In The Presence of My Enemies | Sunday, September 14, 2025

After these things He went out and saw a tax collector named Levi, sitting at the tax office. And He said to him, "Follow me." So he left all, rose up, and followed Him. Then Levi gave Him a great feast in his own house. And there were a great number of tax collectors and others who sat down with them. And their scribes and the Pharisees complained against His disciples, saying, "Why do You eat and drink with tax collectors and sinners?" Jesus answered and said to them, "Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners, to repentance." (Luke 5:27–32)

When Jesus calls a traitor to His table, He reveals a kingdom advanced not by violence or politics, but by transforming grace.

A Distracted Week and a Searing Memory

When I sat down on Friday to finalize this message, I found my mind very hard to focus. You don't have to pay much attention to the news to understand why. This week was the 24th anniversary of 9/11, but that memorial of one of the most horrific events in our nation's history was overshadowed by another less than 24 hours prior—one that will very likely be listed among the most horrific events in our history.

Regardless of your political priors or team affiliation, what happened on Wednesday is deeply troubling, and it should be. A 31-year-old husband and father of two young children was savagely assassinated before a crowd of more than 3,000 people, and the video was broadcast to billions on social media within seconds. I got a text from my 16-year-old son: "Did you see the video?" I wished he hadn't, but he and most of his classmates saw it within seconds.

There are moments so deeply etched in our minds that we remember exactly where we were when they happened. For many, this will be one. For most of us in this room, 9/11 was another. It seems rare that those deeply etched memories are good ones.

I don't want to jump from text to text driven by events in the culture. We returned last week to the Gospel of Luke, and we were already scheduled to be in this passage. My prayer was, "God, I believe You providentially have us here for such a time as this." As I studied, I sensed God had a message—not just for me, but for our church and the larger church as well.

A Nation Under Occupation

At the time of the Gospels, around 29 AD, the people of Israel carried their own searing memory. In 63 BC, the Roman general Pompey the Great laid siege to Jerusalem, bringing about its fall and placing Israel under Roman occupation. That was less than a hundred years before Jesus' ministry. Some who lived through it may still have been alive; many more had heard their parents' stories. The hatred and animosity toward Rome was extreme.

This is why there was such a deep longing for the Messiah. The people prayed daily for the anointed one foretold by the prophets, who would cast off the shackles of Rome and make Israel a kingdom above all kingdoms. They were constantly on the lookout—maybe it's him, maybe it's him. And now a man shows up who seems to be ticking the boxes.

But nearly a century after the conquest, the people had learned to tolerate the occupation even as they despised it. If a Roman soldier asked you to carry his goods, Roman law required you to carry them at least a mile. Some had learned not only to live under it, but to profit from it.

The Factions of First-Century Israel

The Herodians were the political power connected to Rome—the ruling body aligned with Herod, the Idumean vassal king Rome installed. They lived in Jerusalem, made money off Roman taxes, and enjoyed Roman military protection. The common people despised them as compromisers, Jews in name only.

The Sadducees were the priestly power connected to Rome, tied to the temple and the Sanhedrin. There was no separation of church and state in the first-century Jewish world—that's actually a relatively new and very American, Protestant Baptist idea. The Sadducees were the educated aristocracy. They received wealth and protection from Rome, looked down on the common people, and were looked down upon in return.

Underneath them were the publicans—the tax collectors. Rome did not send its own officials to collect taxes; it contracted wealthy locals to bid for the right. They paid Rome in advance, then collected from the people with a surcharge to make their profit. If you think the tax collector is unloved in 2025, the publican among the Jews was despised as a traitor and a collaborator. They were regarded as unclean, identified with sinners—remember the Pharisee in Luke 18 who thanked God he wasn't like "that tax collector over there."

The majority of the population hated Rome. The populist movement was most closely aligned with the Pharisees, the moderates and conservatives who held to the law of Moses and the traditions of their forefathers. Further right were the Essenes, the separatists who fled to the desert at Qumran and wrote the Dead Sea Scrolls—the apocalypticists waiting for the cleansing of everyone else. Further right still were the Zealots, including the Sicarii, the "daggermen," the assassins who killed those connected to Rome.

These were the people praying for a Messiah to liberate them. And now a man shows up, preaching in ways that disrupt and challenge the religious elite, healing the sick and casting out demons. They liked him—but then Jesus had to go and do this.

"Follow Me"—the Calling of Levi

Jesus saw Levi, a tax collector, sitting at the tax office, and said, "Follow me." And the publican left all and followed him. Oh man, why did you have to go and do that? You can be certain the public opinion polls dipped after this one.

Earlier in Luke 5, Jesus had called fishermen—Andrew, Peter, James, and John—in Capernaum, with the same words: "Follow me." Some would have wondered why the Messiah called tradesmen instead of the educated and powerful. Then Jesus touched a leper. In that world, infirmity wasn't just sickness; it was assumed to be the result of sin. Even Jesus' followers asked of the man born blind, "Who sinned, this man or his parents?" To touch a leper was to be defiled by his physical and spiritual sickness—yet Jesus touched him and healed him.

Then a paralyzed man was brought to Jesus, and He not only healed him but said, "Son, your sins are forgiven"—outside the temple, outside sacrifice, requiring nothing. That's not the way it was supposed to go. At every step, Jesus pushes further outside the lines: touching the untouchable, forgiving like only God can, and now inviting a traitor to be his disciple.

Touching a leper was scandalous. Forgiving the paralytic was outrageous. Calling Levi was unthinkable. He wasn't just sick or unclean—he was a collaborator, a traitor, the kind of person the Sicarii assassinated. And Jesus looked at him and said, "Follow me."

Point one: Jesus approaches the reproached and includes the excluded. That's good news for us, because maybe you were the reproached or the excluded—and you're exactly the kind of person He reaches out to and includes.

Partying with a Publican

But the story gets worse. Levi gave Jesus a great feast in his own house, with a great number of tax collectors and others. Levi is the same man called Matthew elsewhere—the one we believe wrote the Gospel of Matthew. And later Jesus calls another disciple, Simon the Zealot. Grasp this: He had Levi the publican and Simon the Zealot on the same team—the collaborator who gave taxes to Rome, and a man from the group that assassinated such people. Under normal circumstances they would have hated one another, yet Jesus calls them both.

It reminds me of Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Antonin Scalia—ideologically as far apart as could be, yet best friends. Jesus' group was publicans, zealots, tradesmen, lepers, sinners.

Point two: Jesus befriends and blesses the untouchables and unforgivables, and He calls the unthinkables.

The Fear of Association

When Jesus does this, the scribes and Pharisees complain—but notice, they don't complain to Jesus. They complain to His followers. The only ones we know at this point are Peter, Andrew, James, John, and Levi. They come and say, "Are you eating with sinners?"

The implication is clear: Your family has had good standing in this community and the synagogue for a long time—you'd better watch what you do. They were threatening expulsion from the synagogue, which in that day was a kind of social assassination, like being cancelled in the first century. You could get no work; everything happened in the synagogue. This was the same threat made to the parents of the man born blind in John 9.

I'm sure you've never been tempted to fear what others might think about your association with Jesus. Point three: Jesus calls as disciples and dines with the despised. That is the way of Christ, the example of Christ—and the expectation of Christ for His followers.

If we're honest, we all feel the temptation to hide our association with Jesus and His people. Even Peter would later be tempted in Acts to separate himself from Gentiles, and Paul withstood him to his face. We're tempted to look down our noses at people who aren't quite as good as us—the despised, the excluded reprobates—and to say that if you don't walk the line, we'll cancel you, dox you, destroy your business. The way of Christ is different. They were tempted to hate the publicans, the elite who cozied up with paganized Rome, the half-hearted, the ones who don't look, talk, smell, or vote like us. When we see people do wicked things or rejoice in wickedness, that same temptation rises in our own spirits—"I'll find out where you work and take you out." That is not the impulse of Christ.

Jesus' Mission Statement

Jesus answered the scribes and Pharisees directly: "Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners, to repentance."

Point four: Jesus associates with outcasts because His is a mission of rescue, redemption, and restoration. This is one of His explicit purpose statements, and I always point them out. Throughout the Gospels He defines His mission clearly: "I have come to seek and to save that which is lost." "I have come to give my life a ransom for many." "I have come that you may have life more abundantly." And here: "I have come to call sinners to repentance." Sometimes I forget that. Sometimes my vision of His vision gets blurry and I need to be refocused.

What Hatred Can Do

This week we were reminded what hatred can do. My youngest son came home Thursday having listened to the audio recordings from Flight 93. I was in New York City within ten days after 9/11, there with the Red Cross and the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association. I still have a film capsule with dust from the buildings, and I remember the smell of southern Manhattan. Hatred led to the death of 2,977 Americans on that day—and to the death of one man four days ago. Hatred brings division, destruction, devastation, and death.

More than a few times over the last 96 hours I was brought back to Jesus' words in Matthew 5:44: "But I say to you, love your enemies. Bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use and persecute you." That's hard. You don't want to know what I want for my enemies—but it's probably the same thing you want for yours.

Point five: the way of Christ challenges me to live and love differently.

A Turning Point

I find it interesting that the organization Charlie Kirk started was called Turning Point. I think we find ourselves at a turning point right now—and I hope not a tipping point to more violence, but certainly a crossroads. We've been here before and likely will be again.

Let me be candid. I didn't follow Charlie Kirk's work closely, for two reasons. When he became popular around 2016 to 2019, I was concerned by what seemed like a strong Christian nationalism that makes me uncomfortable and doesn't fit the teaching of Christ; the rhetoric I heard was mostly strong politics and very little gospel. The bigger reason is that a 25-year friendship with another pastor, Rob McCoy—who paid for my plane ticket when I moved to Germany, whose son Michael is Charlie Kirk's chief of staff—was strained over Rob's close friendship with Charlie.

But I'll say this: over the last three years, Charlie's message became more gospel, and he became more popular as it did. That's key to recognize. In America today, at this crossroads, my prayer is that we go toward more gospel, because that's the only answer. The gospel is the power of God unto salvation; it transforms individuals and nations. There's a real danger we could go a different direction.

How a Nation Changes

Do you want to see a change in your nation? Do you want to see that spirit of Rome, that spirit of Babylon, fall? First, it will take longer than you think. These problems didn't arise in a day, and they won't be fixed in a week, a month, or a presidential term.

Second, it will not come by violent uprising. Jesus said, "My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world, then would my servants fight." Israel did not overcome Rome through the zealots, Essenes, Pharisees, or Sanhedrin—they all failed. But the church, with no violent uprising, no army, no battle, overcame Rome in 300 years and transformed the world. The western world you know today is the product of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Third, it will require you to meet those you despise and welcome them to your table. Psalm 23 says, "He prepares a table before me in the presence of my enemies." That, in a sense, is what Charlie Kirk did the last several years—he prepared a table before his enemies. Bring the gospel to that, and you will see people redeemed, restored, and transformed.

This week I saw a video from a woman in her early thirties, clearly living a different lifestyle than mine, who said she'd always been fearful of religious people—but after Charlie Kirk's death, she was starting to think she should go to church. Would to God that we receive such people with open arms and say, "Why don't you come to my table?" They are desperately looking for forgiveness, grace, and openness. They're isolated, far from God, and Christ is the one who breaks down the middle wall of separation and brings transforming grace.

A Move of God

God is doing something in this moment. Missiologists and revival historians will tell you the last great move of God in our nation was the late 1960s and early 1970s—the Jesus Movement, which began in Southern California. You can see Greg Laurie's film, Jesus Revolution. Some of its triggering events were the assassinations of Martin Luther King and Robert F. Kennedy. It happened among youth who needed someone to welcome and accept them—and one of those who welcomed them in was Chuck Smith.

None of this means sin is overlooked or repentance discounted. But it means we must welcome outcasts in—not just into the church building, but into our lives and homes. Many lost people in our culture feel like outsiders, untouchables, overlooked—like if something happened to them, no one would even know or care. These are the people easily seduced by evil-mindedness that breeds hatred for themselves and others. When you see a young person with piercings and tattoos all over their face, it's often an indication that they deeply dislike themselves, that they're in pain and easily seduced into suicidal, even genocidal thinking. They need forgiving grace and kind compassion—and the only place to find it is in Christ.

Be Angry, and Do Not Sin

Paul wrote in Ephesians 4, "Be angry, and do not sin"—or, "In your anger do not sin." There's recognition there that we should be angry. God is angry with the wicked and with evil. You should be angry when you see explicit evil like 9/11 or what happened Wednesday, and angry when you see people gleeful and rejoicing over evil. But the impulse to find those people and destroy their lives and their work—that is the impulse of your flesh and the devil, not of Christ.

"Do not let the sun go down on your wrath, neither give place to the devil... Let all bitterness, wrath, anger, clamor, and evil speaking be put away from you, with all malice. And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God in Christ forgave you." That's probably the first verse we ever taught our kids—and we still tell them when they're not being kind, which, being pastor's kids, happens only about 27 times before 9:00 a.m.

The culture that breeds the violence we're seeing is an angry culture, and you cannot give in to that impulse of the flesh. That's the part Jesus says must be crucified: "If anyone desires to be my disciple, he must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me." The works of the flesh are evident—hatred, contentions, outbursts of wrath, and murder—and Paul says those who practice such things will not inherit the kingdom of God.

The Right Response

So we should be angry for the right reasons and respond in the right way. What is the right response? It may seem too small, but it is first prayer, and second the proclamation of the good news of the gospel.

Let me free you up here: imprecatory prayer is biblical. Imprecation is the calling down of a curse. It is not wrong to pray, "God, would you bring your just wrath upon this wickedness?" It recognizes His sovereign authority in vengeance and that vengeance is His place, not mine. The right response is bold gospel action. That is the only hope for a world that produces the events of 9/10 and 9/11—the gospel. God help us.

Closing Prayer

Lord, I pray that You would give us Your grace. You've already given us Your grace in abundance—what we do not deserve, in the form of Your love and blessing and adoption and redemption and restoration. And God, would You stir us to be conduits of Your grace to others? Lord, help us not to look down our noses at people because they look or smell wrong, or don't vote the way we vote, but to see them as the very people You want to reach with Your love and grace—and maybe You would use us to do that. God, compel us by Your love to be ambassadors for Your kingdom in a world in such desperate need of Your grace. We ask this in Jesus' name. And all those who agreed said, Amen.