Scripture:
He entered Jericho and was passing through it. 2 A man was there named Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax collector and was rich. 3 He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature. 4 So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to see him, because he was going to pass that way. 5 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.” 6 So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him. 7 All who saw it began to grumble and said, “He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.” 8 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.” 9 Then Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, because he, too, is a son of Abraham. 10 For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.” ~Luke 19:1-10
Meditation
Would I climb a tree to see Jesus?
Would I make a fool of myself to meet God?
Embarrass myself, risk humiliation?
(You’re not really in love till you’ve embarrassed yourself.)
What would I dare, or not dare?
What would I risk to experience the Holy?
Am I ready for people to talk behind my back?
To give away a lot of money?
To allow Jesus to invite himself in, to invade my life,
when I definitely have not cleaned lately?
To commit to a loony scheme
that with Jesus could definitely get out of control?
Or do I slip back into the murmuring crowd,
all happy to consume me?[i]
I wish I could say I wrote that, but the credit goes to pastor-poet Steve Garnaas-Holmes, and he gets right to the heart of things. The title of the poem is “uncool.”
How uncool are we willing to be for Jesus?
Today’s story is an unforgettable snapshot of a guy who just has to, somehow, get close to Jesus.
Here’s the scene. Jesus is entering Jericho, a city that shows up several times in the gospels. In one parable, it’s a destination never reached by a man who is beaten and robbed. In one story, it’s a place where Jesus heals blind beggars. It’s a city with a history—something about walls tumbling down, and a woman of the night who happens to be an ancestor of Jesus. A lot of things happen in and around Jericho.
Today, it’s a place where Jesus is greeted by crowds…His fame is growing. He is known for his teaching, and his healing, and his marvelous and mysterious outdoor picnics in which he feeds thousands of hungry people.
Today, it’s a mob scene. But one man stands out in the crowd—at least, to the gospel story-teller. The man’s name is Zacchaeus, and he’s a rich tax collector.
We’ve talked about tax collectors before, and how very unpopular they are in Jesus’ day. A quick refresher: it’s because they are working for the Romans, and so they’re considered traitors to their people, the Jews, who are oppressed by Rome in so many ways, including, financially, by a back-breaking, unfair system of taxes. To add to this, Zacchaeus is rich. He has profited by his betrayal. People can see that he has a nice house, maybe, or fine clothes.
But there’s something about Jesus. Zacchaeus wants to see him. He has to see him. More than that, he wants to know him. But Zacchaeus has a problem. He is what we might call “vertically challenged.” He’s a short guy, so when Jesus is passing through the crowds, he just can’t see him. So he makes like a little kid and runs ahead of the crowd, to climb a Sycamore tree.
The poem I read a few minutes ago reminds us that this is a highly unusual action for an adult to take, especially an adult with a kind of status in the community. He may be unpopular, but now he risks tearing those fine clothes, rumpling up whatever dignity he’s been able to hold onto, and making himself look ridiculous.
Are we willing to climb a tree to see Jesus?
This is a great question on the day when we will be receiving three young people as members at Union Presbyterian Church, because, I would say, that Ben and Arianna and Jay have all climbed a tree—let’s say, a metaphorical tree—in order to get to know Jesus better. The confirmation process is a little like climbing a tree.
For one thing, it means getting out of your comfort zone, doing something you may not be accustomed to doing. Stretching new muscles, ones you didn’t know you had before.
Being confirmed also takes work. You won’t necessarily have torn clothes and be covered in leaves at the end of it, but you will know you had to put in some effort.
And being confirmed means, at least some people are going to see you in a new way, a different way. In some circles it may not be considered cool. In others it may be considered very cool. But the result of confirmation—the big deal of confirmation—is taking responsibility for your actions as an adult.
That last thing—that plays into our story in a big way. Jesus passes under the Zacchaeus-laden sycamore tree, and he knows, in that Jesusy way of his, that someone is there, and he looks up. And he knows the guy's name—that guy, the guy everyone is mad at for being a collaborator with the Romans. Jesus calls out to him: “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down, for I must stay at your house today!” So, Zacchaeus does just that, and, the story-teller tells us, Zacchaeus is happy to welcome Jesus to his house.
But some people are not happy. In fact, everyone who saw what had happened was very unhappy, and they started to grumble.
Fun story: When I was in with the theater people in college, I found out something funny. In a crowd scene, when people are supposed to mumble and grumble, everyone on stage says, in a low voice “Moira, Moira, Moira.” Let’s try it, so that we can hear the sound of the crowd grumbling.
Anyhoo, the murmurers and grumblers are saying, “Jesus is going to the house of that guy? They are outraged.
Now, usually, when things like this happen, Jesus speaks up. He says things like, “People who are well don’t need doctors, sick people do.” Or, “You’re a bunch of hypocrites.” But Jesus doesn’t say anything. Zacchaeus does.
Zacchaeus takes responsibility for his actions, meaning, his work as a tax collector. He promises to give half his possessions to the poor—and, being rich, we can assume he has a good number of possessions, nice possession. Then he says, If I’ve cheated anyone, I’ll pay them back. Not just what I stole, but four times what I stole. Zacchaeus is admitting that he became rich by not entirely honest means, and he is going to make amends. He is offering reparations.
Reparations are what people do when they want a community to made whole. Taking responsibility for your own (or your family’s) bad actions, is the first step on a healing journey. Zacchaeus is changed, by even this brief encounter with Jesus. His path is shifting. His life will never be the same.
I said at the start of today’s service that today is Reformation/ Confirmation/ Dedication Day. This day, on which we dedicate our promised financial gifts for the coming calendar year, is a moment in which we take responsibility for the life of this congregation, and the extent to which its witness will be able to make an impact, both here, and in our community. But: it being Reformation Sunday, I feel compelled to add this caveat: God does not love us because we give generously. God does not love Zacchaeus more when he steps up with a heartfelt offering of amends and reparation for those he has harmed.
God does not love us because we are good: God loves us because God is good. We cannot earn God’s love; God gives it to us freely. This simple truth is at the heart of the Protestant Reformation.
But it is also a truth that the immensity of God’s love can prompt us to action. A God who gazes at us affectionately and says, “I’m coming to your house today,” is a God for whom we want to climb a tree, get out of our comfort zones, and give just a little bit more.
Zacchaeus did everything in his power to get to know Jesus better—Jesus, who loved him before he did any of those good things we hear about in this story. When Zacchaeus did everything he could to get to know Jesus, he became a better Zacchaeus. That’s how it works. We know that God loves us, and it makes us want to be better, and do better. So simple, so beautiful, so important—for us, and for this world God loves.
I cut off the poem before the ending. Here it is.
God, give me the faith to be gutsy for Jesus.
To be crazy for you, and let others call me so.
To counter the crowd, all those looming opinions
around me and inside me.
To follow a voice no one else believes in.
To be uncool for you.
God, give me the lovesick guts
to climb the fool tree.[ii]
Thanks be to God. Amen.
[i] “Uncool,” Steve Garnaas-Holmes, UnfoldingLight.net, October 28, 2022. https://unfoldinglight.net/2022/10/28/uncool/.
[ii] Ibid.