Up a Tree [Proper 26C - Luke 19:1-10]

 The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson

Luke 19:1-10

 

Up a Tree

 

Luke is a Gospel of fascinating stories: the Prodigal Son, the Good Samaritan, the afterlife adventure of the Rich Man and Lazarus, and, of course, the story of Zacchaeus, a man forever enshrined in song as “the wee little man.”  But while the other stories are all parables told by Jesus, the Zacchaeus story is the tale of an actual encounter.  Zacchaeus was not a character created by Jesus, neither was his story a fragment of divine imagination.  

 

This is the real life story of a real man.  A rich man.  A business man.  A wealthy adult human who, in this story, is discovered up in a tree – in public – not exactly the place one might expect to find grown man of means. Zacchaeus climbs a tree by a crowded street and his favorite sports team did not even win a championship, which I think might be the only acceptable circumstance under which an adult human is allowed to climb a tree in public.

 

Zacchaeus, were are told, climbed the tree to see Jesus – and see Jesus he did.  But more notably, sitting there on his perch, Zacchaeus is seen by the one he is looking for; in a crowd of faces, Jesus see him. 

 

Zacchaeus had likely once been like Jesus: a peasant on the rise.  Perhaps that is what piqued the rich man’s interest.  Maybe it was the shared rags to riches trajectory.  Maybe Jesus reminded him of his past, a simpler past – before he made the decisions that both bettered and ruined his life.

 

Zacchaeus was not your ordinary rich man.  He wasn’t born into wealth.  He didn’t inherit a vast treasure.  He didn’t attend the finest schools or invent a popular app.  He made an intentional decision to be rich – and to be despised.

 

The Gospel of Luke actually tells us very little about Zacchaeus. We do not know if he was married or had children. We are unaware of his hobbies or his favorite haunts. We have no idea if he attended synagogue or said his daily prayers. In fact, outside of his short stature, which is likely mentioned to explain to readers why an adult business man was up in a tree, we only know his occupation and financial status: he was a chief tax collector and he was rich.

 

But while we know very little about his personal life, the little we do know does tell us quite a bit – especially it tells us why this crowd is so upset with Zacchaeus and his celebrity houseguest. Zacchaeus was a tax collector – actually his business card read chief tax collector, a chief among tax collectors, which sounds better but to the gathered, grumbling masses was actually way worse. Tax collector was, and this is putting it mildly, not a respectable job in that ancient Jewish community; in first century Palestine, tax collector was a job reserved for those with only the most punch-able faces; it was the kind of job for people who loved money and hated having friends.  Zacchaeus had no friends in that crowd on that day.

 

Zacchaeus was almost certainly born into humble circumstances.  Like Jesus and the gathered crowds, Zacchaeus grew up under the heel of a powerful, domineering Empire.  His life and trajectory were limited; his opportunities few.  He was an occupied person living in the backwoods of a vast political power.  He was a nobody. 

 

But he was not completely without possibilities; it’s just the possibilities were not terribly attractive: he could live his life as a peasant, just scraping by, simply surviving; or he could raise his social status but in doing so he would have to alienate his community, say goodbye to his family and friends.  He could be poor or he could be a traitor.

 

Zacchaeus chose the latter.  His job was to collect taxes from his own people to support the Roman occupation, like an oppression tax; the people paid good money to not have freedom, to be exploited and abused. So if you think you don't like taxes today, imagine how these Jews felt. And then imagine how they felt about the people who made the system possible and functional.  Zacchaeus was chief among them.

 

It was a rare person who was willing to go door to door extracting these taxes. There were no good work days, no pleasant interactions. A tax collector was a traitor who peddled treachery, like a kid on Halloween who only does trick and never treat. Like many scoundrels over the centuries, Zacchaeus built his fortune on a foundation of questionable ethics, oppressive politics, misplaced values, and a willingness to be hated. And so while he was rich, he was, at least in the eyes of his own people, a despised monster of a man.  His belly was full because he devoured his neighbors.  I guess what I am trying to say is that nobody liked Zacchaeus – and they were right.

 

And while all that bad stuff was true, that is not what Jesus saw when he looked up into the leaves.  Jesus didn’t see a monster.  He saw Zacchaeus.  Jesus saw something in him that no one else could, or would, see.  And so, at the sound of Jesus’ voice, Zacchaeus hurried down, out of the branches and into the crowd from which he had, literally and socially and economically, distanced himself.

 

Zacchaeus expected the grumbling; he heard the grumbling; it wasn’t the first time he was the subject of grumbling.  They hated him and so he wasn’t surprised by their anger.  He wasn’t shocked that they named him sinner.  He had knocked on the doors of these people’s homes; he took their money; they never invited him in for tea.  He was well-aware of his reputation; and, honestly, it wasn’t wrong; deep down he probably believed it as much as anyone in the crowd.  He made a choice, long before he met Jesus; and he lived, every day, with the consequences of that choice.  His pockets were full; his rolodex was empty.

 

It doesn’t appear that Zacchaeus is very practiced in the social customs of his context.  Jesus, a stranger, has to invite himself over.  There is no mention of other guests; based on the grumblings of the crowd it does not appear many in Jericho are jumping at the chance to dine with Zacchaeus, the chief tax collector. 

 

And, perhaps due to a lack of practice, Zacchaeus doesn’t seem terribly adept at small talk.  But he seems to be good at faith.  There was something about Jesus that made this despised man believe that his checkered past could become a bright future, that it wasn’t too late for him.  The Gospel says that Zacchaeus just stood there, in front of Jesus, and it changed his life.  Because it is powerful when someone can see the goodness in you.  Jesus never asked Zacchaeus to give his money away or to make reparations.  In fact, Jesus spoke no prompt at all; he didn’t say a word.  Jesus just saw Zacchaeus.  And the look was salvation.  By the time Jesus heads for the exit, Zacchaeus is poorer but richer for it. 

 

Not every miracle raises the dead.  But every time someone comes back to life is a miracle.  The Zacchaeus story reminds us that life without love is not really life at all.  And that relationships are priceless.  And salvation unexpected.  And that it is never too late, too bad, or too broken, to welcome Jesus into your life.