A Wee Little Man
Zacchaeus was a wee little man,
a wee little man was he.
He climbed up in the sycamore tree,
for the Lord he wanted to see.
This childhood rhyme pops into my head every time that familiar story out of Luke comes up, and this year was no different, especially living on the Irish coast, where everything is "wee." Sadly, or maybe not, I couldn't find a way to work it into my sermon this week. This sermon is an expansion of work I did while at Princeton, exploring this story from the perspective of the crowd, instead of that of Zacchaeus. The text follows the audio player. Enjoy!
God of Jesus Christ, give us a spirit of wisdom and of revelation in the knowledge of Christ, so that the eyes of our hearts might be enlightened. Help us to know the hope to which you have called us, the riches of the glorious inheritance in the saints, and the immeasurable greatness of your power at work in us. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen.
Do you think they did it on purpose? It’s hard to tell after all, we don’t know how it all happened. Maybe it began with a quiet rumour - he’s coming - maybe a friend in the doorway sharing the news, maybe it was shouted from the rooftops, but however it happened, people knew. And people came. They came because they were curious, or sick, or bored. They came because they wanted to see. They came because it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. So, they poured into the streets and plazas, lining the route the man was likely to walk, pressed together, shoulder to shoulder, just wanting to catch a glimpse. Some had heard the stories - this man was holy - some even whispered that he had once healed a woman in a synagogue, on the Sabbath! Others just saw the crowd and wanted to see what all the commotion was about. But, no matter how or why, they were there. So, do you think they did it on purpose?
I know I didn’t do it on purpose. Before I was a minister, before I went to seminary, I was a high school debate coach. It was not unusual for me to be in my classroom ten or more hours a day, six days a week. During our seven-month tournament season, the hours were even longer. One of the few distractions I allowed myself was singing in my church choir. We rehearsed Wednesday nights, and I would rush from school to make it. It was a place where I could forget about the stress of the day, even if for a little while. Surrounded by good friends and beautiful music, it was, sometimes even more than worship, where I felt the presence of God. It was my opportunity in a busy life to catch a glimpse of the holy.
I know almost nothing about the two guys that sat by the sycamore tree in front of our church every Wednesday evening. I assume, from their uniforms, that they worked for the retirement community across the street, which, unlike our tree, had a very strict no smoking policy. Every week, as I rushed by to my place of peace, the two of them would be sitting on red plastic milk crates, smoking and talking. If I’m honest, most of the time, I didn’t even notice them.
Maybe it is just that simple: the crowd didn’t notice Zacchaeus. They were so caught up in their own desire to see Jesus that one more person in the crowd didn’t even register. It didn’t matter how badly he needed to be found; they didn’t even know he was lost.
Or maybe they did notice. Maybe, like me, as they were rushing to catch their glimpse of the holy, they noticed him at the edge of the crowd, an ageing civil-servant - shorter than most, trying to find a way to make it through the wall of humanity. It would have been clear that without help this man wouldn’t stand a chance of getting through. In that split second there was a decision: press forward to make sure that they could see or turn back and maybe miss the chance of a lifetime, and for him?! The crowd would have known who he was and what he did, why would they ruin their chance at fulfilment for him - not just a tax collector, but the chief tax collector! Not just a sinner, but the chief sinner!
It doesn’t really matter if they did it on purpose. It doesn’t matter if the crowd just didn’t notice Zacchaeus or if they all simply looked at him and decided he wasn’t worth their time. Because, when Jesus Christ walks into your town, salvation has arrived, whether you want it or expect it, and no crowd, no matter how well intentioned, can stand in the way of his radical grace and overpowering love.
When Jesus Christ walks into your town, he doesn’t act the way we think he should. He doesn’t bring salvation on our terms. He doesn’t call in advance and book a meeting with the minister and Kirk Session. He doesn’t make sure his arrival is announced in advance on the order of service. He doesn’t even come in and ask to stay at the home of the more prestigious members of the community. No, when Jesus Christ walks into your town he walks past the pressing crowds out to see a show and seeks out the lost and forgotten. And it doesn’t matter if they are drawing water from a well in the middle of the day, bent over from the weight of the years, or up the branches of a sycamore tree, Jesus reaches out and calls them by name.
After all, names matter. Names change how and what we think about a person. Protestor or Rioter. Freedom Fighter or Terrorist. Civil Servant or Tax Collector. Trouble maker, rabble rouser, blasphemer or Messiah. Jesus knows something about names. So when he calls Zacchaeus a son of Abraham, when he calls the bent over woman a daughter of Abraham, it isn’t a religious nicety, it is a matter of identity, it is a matter of healing. For as Jesus calls Zacchaeus down from the tree, as he shocks the crowd, as he re-names him from “tax-collector, traitor, sinner” to “son of Abraham” and “redeemed,” Jesus is restoring him to community. He is bringing salvation.
So, it doesn’t really matter if the crowd did it on purpose, which is to say that it matters a great deal for us. If we take seriously the claim that we are the body of Christ, then we can no longer simply press forward for our own glimpse of the holy. For we have each been called here to this place so that we might be empowered to open our eyes and truly see the world around us in all of its majesty and all of its brokenness. All around us are people just wanting to catch a glimpse of the radical grace that is Jesus, people wanting to know that they are seen. They live on our streets, sit in our church pews, and are waiting by every tree. Will we help them, or stand in their way?
Jesus Christ has arrived, sons and daughters of Abraham.
Salvation is here.
Amen.