I grew up in a very Italian neighborhood in Jersey City, New Jersey. Everyone knew each other or were related or both. Everyone I knew was Italian for the most part. We had very little contact with the outside world. This included becoming familiar with other ethnic groups. We assumed all Jewish people were lawyers or accountants. And we had stereotypes for almost all other nationalities. I won’t go into them here but let’s just say we were ignorant and not so nice. I grew up in a bubble.
This included black people. There was one black student in our grammar school class. And there was also a low income housing project on the outskirts of our neighborhood. We had no significant contact with anyone who lived there. I for one was not trying to be mean. We just associated with “our own kind.” Not proud of it. It was just how it was.
When I went to college at Southern Illinois University I was on my own. I did not know anyone. It was partly what I wanted. I needed to know if I could exist and thrive on my own. Without the crutch of my family. But it was hard. Very hard. I was alone in a very new social structure. The other students in my dorm were either farm boys from central Illinois or from this foreign city called Chicago. No Italians. Heck…no Yankee fans. Many were fans of the Cubs and the White Sox or, God forbid, the St. Louis Cardinals.
What saved me? Basketball. One day, within a week of arriving at school, I was in the courtyard of my dorm shooting baskets. You go to something familiar when uncomfortable and basketball was comfort for me. When out of the blue there appears Ken. Ken was from a south side suburb of Chicago. And, yes, he was black. I was nervous not knowing what to expect. But he spoke my language…basketball. Fade-aways. Baseline drives. Pull up jumpers. We played one-on-one. For hours at a time. Until we became best friends. No way would I have expected to become close to a black person when living in the old neighborhood. But my discomfort was overcome at first by commonality of a shared interest. I had been accepted by Ken at a time in my life where I desperately needed acceptance. Two years ago Elise and I were traveling through Minneapolis on a trip and I recalled that Ken lived in the area. We arranged to meet for lunch and it was like we had never been apart. Picked right up where we left off.
And doesn’t the need for acceptance drive much of our behavior? Finding a familiar person at a party when we know no one. Falling in love with someone who “gets us”. We join clubs to associate with like minded people. Some people take up habits like drinking and smoking in order to be accepted by the in crowd. Getting a tattoo can have the same result. Acceptance into a group as opposed to being a loner. Joining a fraternity or sorority can provide security versus being an independent at college.
Which brings us to today’s Gospel. The calling of Matthew. Matthew was originally called Levi and was a tax collector for the Romans. And he was Jewish. And Jews hated tax collectors since many were dishonest and were thieves. And here was someone who was Jewish himself…turning on his own people. And he was not accepted by the Romans either. He served a purpose for them. He was alone. Wealthy. But alone.
And then came Jesus. It is likely that Jesus had seen Levi and KNEW Levi. Knew the turmoil that he had been experiencing. So when Jesus turns to Levi from out of left field (baseball term meaning “from out of no where”) and asks Levi to follow him, he is ready. Jesus was to Levi what Ken was to me as a loner at college. A light in the darkness. Someone asking him to be a part of something. Something greater than himself. To belong. It was enough of a draw to make Levi give up everything. Money, power and status. In the Bible when someone changes their name, it typically means that they are now on a new path. A new person. Just like Simon became Peter when he began to follow Jesus, Levi became Matthew.
And so it is when we choose to follow Jesus. We become something new. We join a club. In this case, a club of people that stretches across the millenia. Not only those who walk with us today, but also those who have gone before us. The first line of the hymn “Find Us Faithful” says it all:
We’re pilgrims on the journey
Of the narrow road,
And those who’ve gone before us
Line the way.
Cheering on the faithful,
Encouraging the weary
May we be ready, as was Levi, to respond to Jesus’ call and, just as importantly, be ready to call someone else who may be living on the margins and maybe needing someone to ask them to just play some hoops.
