Legendary Listener

What does it mean to be legendary? If one were to do some research on Matthew, Apostle, evangelist, and author of a Gospel, that person would find what starts to sound more like traditional literature than biography. 

Matthew’s story took decades, maybe centuries, building up to the historical figure we recognize today. And now, in our world of a 24 hour news cycle and social media, a legend can be built in weeks. 

As I dug into Saint Matthew’s life, I learned that his Gospel was likely shaped by several sources—Mark’s Gospel, the stories of other Jewish people who interacted with Jesus, and Matthew’s own experiences.

Matthew, a tax collector and outcast thanks to the logistics of his role in society, was shown love by Jesus. He was seen, acknowledged, and invited. In turn, Matthew brought other outcasts into the fold, sharing the beauty of the gift that is to be known and loved for being, not doing. Funny how that feeling of being loved simply for being can propel one into a life of doing—sharing their gratitude with others through story and loving presence. Matthew honored the experiences of others by including their stories in his Gospel. 

How do we honor the experiences of others around us? I would say we start first with listening. 

When we listen to our sources of wisdom, our legendary figures, our leaders, are they sharing stories? Are they sharing shoulds and should nots? Is love or fear at the heart of their airtime? And what is it about their messages that captivate our attention? 

We have Bible stories of legendary figures to teach us to trust God. The stories are consistently about prayer, trusting God’s timing, releasing control, and presence and love of others. Our renowned figures often run up against challenges before they realize the loving, more self-less way forward. These are reassuring. 

Matthew’s Gospel has the highest number of unique stories, fitting for the gospel with a reputation for being authored by an amalgam of lived experiences. We crave comfort. We want the unsettled to be settled and the ambiguous to be clear. To make our own meaning of someone’s stories means we might be wrong about something, and that’s scary. 

In Matthew’s story, we see him undergo a turning of the tide—a move from skimming money from others out of fear of being destitute and hungry, to embracing generosity of spirit. He learns to let go of viewing the world through a material lens, focused on what he possesses, and instead begins to see through a lens of love, focused on what he can give to others—especially the gift of hope.

As we engage with our children about their day, we have the opportunity to model hope. We can frame our questions with generosity rather than fear: 

• How was your day? 
• What made you smile? 
• How did you help?
• How did someone help you?

These questions send a different message than, “How was your test?” or “Did [Timmy] bother you again today?

When we share our own stories at dinner, do they model:

• Loving for the good of others even when that means choosing love over our own comfort?
• It is okay to be wrong— to realize that with more information or experience or others’ stories, we need to change course?

If we broaden the aperture of our lens of the world, we begin to see more clearly, hear new stories, and discover how those stories can reshape the way we love.  

Thank you, Saint Matthew, for listening and for sharing the stories that teach us how to love.