At that time, Jesus came to Jericho and intended to pass through the town. Now a man there named Zacchaeus, who was a chief tax collector and also a wealthy man, was seeking to see who Jesus was; but he could not see him because of the crowd, for he was short in stature. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree in order to see Jesus, who was about to pass that way. When he reached the place, Jesus looked up and said, “Zacchaeus, come down quickly, for today I must stay at your house.” (Luke 19.1-5)
In Delia Owens breathtakingly beautiful book, Where the Crawdads Sing, she tells the story of a young girl named Kya who grows up alone in the marshes of North Carolina, abandoned first by her mother and then by her siblings who escape their harsh home life one-by-one, and finally is left to fend for herself by her dad, a drunkard who leaves one day and doesn’t come back home.
The one time she finds her way to the school in town three or more miles away, she is laughed at and ostracized by the town kids. Owens describes the scene in this way, “The teacher walked back to the front and said, ‘Catherine, please stand and tell the class your full name.’ Her stomach churned. Kya stood. ‘Miss Catherine Danielle Clark,’ she said, because that was what Ma once said was her whole name.”
“‘Can you spell dog for us?’ Staring at the floor, Kya stood silent. Jodie and Ma had taught her some letters. But she’d never spelled a word aloud for anybody. Nerves stirred in her stomach; still, she tried. ‘G-o-d.’ Laughter let loose up and down the rows. ‘Shh! Hush, y’all!’ Mrs. Arial called out. ‘We never laugh, ya hear me, we never laugh at each other. Y’all know better’n that.’”
At lunchtime, Kya, hungry for the banana pudding and the little carton of milk, sat alone, watching the other girls. Her thoughts are told to us. “Several girls, dressed in full skirts fluffed out wide with layers of crinolines, approached. One was tall, skinny, and blond, another round with chubby cheeks. Kya wondered how they could climb a tree or even get in a boat wearing those big skirts. Certainly couldn’t wade for frogs; wouldn’t even be able to see their own feet.”
Fearing what the girls might say to her, she froze in her seat, unable to eat a bite. But the girls walked by, “chirping like birds,” focused on finding their way to their friends at another table. Owens described the remaining hours of the school day in this way. “The rest of the day, she never opened her mouth. Even when the teacher asked her a question, she sat mute. She reckoned she was supposed to learn from them, not them from her. Why put maself up for being laughed at? she thought.”
The reader is drawn to the sad character of Kya, who, alone and ostracized, survives, showing strength and resolve as the years go by, more setbacks awaiting her, but never succumbing to bitterness or anger. We may want to remember her story as we hear another story today in the scriptures, this one of another person ostracized and ridiculed, laughed at and mocked, but who shows strength and surety of purpose, someone who also could climb a tree like Kya.
His name is Zacchaeus and he is one of the most memorable characters in the Gospel of Luke, his tale told in children’s storybooks to this day and his image portrayed in stained glass windows through the ages. Perhaps he is remembered because of certain particulars about him that Luke offers us. First, the evangelist tells us that he is short in stature, that fact alone setting him apart from others, much like Tyrion Lannister in the TV series Game of Thrones.
But an action that he takes cements his place in history, memorializing him as only a handful of others in scripture manage to do. That action, as we see, is his climbing a sycamore tree so that he can see Rabbi Jesus who is passing through the town of Jericho on his way to Jerusalem. The image of a small guy hanging onto a branch of a tree so he can see the Galilean Teacher is memorable for sure.
But it is also instructive. And that is the point we may want to consider today as we hear his story again. Our familiarity with the narrative oftentimes anesthetizes the shock that we should feel in the face of Zacchaeus’ actions that, unfortunately, may appear comical to us at first glance, but were, at the time, almost scandalous.
Here, some background is helpful. Luke tells us that Zacchaeus “was a chief tax collector and a wealthy man.” His use of the word “chief” implies that Zaccaeus is in charge of other tax collectors, a supervisor or CEO, as we might say. So, he is a man of position and prestige, at least in the eyes of his Roman superiors for whom he works. And the fact that he is wealthy stands to reason because of his elevated place.
Of course, because he is an employee of Rome, his stature in the eyes of his fellow Jews is the direct opposite of his status in the Roman stratum. He is despised and ostracized, treated as a turncoat for being a tax collector for the hated oppressor of the Jews, a henchman for hire in their eyes. And yet, because of his paid position, he is untouchable, tolerated but not invited to their tables.
For this man of means and influence to abandon decorum and to race ahead, as the evangelist says, so that he can climb up a trunk of a tree to catch a glimpse of Rabbi Jesus would have been astonishing for the ordinary people of Jericho, more accustomed to seeing the man in a suit behind his desk, not behaving, as he does now, more like a schoolboy scampering up a sycamore.
I would suggest that Zacchaeus’ action, shocking as it was, serves as a lesson for the rest of us, his eagerness and his enthusiasm to be near Jesus a model of discipleship that challenges us to imitate in our own lives, even if we’ve never seen, much less climbed, a sycamore tree. The question we must ask ourselves, in light of Zacchaeus’ behavior, is whether we show the same earnest effort to be near Rabbi Jesus as he did.
As the evangelist makes clear, Zacchaeus expends energy to be close to Jesus. He runs ahead and he climbs a tree, both exercises of physical exertion and both demonstrating his deep desire to draw near to the Teacher. Do our efforts to be close to Jesus show the same expenditure of energy, or do we convince ourselves that sitting in our seats on Sunday morning at a church service is sufficient to show we want to be close to Jesus? The contrast between Zacchaeus’ actions and our own may be an eye-opener.
Equally revealing, we see in the story that Zacchaeus does not allow the sure ridicule of the crowd to reduce his enthusiasm or to retard his efforts. He is no idiot. He knows his actions will make him look foolish, turning him into the laughingstock of the onlookers, who surely smirk and make snide remarks as they see him struggle on his short legs as he sprints to the sycamore on the side of the street.
But, as the story makes clear, their response does not deter him, his sights on Jesus, not on them. And if they laugh at him or point fingers at him for his ridiculous behavior, providing them with comic relief and making him the butt of their jokes, so be it. He is willing to sacrifice his self-image in the service of his mission to secure a place near Jesus.
His example again poses a challenge to us, reminding us not to allow our fear of ridicule or our concern with self-image to hamper our resolve to be close to Jesus in our actions. More often than not, a serious effort on our part to be close to Jesus, even if to a lesser degree than Zacchaeus’ efforts, will meet with guffaws and catcalls from critics and cynics. Do we then distance ourselves from Jesus and his ways to safeguard ourselves from criticism and cackles? Or do we climb the sycamore regardless of how foolish we may look?
Of course, what we learn in the story is that Zacchaeus’ desire to be close to Jesus results in, not only a physical nearness–Jesus sits at his table–but also in a spiritual closeness–Jesus says the tax-collector is saved. Zacchaeus’ bold actions catch the Rabbi’s attention, who sees the man in the limbs of the tree and comes to see the man’s heart, a humble and contrite heart, changed by his proximity to Jesus.
“Behold, half of my possessions, Lord, I shall give to the poor, and if I have extorted anything from anyone I shall repay it four times over,” Zacchaeus promises Rabbi Jesus, completing his conversion by giving away his possessions, the mirror opposite of the rich young man whom Rabbi Jesus encountered just a short while before as he pressed on towards Jerusalem, a man who–unlike Zacchaeus–refused to part with his wealth in order to be near Jesus.
The lesson is clear. If we want to be a disciple of Jesus, then there can be no distance between us. Instead, we commit to draw ever closer to the Rabbi, seeking to be near him, whatever the cost, wherever the chance. Anything less and we are bystanders and benchwarmers, not imitators and inheritors of the way of the life of Jesus of Nazareth.
And apparently Luke intends us to understand that our desire to be close to Jesus should involve speed as well as resolve. Not only are we told that Zacchaeus “ran ahead” so that he could climb the sycamore tree, but we’re also informed that Rabbi Jesus, when spying Zacchaeus in the sycamore, directs him to “come down quickly.” If that were not key enough, the evangelist tells us that Zacchaeus “came down quickly and received him with joy.”
Speed, then, not sluggishness, seems to be a sign of the disciple of the Galilean Teacher. Luke would not have us be slow in our response to follow Rabbi Jesus. It is noteworthy that the evangelist provides us with two other examples of disciples who show speed in their response, one at the beginning of the gospel, the other at the end.
At the start, we are told that Mary “made haste” to see her cousin Elizabeth after she has been invited to share in the mission of the Most High God, giving birth to his son. And at the end, we find Peter who, upon hearing of the Lord’s resurrection, “got up and ran to the tomb” so that he might see with his own eyes. Tucked between the two, we find Zacchaeus, who, although he has short legs, also runs to meet the Lord.
So, Luke would have us understand this point. There is no space for slowness or sluggishness for someone who truly wants to be close to Jesus. The only option, it seems, is full speed ahead.
–Jeremy Myers
Sunday Brunch 