Akoloutheo moi.

Still moving slowly from waking so early, you fasten your tattered awning and struggle to prepare your display. The newly risen sun rouses the color from the stone walls as you admire all the fresh produce you have to offer. The quiet streets soon spring to life as morning shoppers venture out for the freshest ingredients. While a few new faces are sometimes seen, it's usually the same local patrons day in and day out. This day seemed a bit different, though. It was only a moment ago that you noticed a curious young man as he made his way down the center row of the bustling marketplace. His manner of dress indicated that he was a Jewish teacher and he had a few young men walking beside him, seemingly asking questions. A slightly larger group of people followed close behind and a few more trailed at a short distance. The teacher raised his hand, as if motioning for the men to pause for a moment. He then crouched down to speak to an elderly beggar. He gently lifted the man up off the pavement. The way they embraced, you assumed they knew one another. Moments later, as the teacher winds through the narrowing rows, you see that a considerable number of people have begun to surround him. Three of them are singing. The young men accompanying Him are able to navigate the small crowd, but the teacher has chosen to stop and speak to a middle-aged woman who is crying. Soon after, he is moving closer to your stand. This is your chance. You hastily organize your fruit and vegetables. Surely someone from the approaching throng will make a purchase - your first of the morning. As the teacher, the young men accompanying him, and the crowd nears, you're discouraged to see that none of them are carrying produce, meat or textiles of any kind. Apparently, they're not in the marketplace to shop. What are they doing here? Causing a commotion and blocking your stand from potential customers, that's what! If you don't make enough sales today, you and your daughter won't be eating tonight. By now, the teacher is only a few stands away and the clamor has grown into a dull roar. About ten people are now singing - loudly. Some other men stand off to the side, shouting what sound like curses at him, but he pays them no mind. Within the writhing mass of followers, a few men start pushing each other in order to get closer to the young teacher. One man holds an infant over another man's head, trying to get the teacher to notice. Just then, as the colorful mass of people and sound parades past your stand, the teacher glances over and locks eyes with you. He instantly changes direction, He's coming closer. Swiftly. You immediately reach down, grabbing some pomegranates to offer him as his shadow falls across your hands. You lift your head and there he is, standing directly in front of you. He's gently clutching your arm. His face is so close that you can hear his breathing. Someone is blowing a shofar, but the cacophony of the crowd is completely inaudible for this split second. Every sound around you is eclipsed by the pounding of your own heart. As you stare right into his face, he says just two words, "Follow me." A wave of warmth thunders through your entire body, though you're enable to move a muscle. It's as if a blazing torch is suddenly thrust into the face of a statue. You're absolutely speechless, even as a swarm of thoughts races within your head. "Follow him where? I don't know him! Is he crazy? I'm holding my breath - Breathe! What about my daughter? Who are these men with him? Where will I sleep? I haven't any money!"

And as suddenly as he approached, he recedes from before your eyes. The young teacher has already made his way to the corner and appears to be talking to Matityahu, at the tax office. Between the light of the sun, the dizziness in your head and the enveloping crowd that surrounds, you lose sight of him and the other young men. The wave of warmth leaves you as once vivid colors fade and the faint echo of singing gives way to the sound of creaking carts and men bellowing about low prices. You have only one thought,"What in the world just happened?" You lean forward over your bins of fresh produce and peer into the tax office. Matityahu, the tax collector is gone.
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While reading Matthew chapter 9 tonight, I couldn't shake the thought of how strange and wonderful it must have been to be handpicked by Yeshua - for the Son of G-d to personally select you from a small crowd and tell you to follow Him. How incredible! I tried to imagine what it would be like to notice Him approaching. Would He stand out in the marketplace? Would he pause to observe something on the street that no one else would notice, or walk swiftly, determined to cover as much ground as possible in a day? While I envisioned as best I could what that life-changing moment might feel like, something I had never before considered crossed my mind. How would it feel to refuse? What if Yeshua asked you to follow, and for whatever reason, you weren't able to perceive the value of that astounding opportunity? You weren't able to obey. We know from scripture of at least two people that experienced this situation, but how did it feel? Did they realize the gravity of their decision? Is there any way that they possibly could have at that time? Did they die from remorse or simply move on as though nothing ever happened?

What can we take away from these thoughts? How many immense opportunities to obey Yeshua are senselessly squandered daily because of our own hampered perceptions? Surely, if we were able to see the end result of obedience to His call, we wouldn't wait. We'd run Him down as soon as He turned the corner. But we aren't able to see much, really. Even so, if He stood right before us, holding our arms and looking directly into our eyes - could we refuse Him?

Because He is doing just that.