featuresJanuary 24, 2009
Liar, cheater, fraud, traitor. These are labels no one would like to bear. These are the names of the outcast, the unwanted, the unneeded and the undesirable. These are the names I hear people calling me while I sit at my tax collector's booth. I would hate to hear what they say when I am not around. No one wants me around...

Liar, cheater, fraud, traitor.

These are labels no one would like to bear. These are the names of the outcast, the unwanted, the unneeded and the undesirable. These are the names I hear people calling me while I sit at my tax collector's booth. I would hate to hear what they say when I am not around. No one wants me around.

The name my father gave me is Matthew.

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There I was that day, just like every other day. I had been commissioned by the Romans to be the tax collector. I could become wealthy as a tax collector. I would also be isolated from the respectable crowd of my own people. They would not want me around. To them, a tax collector was a traitor. The Romans have established themselves as the government we did not want, and they are controlling our sacred land. Their cruelty to us, to anyone who is not them, has become famous. But because I have chosen to be their tax collector I have also chosen to be a traitor to my own people. At least that's what they say under their breath as they walk away from the tax booth.

That's OK. I'll just make a mental note and charge more taxes next time. That's the source of my wealth. My charge is to collect taxes, but anything above what the Romans ask for goes directly into my pocket. Unmonitored income. No matter how much I collect for the Romans, I am still not one of them. No matter how much I serve them anyone who is not a Roman citizen is not a person.

One day a man named Jesus came near my tax booth. I knew it wasn't to pay taxes because he looked liked he did not own anything. I had heard he was a teacher and rumors that he had healed others. He looked at me and said, "Follow me and be my disciple." I left everything. Later he and other undesirables of the city were in my home for dinner. He was being criticized by the religious leaders for being there when he said something that changed my life. He told them, "Healthy people don't need a doctor -- sick people do." And I knew that I was one of the sick and he could heal this outcast.

Rob Hurtgen is a husband, father, minister and writer. Read more from him at www.robhurtgen.wordpress.com.

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