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Matthew understood precisely three things about life for certain:
- He wasn’t the easiest person to become friends with.
- The only reliable friend he truly had was mathematics. And Jesus. Maybe. Probably.
- Jesus was the Messiah.
It was a limited list, but it was accurate nonetheless. It used to be longer, some time ago. It had things like “a leper cannot be healed” and “a man cannot walk on water”. But lately, life had shown him that even things he believed to be solid facts were debatable under the touch of God.
So, the once extensive list was whittled down to a sad, measly three. Perhaps not all pathetic in nature, but disappointing in number nonetheless.
Matthew glanced over at the others as he sat on the cold ground, back against the wall. They were putting together Shabbat dinner, arranging plates, and preparing food. Big James and John were shoving each other in some useless kiddy fight while Thaddeus tried his best to calm them down. Andrew and a few of the others laughed about something while Mary and Ramah whispered and chuckled about their own jokes in the corner. And Simon Peter…
Simon was staring Matthew dead in the eye.
Matthew startled a little, glancing around himself to see if there was anything besides him that could have captured Simon’s attention. Alas, no. Simon was looking unmistakably at him and began to approach and Matthew calculated the millions of possibilities as to why he was coming over.
It was true that Matthew struggled with befriending anyone, but he and Simon had a particularly difficult relationship. So, in order to avoid conflict, Matthew resolved to keep his distance from Simon, and if he could, everyone else was well. After all, even if it stung a bit when he thought about it too hard, isolation was something he was used to.
As Simon arrived at Matthew’s feet, there was an awkward stretch of silence for a few moments, both of them seemingly waiting for the other to say something. Matthew eventually couldn't handle the quiet and asked his question as straightforwardly and simply as possible, leaving no room for interpretation.
“Simon. What do you want?”
Then, miserably, Simon did the thing people always seemed to do when Matthew spoke, and Matthew knew he’d made a mistake. His eyebrows clenched and a look of disapproval and confusion dawned on his face like Matthew had spoken a language no one else knew.
“You know, I’m not always out to get you. You can stop treating me like that,” came Simon’s response, biting and resentful.
Matthew wondered frantically what he’d done this time. It always felt like he was losing in a game he’d never been taught the rules to, every time he tried making friends or asking a question. Like it was everyone else speaking the mystery language, and he was the only one never made literate in it. Speaking seemed like it should be simple but felt more like an exchange of code words.
Briefly, Matthew wondered if Jesus could heal him of his social inadequacy the way He could a fever or broken bone.
“I didn't say you were. I was just asking a question,” Matthew clarified, intent on fixing the conversation he’d broken.
Simon huffed. Matthew’s comment didn’t seem to have fixed anything at all. “Y’know, I was coming over here because I thought you might wanna join the rest of us, but if you’re so affronted that I’d dare talk to you, I’ll just leave,” Simon barked, turning on his heel and heading back toward the others.
“What? Simon-” Matthew tried, but it was too late. Simon was gone and Matthew was alone. Again.
Perhaps “perpetually” would have been a better word, he thought, sullen.
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“Jesus, may I have a word?”
Jesus looked up, pausing from preparing His bed to look at Matthew, who stood awkwardly in the doorway.
“Sure, Matthew. Come, sit,” Jesus offered, gesturing to the bed as He took a seat at its foot.
Matthew, fingers twiddling together, nodded in thanks and sat.
Jesus said nothing. Matthew knew that when someone said nothing at the start of a conversation, it was because they wanted you to start. Matthew hated starting. He always failed at starting.
“I hope you know, you cannot say anything wrong to me,” Jesus said suddenly, almost as if He were reading the thoughts running through Matthew’s head. “I will never judge you for honesty.”
Matthew stared at Him for a moment, then nodded. If honesty was all he could offer Jesus, then that was what he’d give.
“I need You to fix me, Rabbi,” he stated.
Jesus tilted His head. “What do you mean ‘fix’, Matthew?”
Matthew felt his body closing in, arms right against his chest and head tilting down. “You know what I am talking about because You know of all my flaws. And You can heal me of my ails if it is Your will. So please, Rabbi,” Matthew pleaded, hugging himself, “heal me.”
Jesus looked Matthew in the eyes like He could see the inner workings of Matthew’s brain through them. He said nothing for a moment but did not leave the silence too long, thankfully for Matthew.
“There is nothing to heal you of, Matthew. You have made every effort you can, and there is nothing more I can ask.”
Matthew shook his head. “You know that is not true. If I had nothing to be healed of, then perhaps I would have a friend other than a dog or my tablet. If I was not broken, then I would not ache so deeply to be fixed.” He breathed shakily. “I need to be healed. Please. Please.”
Jesus sighed and gave Matthew a gentle smile. “Ah. I take it you are referring to your social skills?”
Matthew nodded fervently, still a curled-up figure sitting on the bed.
“Matthew, the only sin you are guilty of is having a big heart and no one to share it with. You are different, sure. You connect in ways others may not understand. You speak and listen differently from the others. But I did not choose you despite your understanding of the world. I chose you because of it. I chose you because you are Matthew, and I do not want you to be anyone else.”
Matthew pleaded. “Rabbi, my own family thinks something is the matter with me. I am the only one I know who is like this. I cannot fit in with anyone anywhere. Whenever I try…” he steeled himself, determined not to let his sadness turn to tears, “I always say something wrong. And I always end up alone.”
“Matthew, listen to Me.” Jesus scooted closer, but didn’t lay a hand on Matthews’s shoulder like the latter had feared. Instead, He just offered him proximity. “Every person you will ever meet was created for divine reasons. Reasons you may not yet know,” He began. “Some were made leaders, others followers. Some are tall, others short. Some are loud, others quiet.” Jesus took a moment to look at Matthew again intently. “Some are skilled with academics and others with fishing. Some are good at writing, and others with conversation. Do you understand?”
“I…”
“To be skilled more at one thing than another is no sickness, Matthew. It is the very thing that makes someone human. And no matter how different you may feel, you are human like the rest. And perhaps more importantly, you are uniquely different from them at the same time.”
Matthew’s grip on himself relaxed a little as he listened, Jesus’s words taking root. But he still had questions, and he couldn't bear to keep them to himself.
“But, Simon. I tried speaking to him. I tried to be his friend, and I still ruined it. I don’t know if he will ever try to speak with me again.”
Jesus nodded in understanding and breathed a little laugh. “Simon is… an intense person, I admit. He is fierce in every emotion. But you are both grown, capable men, however different you may think you are.”
“So,” Matthew said, “what should I do, then?”
“Explain to him what you have explained to me, Matthew. There was never anything broken about you, but you and Simon lack an understanding of each other. Tell him that you try. Tell him the things you are afraid he will judge you for.”
“Do You truly believe that will work?” Matthew asked.
“I know it will. Just trust me,” Jesus affirmed with a nod. “But first, you should sleep. Then you can talk to Simon. I know I myself could not talk to Simon when I am this tired.”
Matthew nodded. “Thank You, Rabbi. I will think about what you said. Good night.”
Jesus smiled. “Good night, Matthew.”
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Matthew paced. And paced. And paced. And
And Simon was right there. And
And Matthew should talk to him. And
Okay. Okay. Here went nothing.
“Simon,” Matthew said, immediately folding in on himself a little when Simon turned to look at him.
“What now,” Simon asked, and okay, given how similar those words were to the ones Matthew had said to Simon the day prior, he understood why they may have come off wrong now. A little.
“I wanted to talk to you,” Matthew stated. “To apologize.”
“For being a cynic?” Simon questioned.
(Matthew thought Simon sounded a little hypocritical, but he didn’t call him on it.)
“I don’t know how to talk,” Matthew said.
“What?”
Matthew backtracked. “I feel like I am kind” he explained rather quickly, “but everyone else seems to think my comments are unpleasant. Everyone speaks in riddles to me.”
“I have no idea what you are saying,” Simon said blankly.
“I mean.” Matthew stopped to think, selecting each word with care. “I want to be your friend. But I don’t know how.”
Simon’s surprise was poorly hidden, Matthew thought.
Matthew figured if he kept explaining, Simon could only understand more and more, so he continued. “ I just mean, I cannot communicate like you do. I cannot tell funny stories, or understand jokes like you. I’m good with numbers. I’m the numbers guy. So when we speak, I feel like I am saying nothing wrong. But I always say something wrong. And I truly don’t mean to. I don't. I’m just–” it felt like words were cramming together in his throat, threatening to make his voice crack more than it already had. He pressed forward, shoving them down. “I’m different. I’ve always been different. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want us to be friends. So I am sorry if I have hurt you, Simon. I know I make mistakes. But I am trying. Very, very hard.”
Simon’s face had a wide-eyed stare that blinked on occasion. Matthew didn’t know what it meant. So he waited.
And waited.
Until Simon spoke.
“Matthew,” he began, seemingly piecing words together as he went on. “I don’t know why Jesus chose you.”
Matthew’s heart sank a bit, and he fought with every bit of himself to not let it show on his face.
Simon continued. “But I don’t know why he chose me either.”
Matthew blinked.
“I have my issues with you, and I don’t deny that,” Simon confessed, “but if I’ve learned anything from Jesus, it’s that I’m not blameless here. I’m more flawed than half the group. Maybe even more than you.” He finally looked Matthew in the eye. “So I’m sorry. And if you don’t understand something… I won’t snap at you for asking me. Deal?”
They almost felt unreal, the words Simon spoke. Matthew could hardly believe it was really him talking at all. But there he was, clear as day… apologizing .
Which was the last thing Matthew had expected.
“I…” Matthew’s mouth went dry. “Thank you, Simon.”
Simon nodded, trying to seem nonchalant. “Yeah, you’re welcome. Don’t make a big thing out of it.”
And yet, it was the biggest thing Matthew had ever heard him say.
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“And I said, that’s great news! I already bought dinner!”
The group burst into laughter, Little James’ story clearly an absolute riot. Matthew stared blankly, trying his best to decipher the punchline to what he assumed was a joke.
Simon leaned over quickly, in the clamor, and whispered to Matthew:
“The joke is that he thought they meant to stay over.”
The humor clicked. The joke wasn’t really that funny, sure, but nonetheless, with good reason, Matthew smiled, nodded, and blessedly, laughed .
Simon laughed right alongside him.