you. But watch this!" The man looked the donkey in the eye and he said, "Ezekiel, follow me." That donkey sprang to its feet and promptly fell in line behind the man as he started down the lane out of town. I ran to catch up.
"How did you do that, sir?" I asked. "I tried and tried, and I couldn't get that old donkey to move an inch!"
"Son," he said, "Ezekiel trusts me. He knows I will take good care of him. When he hears my voice, he will follow me anywhere."
It wasn't too long after that when the trouble all started. My mother grew sick and died. My father tried to keep the inn open, but it was hard without mother's help. Fewer and fewer guests came to stay with us.
Finally, I had to look for work. I was apprenticed out to a man who worked for the Roman government, collecting taxes. Apprentice! Now there's a funny word ... slave is more like it! I did what I was told, even when what I was told to do was dishonest. I manned the tollbooth outside of Capernaum, where the road nears the sea. I was told to collect the Roman duties plus twenty percent. My master kept ten percent of the overage, and the soldiers who were stationed just beyond the tollbooth got the other ten percent. I got nothing but a subsistence wage and the undying hatred of everyone who had to use the roadway. People shunned me, even the people my age with whom I had grown up. I was the tax collector, though I never received a penny of the ill-gotten gains. Even my father was ashamed of me.
For three years I served my master in this way. And then one day, the soldiers demanded fifteen percent instead of ten percent. My master objected and refused to increase the amount the soldiers received. The next morning he was found floating face down in the Sea of Galilee. The soldiers came to me that morning and demanded fifteen percent. I agreed, and I kept the extra five percent for myself. I decided that since everyone already thought so poorly of me, I might as well be the man they thought me to be. I became the master I had always hated.
But though I now had money, I was never happy. I trusted no one. No one trusted me. I believed in nothing. No one believed in me. I just did my job, watched my back, and dreamed of the days long ago, before my mother had died, before father had lost the inn, when life had been worth living. Literally, at night I dreamed of my childhood. It was the only time I had ever been happy.
For a while I thought the money would make things all right again. I became wealthy. I bought a house, new clothes, and made investments. I even gave money to the synagogue, though the rabbi acted as though he didn't want it from me. I was still shunned. I was still despised.
One of my old friends came to talk to me one day. He said, "Levi, why don't you give up this work you do for the Romans? You don't need it anymore. You could do anything you want. Why don't you just quit?"
I scoffed at him. "Do you think people would just forget my past? Do you think all would be forgiven? I don't. No, Joshua, no. I am like a leper. People are afraid of me. People love to hate me. No. I cannot change." But Joshua's words weighed heavy on my mind. Deep down inside, I wanted to change. I just didn't believe I could. I didn't know where to start.
The next morning I took my usual place in the tollbooth by the sea. It was usually pretty quiet in the morning, but this morning was different. A preacher was teaching a crowd not too far away. Sometimes when the wind was right, I could hear his words. I strained to listen. He spoke words of hope to the people around him. He told them that God loved them. He told them that God believed in them. He told them that God would bless them, even though they were poor and powerless, even though they were hungry and thirsty, even though they mourned, even though they were persecuted, even though they were sinners. Strange words from this strange man. He spoke of being made new, of being reborn, of having the Spirit of God within us. He said that God makes all things new. He had been speaking a long time when someone offered him a drink from an old wine skin. He held it up and he said to the crowd, "Do you put new wine in old wineskins like this?"
Everyone laughed. "Of course not," he said, "for when the new wine ferments, it bubbles up with excitement and it bursts the old wineskin. You must put new wine in new wineskins." I swear as he said those words, he looked at me. I looked away, but I heard him say, "So it is with our lives. If we want to be different inside, we must be different outside as well. If we would change our hearts, we must change our lives."
He taught some more, but I was too busy thinking to listen. Could he have been talking to me? Could the teacher by the sea have known how much I wanted to change? Could he know how much I longed to be the person I knew I could be, the person I believed God wanted me to be? I had been a tax collector for a long time. I had cheated my brothers for a long time. I had served the Romans for a long time. I had nurtured my own self-loathing for a long time. I wasn't sure that I could change.
When I looked up, he was standing right in front of me. And he said, "Levi, follow me."
And I did. I followed him. I learned from him. And I never, ever went back to the tollbooth. Oh, it took some time for the people to understand that I could change. The religious people especially, it seems, had a hard time believing that I could change. The scribes and the Pharisees ... I remember ... before Jesus left Capernaum, he and the disciples ate a meal at my house. I was so happy that night. But the Pharisees and the scribes complained, saying, "How can he eat with this tax collector and all of these other sinners?" It hurt, but Jesus caught my eye, and he said to the scribes and the Pharisees, "Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I have come to call not the righteous but sinners." Jesus was my physician. He healed a hurt deep inside that most people didn't even know was there. To most people, I was just the tax collector. I was a sinner. Even I saw little more than what they saw. But Jesus saw what no one else saw. Jesus saw a child of God, a soul loved by God.
That night, when I finally fell asleep despite my excitement, I dreamed again of my childhood. I dreamed of the day when the old donkey Ezekiel wouldn't move. I dreamed of the old traveling merchant and the way he said, "Ezekiel trusts me. He knows I will take good care of him. He will follow me anywhere." When I awoke from the dream, I realized that I had been much like that donkey, except that I trusted no one and followed no one.
Now when people ask me why I followed Jesus that day ... why I just left everything behind and followed him, I just tell them about the old donkey named Ezekiel. I don't really know why I followed Jesus. I know that I was tired of being a stubborn, angry, foolish sinner. My heart was ready for a change. When Jesus said, "Levi, follow me," I at long last heard a voice that I knew I could trust, and so I followed. I hope and pray that others will hear the voice and will follow, too. For this is not just my story. It is our story. God makes us all new.
