I believe we are standing before a truly remarkable painting. A few quick facts: it was painted by Caravaggio in 1601. When Cardinal Matteo Contarelli died, he left enough money to decorate a chapel with scenes from the life of his patron saint, Saint Matthew the Evangelist.
But, in truth, that is not what matters most. What really matters is that the painting speaks to us, because a work of art has little meaning if it does not challenge us, if it does not make us stop and ask questions about our own lives. Caravaggio did not simply paint a moment from history; he painted a scene that continues to unfold every day. So, for a moment, I would like us to stop looking at the painting and allow the painting to look at us.
Speak, Matthew
It was an ordinary day at my table. I was collecting taxes, just as I did every other day. I remember that, as I left home that morning, I found myself wondering whether I was happy. I wasn’t sure that what I was doing truly fulfilled my heart, but I had to work for the Empire. There were accounts to settle, coins to count, and a living to make. In the end, you get used to living with an emptiness inside when you believe there is no other way to live.
As I went about my work, I suddenly heard a great commotion. A crowd of people was following a man; I could barely make him out among them. I carried on as if nothing were happening, although, for reasons I could not explain, I felt a warmth rising within me. It was as though something inside was telling me to look up. But I kept counting coins. It is always easier to look at money than to look into your own heart.
Then it happened.
The man stopped right in front of me. He raised his hand, a hand both firm and tender. He did not raise his voice, he did not argue with me, he did not throw my past in my face. He simply looked at me. It was a gaze that pierced through all my defenses, a gaze that seemed to know every corner of my story. Then he spoke just one word:
“Follow me.”
In that instant, I understood that I had spent my whole life waiting to hear that voice.
I felt a strength rising within me, lifting me to my feet. I left behind the table, the money, my securities, my plans, and the image others had of me. I left everything behind because, for the first time, I had found something worth infinitely more.
I gave up building the empire of men to become a builder of the Kingdom of God. A Kingdom worth giving your life for, worth working for and even dying for, but always out of love and through love. Because the Kingdom is not built through power, but through hearts willing to answer God’s call.
Sometimes people ask me what I saw in that man. I always give the same answer: I was not the one who discovered Jesus; Jesus was the one who found me when I thought my life had already been written.
Who could have imagined that a day seemingly like any other would change my life forever?