A Tale of Two Rooms

A few months ago I was summoned for jury duty, for the second time since moving here. Somehow, in all of my years living in many different counties I never got summoned once. But St. Lucie county thinks I’m great apparently. So you know the song and dance, show up super early, listen closely to find out if there is any possible reason for you to disqualify yourself before the whole show even begins. Then you just sit and wait. I read a whole lot of a really great book, and then finally the time came for us to enter into the jury selection process.

When I walked into that courtroom, everything was procedural. The judge sat elevated, robed, and authoritative. Lawyers spoke in precise language. Jurors were asked questions designed to reveal bias. The goal was clear: select a jury best able to establish guilt or innocence, and if necessary, assign punishment.

That’s what a courtroom does. It seeks verdicts. It doesn’t aim for healing, restoration, or reconciliation—it aims for closure.

Now contrast that with another room: the family room. If you’ve ever watched the show Intervention, you know what I mean. A family gathers in a living room. They’ve written letters. They look their loved one in the eye and say: “We love you too much to let you keep destroying your life. We want you to heal. We want you back.”

It’s messy. It’s emotional. There are tears, anger, sometimes people walk out. But the goal isn’t punishment. The goal is restoration.

And here’s the tension: in our world—and too often in our churches—we lean toward the courtroom. We like verdicts. We want finality. But Jesus calls us to live in the family room.

In Matthew 18:15–17, Jesus lays out His process for addressing conflict:

“If another member of the church sins against you, go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone. If the member listens to you, you have regained that one. But if you are not listened to, take one or two others along with you… If the offender refuses to listen even to the church, let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector.”

At first glance, that sounds like courtroom language: case closed, verdict read, exile enforced. But remember—Scripture interprets Scripture. The question we must ask is: how did Jesus actually treat Gentiles and tax collectors?

Let’s start with tax collectors. They were despised in Jewish society. Seen as traitors who collected money for the Roman Empire and skimmed extra for themselves. Social outcasts.

And yet in Matthew 9:9–11, Jesus calls Matthew—a tax collector—to be His disciple.

Matthew 9:9–13 NRSV

As Jesus was walking along, he saw a man called Matthew sitting at the tax booth; and he said to him, “Follow me.” And he got up and followed him. And as he sat at dinner in the house, many tax collectors and sinners came and were sitting with him and his disciples. When the Pharisees saw this, they said to his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” But when he heard this, he said, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.”

Nowhere is this clearer than in Luke 19:1–10—the story of Zacchaeus. You remember the song: “Zacchaeus was a wee little man…” But Zacchaeus wasn’t just short—he was corrupt. He had grown wealthy off the backs of his neighbors. Everyone despised him.

Luke 19:1–10 NRSV

He entered Jericho and was passing through it. A man was there named Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax collector and was rich. He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to see him, because he was going to pass that way. When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.” So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him. All who saw it began to grumble and said, “He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.” Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, “Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.” Then Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.”

No one liked Zacchaeus, people probably tried their best to avoid seeing and being seen by him. He was a person in charge of taking their money and giving it to the Roman Empire - But Jesus… well when Jesus saw Zacchaeus up in that sycamore tree, He said: “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.” (Luke 19:5).

The crowd grumbled. But by the end of dinner, Zacchaeus was pledging to repay what he had stolen, and Jesus declared: “Today salvation has come to this house, for the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.” (Luke 19:9–10).

That’s how Jesus treated tax collectors—not with exile, but with invitation. Not with final verdicts, but with a family table.

And what about Gentiles? In Matthew 8:5–13, a Roman centurion—a Gentile soldier of the occupying empire—asks Jesus to heal his servant. Jesus not only heals but praises his faith: “Truly I tell you, in no one in Israel have I found such faith.” (v. 10).

In John 4, Jesus sits at a well with a Samaritan woman—a Gentile outsider—and offers her living water. He reveals Himself as Messiah to her, and she becomes one of the first evangelists, bringing her whole village to Him.

So when Jesus says in Matthew 18, “Let them be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector,” He’s not saying: treat them as enemies. He’s saying: treat them the way I treat them—keep pursuing, keep inviting, keep the possibility of restoration alive.

Paul lived this out. In 2 Corinthians 2:7–8, speaking of someone who had been disciplined, Paul writes:

“Now instead, you ought to forgive and console him, so that he may not be overwhelmed by excessive sorrow. So I urge you to reaffirm your love for him.”

Paul reminds the church: discipline may be necessary, but punishment is never the endgame. The goal is restoration. The church is not a court room, the church is a family room.

John Wesley understood this too. That’s why the early Methodists met in bands and classes. They asked hard questions: “How have you sinned? Have you done harm? Have you done good?”

But these weren’t interrogations for the sake of verdicts. They were interventions for the sake of holiness. The purpose wasn’t to exile but to restore the image of God in one another. Accountability always came wrapped in grace.

And this isn’t just about church. It’s a model for our broader society.

We live in a world that thrives on courtroom justice. Social media acts like judge and jury. News cycles play like endless episodes of Law & Order. People are tried in the court of public opinion every single day.

But every now and then, we glimpse the family room.

At the memorial service for Charlie Kirk, his widow Erica stood and, through tears, said she forgave the man who killed her husband. She didn’t excuse the act. She didn’t minimize her pain. But she refused to let bitterness consume her.

That is family room grace in the face of courtroom violence. That is the gospel at work.

So what does this mean for us?

Boundaries are necessary. Like in an intervention, sometimes we must say: “This behavior cannot continue.” Boundaries protect, but they do not exile forever.

Bitterness is never the goal. Even when someone is outside, we leave the porch light on. We wait. We pray. We hope for restoration.

Restoration is the heartbeat. Because the family of God is not built on verdicts but on forgiveness.

A Spiritual Practice – Write a Prayer of Forgiveness

Here’s a way to start: write a prayer of forgiveness.

You don’t have to send it. You don’t even have to tell anyone you wrote it. But write it down. Pray it. Offer it to God.

Because when you do, you’re choosing the family room over the courtroom. You’re choosing peacemaking over punishment. You’re living as a child of God.

So which room will define us?

The courtroom—where verdicts are final and the case is closed? Or the family room—where interventions happen, where tears fall, where forgiveness is extended, and where restoration is always possible?

Jesus calls us to the family room. Paul calls us to reaffirm love. Wesley calls us to holiness wrapped in grace. And the Spirit calls us to be peacemakers—the children of God.

Because in God’s family, there’s always one more chair at the table.