His fellow Jews despised him. He couldn’t enter a synagogue or even give an offering. His testimony wasn’t admissible in court.
Of all the future disciples, Matthew brought the worst reputation to the table, at least initially. To thrive in his trade as a tax collector, he had to accept a few stark realities. He would be viewed as a traitor, a sellout to the Romans who ruled the Jews and prevented them from existing as an independent nation. Simon the Zealot, another of the 12, would have spit at the very sight of Matthew if they ever bumped into one another during their pre-Messianic days.
Matthew scammed his neighbors for a living. The mechanics of his job proved simple enough: collect taxes on property, imports and exports, road tolls, etc. Roman businessmen and nobles would bid on the empire’s territories for the right to bring in the revenue. They’d farm out collection duties to bag men like Matthew, who would not only demand the prescribed rate but also overcharge and take the extra money for themselves. For example, if someone owned property, he’d estimate it at a sky high value so he could squeeze the most from the owner and skim the profits.
Matthew had no place in society except as an object of scorn. Rabbis didn’t permit tax collectors to attend the synagogue. He couldn’t exchange money at the temple or serve as a witness for a trial. Rabbis also permitted the Jewish people to lie to a tax collector if he came calling for funds.
Naturally, self-respecting Jews didn’t take these kinds of jobs. They viewed the occupation as an affiliate program for scumbags and thieves. Prostitutes were outcasts because they violated Yahweh’s moral law and sold sex in exchange for payment. Tax collectors occupied an even lower rung. They simply conned people out of their money and didn’t provide anything in return except for the sinking feeling they’d be back for more payments. The Romans didn’t regulate collections much at all, so you could get taxed multiple times by different collectors if you traveled a long route.
Comfortable with lying, used to harassing those who didn’t pay, and a total pariah because he was sanctioned to collect by the Roman authorities, Matthew lived an inside-out existence. He was a Jew barred from participating in his people’s religious or cultural life, a familiar face in his district but despised by all as a scammer. He probably wasn’t even what we’d consider wealthy. Sure, Zacchaeus rose to the level of chief tax collector and might have even “owned” territories where he could collect taxes. But kingpins don’t get mass produced. Matthew’s income bracket skewed closer to a debt collector who sweats clients caught up with a loan shark.
To twist your arm a little more and reinforce how loathed Matthew was, let’s write a C-Level movie scene together set in a future Orwellian world. The working title of this fake film is Skim, a drama about a tech guru who creates a “dynamic pricing” algorithm that calculates real-time customized tax rates for every citizen in the U.S. The hitch? The algorithm accounts for variables like the stock market and social credit score, which includes considerations such as life expectancy and social media support for regime-approved initiatives.
Since you don’t have all day, I’ll show you a minor scene only.
Denzel Washington cameos as a local Regime Collection Center (RCC) agent, Levi Matthews, who finds a way to play the algorithm and skim the surplus money he collects. To make things a tad more outrageous, let’s say I’m assuming the role of a wannabe author whose underwhelming website gets taxed by the word count. In this scene, Denzel (Levi) shakes me down.
FADE IN:
Midafternoon in an apartment parking lot. Levi sits on the hood of Kevin’s 2000 Buick Century. Kevin walks up to him in a panic.
LEVI: There he is! Tell me, Mister Cochrane, what’s it like to be the toughest cat on the block?
KEVIN: Uh, hi Agent Matthews. I think you’re confusing me with someone else?
Levi slides off the hood, claps his hands together, then pulls out a digital tablet, showing it to Kevin.
LEVI: Oh no, your reputation precedes you. And to show you your due respect, I’ll tell you why that is. After making four hundred fifty-five consecutive tax payments in full to the RCC for your website, Replenish, you’ve decided to only make the minimum payment for the last month’s worth of content. It takes a cold hustler to break that streak. Tell me, did somebody rush ship you a nasty attitude and a pair of work boots so you can walk all over me?
KEVIN: No sir, I’m not trying to walk over anyone. It’s just that Agent Rosco informed me a few weeks ago I have to pay inflation adjusted interest on the mileage for my Buick. I kind of got behind on my website.
LEVI: Agent Rosco? Don’t come at me with no Rosco! Boy you must be out your ever-loving mind if you think I’m going to let a bozo from the transportation department be your excuse. He works under me, you understand? You best get the crust out your eyes and the wax from your ears, because I’m about to break it down for you. Your payment record is public knowledge like every Regime citizen, right?
KEVIN: Yes.
LEVI: And when you only make the minimum payments for more than thirty-one days, it’s a misdemeanor, correct?
KEVIN: Correct.
LEVI: What’s today?
KEVIN: November thirtieth.
LEVI: Well, then season’s greetings, son! Today is the last day to clear your account before things get serious. And here I am, paying a courtesy call so nobody has to slap cuffs and a case on you.
KEVIN: I appreciate that.
LEVI: You appreciate it? I need more than intangibles, Mister Cochrane. Gratitude doesn’t grease the wheels of democracy.
KEVIN: All right, all right. I’m not pulling out anything except a phone from my pocket, so don’t draw on me, okay?
LEVI: Fair enough, son. I’ll wait.
Kevin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a smartphone, tapping through an app.
KEVIN: Ok, I just transferred what I owe into RCC MyPay Portal. We good now, sir?
LEVI: Not quite. You see, I take a daily constitutional around the area. A good stroll clears the mind. But my bunions are killing me, so I’m going to need a ride back to the office.
KEVIN: I, I guess I can drive you.
Levi gestures toward Kevin cupping his fingers to his palm repeatedly.
LEVI: They keys, Mister Cochrane. Hand them over.
KEVIN: My car, too? Why?
LEVI: Inflation. Times are tough for everyone. Your public servants feel the sting too.
KEVIN: Would you be open to taking my website instead?
LEVI: Good gracious, how much of a fool do you think I am? Wanda ran your site analytics at the station. You don’t even sniff mommy-blog territory. Taco Tuesday recipes outpull your content three to one. Keep dreaming, Young Thundercat.
KEVIN: Can I get my stuff out of the car before you go?
LEVI: By all means. Don’t worry about getting me the title and registration. We’ll handle the paperwork.
Kevin slouches his shoulders. He fumbles in his pocket for keys, then unlocks the vehicle. He opens the passenger door and pulls a few items from the glovebox. Kevin then hands the keys to Levi.
KEVIN: Ok. Here’s the keys. The tires are starting to go, just a heads up. Wouldn’t want you to get in any life-threatening accidents. Our community can’t afford to lose a good agent like you.
Levi gets in the driver’s side door and looks at Kevin through the open window. He flexes his fingers around the steering wheel, then pretends to type.
LEVI: My man! There’s that attitude perking up. I’ll keep my hands at ten-to-two and eyes on the road at all times. In the meantime, you keep putting those fingers to the keyboard. And thank you for reinvesting your tax dollars into the community!
Kevin glares at Levi, who backs out of the parking spot. Levi waves at Kevin before driving away.
The screenplay’s a touch crude, I know. But Denzel Washington as Levi (hopefully) shows that ancient tax collectors weren’t selling Girl Scout cookies door-to-door. They knew how to manipulate and menace.
Now back to the true events. At the outset of his ministry, Jesus finds Matthew sitting at a tax collector’s booth, putting in another day’s dishonest work. The choice was pre-baked, and the Messiah called the man who couldn’t enter a synagogue into his inner circle. Matthew didn’t hesitate. If not for Jesus, he wouldn’t have another means to get out of his cynical existence.
The next few weeks and months must have been surreal. There he was, following a Nazarene named Jesus who preached and taught about the kingdom of God, a kingdom Matthew formerly had no place in. Another side effect of Jesus’ calling is that Matthew was reintegrated in Jewish society. One has to wonder how he got along with the other disciples. For all involved, there must have been some sizing up of one another.
But Matthew appeared to make a good impression, comfortable enough to host Jesus and the disciples at his home for meal. Picture it, Simon the Zealot, a hardcore supporter of Jewish independence, broke bread with his new peer, a former tax collector and Roman collaborator.
Not only that, he invited his degenerate friends to dinner, as the Pharisees pointed out in Matthew 9:10-13.
“When the Pharisees saw this, they asked his disciples, ‘Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?’ On hearing this, Jesus said, ‘It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. But go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.’ ”
Matthew didn’t just renounce his former life. He served Christ to his last breath. Flip open the Old Testament and the first Gospel bears his name. As the ultimate marker of redemption, the tax collector cut off from the temple writes an account of Jesus’ ministry that clearly portrays him as the Messianic fulfillment to the Old Testament covenant. From the genealogy establishing Jesus’ lineage to the callbacks to prophetic scriptures, the Gospel of Matthew shows a man with a keen eye for record-keeping, which is no surprise since even crooked money men keep at least one set of straight books.
Considering Matthew’s history, he would be a prime suspect to betray Jesus: greedy, vulgar, an outcast, bad circle of friends. Yet it was Judas who sold out the Messiah for thirty pieces of silver. Of course, we learn Judas also had sticky fingers, stealing from the money box. Both disciples lives ended in painful death. Judas committed suicide over his guilty conscience. Matthew was martyred for preaching the Gospel.
Sitting in his toll booth on the fateful day of his calling, Matthew couldn’t have imagined the places he’d go for Jesus of Nazareth. The con artist cast a long shadow over those he scammed. But the light of the Son brought him back from a life at odds with himself, others, and above all else, his Creator.
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Kevin Cochrane is the creator of Replenish, the site to resupply your faith with overlooked insights from Scripture-based stories. Share your thoughts by commenting below or dropping a line to kevin@replenishstories.com.
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