Luke 19:1-10
As we hear this story of Jesus and
Zacchaeus, it might help to set the scene.
Jesus is coming into Jericho. In
the passage just before this morning’s reading, he’s healed a man who
desperately wanted to see again. Jesus
explains what’s happened by telling the man he’s not just healed but that his
faith has “saved” him (Luke 18:42). It’s
the kind of healing that goes beyond healing, the healing that restores our
lives to the wholeness God intends – and it makes the formerly blind man join
Jesus on the road. That’s what’s on
Jesus’ mind as he makes his way into Jericho.
And how about Zacchaeus? What’s on his mind? Well, first we have to know who Zacchaeus
is. He’s a Jew, but he’s also a “chief
tax collector” and “rich,” the story says (19:2). Basically he’s a traitor, part of the Roman
system taxing his people to support the brutal Empire … and, of course,
enriching the tax collectors. You also
have to know this man’s name is part of the story – “Zacchaeus” means
“innocent” or “clean,” rather ironic given his life and work. But that’s how he sees himself.
So, this imperial collaborator is looking
for Jesus. He’s heard the buzz, so
Zacchaeus climbs a sycamore tree to see Jesus pass by. On one level, it’s a practical thing:
Zacchaeus is short. But on another
level, maybe Zacchaeus is climbing that tree because he’s used to getting what he wants.
Zacchaeus is the kind of guy who stands in the “premiere” ticket line
and sits in box seats at the amphitheater.
When Zacchaeus wants to see, he gets
to see.
Oddly enough, Jesus wants to see
Zacchaeus, too – not to indict him but to spend time with him. Jesus has come to town to bring God’s
wholeness not just to those who’ve been oppressed. Jesus wants to see the oppressor made whole,
too.
And you know, I think, deep down,
Zacchaeus wants to be made whole. Sure,
he’s used to first-class treatment, but his conscience isn’t dead. Late at night, trying to fall asleep, maybe
he sees the faces of the neighbors he’s defrauding. Zacchaeus knows he’s lost and needs
healing. And Jesus doesn’t keep him
waiting. “Zacchaeus,” Jesus says, “hurry
and come down, for I must stay at your house today” (19:5).
I imagine Zacchaeus frozen on his branch,
the whole crowd now staring up at him.
But something happens to Zacchaeus in that moment. Maybe he begins to see those people below him
in a different light – shining with the dignity of the children of God. But he hears something, too – something about
himself. Deep in his heart, Zacchaeus
hears a shocking word of grace. He hears
Jesus say, “You are just as worthy as everyone else who’s lost, and I have come
to make you whole, too.” It doesn’t
matter where you fall on the spectrum – the exploited and those who exploit, the excluded and those who exclude.
Zacchaeus is just as worthy of God’s forgiveness and healing as the
folks he’s been robbing – because Zacchaeus, too, is a child of God. As Jesus tells the crowd and every one of us:
“The Son of Man came to seek out and save the lost” (19:10) – all the lost.
This is the Sunday in our stewardship
season when we highlight Outreach ministries, the work we do and the resources
we give to serve the hungry, the thirsty, the homeless, the alone, the naked,
the sick, the imprisoned. We know that
when we serve others, we serve Jesus himself, down the street and across the
sea. Your Outreach giving provides food
for hungry people at the Kansas City Community Kitchen. It provides food and books for students in
Haiti and salaries for their teachers.
It supports a social entrepreneur’s vision to train moms for living-wage
jobs and break the cycle of poverty. It
helps kids in Kansas City’s housing projects learn that God loves them and
wants to see them well-fed and educated.
It helps women and their kids break free from domestic violence. Your pledge of time, talent, and treasure supports
all that work.
But, you know, our Outreach giving helps
meet our needs, too. I would say our Outreach ministries are just
as much about our healing as they are about serving Jesus in “the least” of his
brothers and sisters (Matthew 25:40).
And there’s nothing wrong with that.
In fact, there’s a lot right
with that. Because, I have to tell you –
I am Zacchaeus. Most of us here are
Zacchaeus. And I’ve had to climb down
from my safe perch in the sycamore tree for my own come-to-Jesus meeting.
I started climbing down was when Ann and I
lived in Iowa City and I volunteered at the local food pantry. Now, mind you, I didn’t actually serve hungry people at the food pantry; I
stocked shelves. It was a start, but I
only climbed a couple of branches down the sycamore tree.
When we went to seminary in Austin, I got
involved in the student-run feeding program. Actually the word “program”
dresses up the effort too much; it was more like a guerilla campaign. We would make burritos for about 100 people,
load them into a rusted-out pickup, and drive to the storefront where day
laborers came to collect their pay.
There, we gave the laborers burritos, bananas, and oranges until the
food ran out. It was one of the best
parts of seminary for me, talking with actual hungry people. They’re much more interesting than the
abstraction of “hunger” I imagined when I stocked shelves at the pantry. They’re also more complicated. What do you do when a hungry person doesn’t
appreciate the burrito you gave him? Or
what do you do with the reality that all the burritos in the world won’t do a
blessed thing to change the system that keeps the day laborers wondering
whether they’ll even get work the
next morning – and a system that will never pay them enough to live on. Asking those questions, I climbed a few more
branches down the sycamore tree toward Jesus.
Here at St. Andrew’s, it’s been our
partnership with St. Augustin’s School in Haiti that’s made the biggest
difference in helping me climb down and meet Jesus on the road. I’ve been blessed to share time and meals and
Eucharist with people like Pere Colbert, and the school’s headmaster Samuel,
and the other teachers – people we’ve come to know. Through those relationships, our congregation
has empowered kids at St. Augustin’s to learn, despite hardships I can barely
fathom. But that’s not all. Through those relationships, I’ve begun to
know salvation, along with Zacchaeus.
Here’s how that healing works for me. Even at the pantry in Iowa City and at the
day-labor office in Austin, I could see there was a disconnect between my
reality and the reality of the people being served. I couldn’t really frame it, but I knew it was
there. I might now frame that
disconnect, and my need for healing, in terms of privilege. I am tremendously privileged. I am American. I am white.
I am male. I am straight. I come from a family that sent me to
college. I start the game with the ball
at midfield, while others are starting buried deep in their own territory. So, when I hear Jesus calling Zacchaeus to
come down from the tree and change his point of view, I hear him calling my
name, too.
But Jesus isn’t just yelling at me for my
complicity in a series of broken systems.
He’s asking me to see them and change them as best I can – helping to
educate kids in Haiti, supporting training for women to find living-wage jobs,
encouraging you to see the injustices that hurt God’s heart and then act to
change them. But Jesus is also calling
my name because he loves me and wants me to be made whole, too. He’s trying to help me see him in people I
wouldn’t truly see otherwise. I can’t
know what it’s like to be Haitian. I
can’t know what it’s like to be a women at the Grooming Project. I can’t know what it’s like to be a kid at
Gordon Parks Elementary, who can’t tell you where he lives but only where he
stays. I get to start from the 50-yard
line. I live in privilege I’m only
beginning to see.
But Jesus asks me to climb down from my
sycamore tree because he wants me to find the healing that comes from taking
the journey with him. He wants to make
me whole by bringing me into relationships I’d never know otherwise. Every step we take toward the other is a step
toward seeing that person’s full humanity.
Every step we take toward the other is a step toward honoring that
person’s God-given dignity. Every step
we take toward the other is a step toward building God’s beloved
community. Every step we take toward the
other is a step toward our own healing, healing at the hands of the One who
comes to seek and save the lost – like us.
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