Bad Company: When Jesus Sits at the Wrong Tables

There are people we're supposed to avoid. Every culture has them. Every community knows who they are. Not because they're awkward or difficult to talk to, but because they're complicated. Their stories make us uncomfortable. They've done real damage—to others, to themselves, maybe even to us. They don't fit neatly into our categories of "good" and "bad," but somehow they feel easier to label than to love.
In first-century Israel, tax collectors topped that list. They weren't just unpopular—they were despised. These were Jewish men who worked for the Roman occupiers, collecting taxes from their own people. But they didn't stop at what Rome demanded. They padded the numbers, pocketing the difference and getting rich off their neighbors' misery. If there was a list of people you didn't trust, didn't respect, and definitely didn't invite over for dinner, tax collectors would be at the very top.

Which makes what happens in Luke 5 so shocking.

The Invitation Nobody Expected
Luke 5:27-28 gives us one of those moments that rattled everyone who thought they had God figured out: "After this, he went out and saw a tax collector named Levi sitting at the tax booth. And he said to him, 'Follow me.' And leaving everything, he rose and followed him."
Picture the scene. Levi sits at his tax booth—a place everyone avoided. People would cross the street, take a different route, anything to avoid being seen by him. They didn't want to pay the inflated taxes, and they certainly didn't want to make this traitor any richer.
But Jesus doesn't avoid the block. He walks right up to Levi. And here's what's remarkable: He doesn't lecture him about exploiting the poor. He doesn't run a background check or demand that Levi clean up his life first. He doesn't say, "Stop what you're doing, change your ways, and then maybe you can follow me."

He just says two words: "Follow me."

That's it. No explanation. No conditions. Just an invitation.

And Levi gets up and leaves everything behind. He doesn't negotiate. He doesn't ask for time to transition out of his role or ease into this new life. He simply leaves the booth and follows.

This raises an honest question we all need to ask: Is there anything Jesus is asking you to leave in order to truly follow him? Is there something you're holding onto that stands between you and genuine discipleship?

We often quietly wonder if we've gone too far, done too much, or if there's something in our lives that has disqualified us from following Jesus. Levi's story answers that question. Here's a guy who had gone way too far and done way too much. As far as the religious leaders were concerned, he was completely disqualified. Yet Jesus says, "Follow me."

Jesus doesn't wait for Levi to become acceptable. He just calls him.

Here's the truth: You cannot follow Jesus without leaving where you are. Following requires movement, and movement requires leaving something behind.

The Meal That Changed Everything
The next scene is even more surprising. Levi throws a great banquet at his house, and the guest list is exactly who you'd expect: tax collectors, sinners, and outsiders. These are Levi's people—the only friends a tax collector could have. And there's Jesus, sitting right there, reclining at the table, eating, laughing, hanging out with them.

Meals matter. They always have. Meals slow us down. They create a level playing field. They say, "You matter enough for my time." There's something powerful about shared meals—spaces where relationships deepen and spiritual transformation can begin.

But here's the problem with our culture: we have food everywhere, but meals are almost nowhere. We eat fast, on the run, walking down the street. We eat alone at our desks or in our rooms. We eat distracted, scrolling through our phones or watching TV. Food is everywhere, but nobody sits down to a meal anymore.

Jesus chose tables, not stages. Not spotlights, but tables. He chose to sit with people quietly, to pause and talk. Some of the best conversations, the most honest moments, the deepest connections happen around meals.

So here's a practical question: Who could you eat with simply and intentionally?

It doesn't have to be impressive. It doesn't have to be perfect. Your house doesn't need to look like a magazine. The food doesn't need to be flawless. It just has to be honest. Invite somebody over for soup. Sit down to lunch with a coworker. Say yes instead of "we should do that sometime." Make it happen now.

It doesn't have to be complicated to be holy. It just has to be honest.

The Scandal of Grace
Of course, the religious leaders were outraged. They grumbled to Jesus' disciples, "Why do you eat and drink with tax collectors and sinners?"

Their question reveals everything about how they understood God's kingdom. The religious system of the day said: Clean yourself up. Fix your behavior. Do everything perfectly. Then—maybe—God will welcome you in.

But Jesus flips the order completely.

His response is unforgettable: "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 5:31-32).

Jesus isn't lowering the bar. He's moving closer to the people who need his grace. He meets people where they are and as they are, with the hope—no, the guarantee—that if they truly encounter him, their lives will change.

And Levi's did. This tax collector everyone wanted nothing to do with became Matthew, the writer of one of our gospels, a disciple and apostle of Jesus. His life was completely transformed.

This passage shows us three powerful truths: Everybody is lost. Everybody is loved. Everyone is welcome at the table.

That doesn't mean everything stays the same. It does mean nobody is excluded from the invitation. But when we accept that invitation and follow Jesus, we don't stay where we are. We change. We grow. We become different people.

Pulling Up a Chair
So whose table will reflect this truth this week?

Maybe it's time for you to accept Jesus' invitation for the first time—to come and sit at his table. Maybe it's time to leave something behind so you can truly follow him, to step out of your booth. Or maybe it's as simple and as powerful as setting a place at your table for someone else, so they can hear about God's grace and love for them.

Sometimes the most faithful thing we can do is pull up a chair, break some bread, and trust that Jesus still shows up there. Will we follow Jesus to tables that make us uncomfortable? Will we love people before they agree with us? Will we stay present while God is still at work—in their lives and in ours?

The invitation stands. The table is set. The question is: Will we accept it, and will we extend it to others?