They were sure they knew who he was. He was a bad man, a sinner if anyone deserved
to be called a sinner. He was a
collaborator with the Roman forces of occupation, collected taxes for
them. He grew rich on the backs of his
fellow Jews. Yes, they knew him, and
they did not like him.
They knew who he was, and so the day the holy man came
through town
They were sure they knew who he was.
Zacchaeus could have gone home sulking, his pride wounded,
but what would that matter the next time they had to come to him to pay
up? He could always get the best of
them. But something wanted him to see
this holy man. Was it just stubbornness,
or something more? We do not know
Zacchaeus’ motivation, we just know that he had it. He had the desire to see the holy man, and so
he climbed a tree.
The holy man, Jesus, does indeed pass through town,
probably making his way slowly through the crowd. It has by this time probably become known
that some people only had to touch his clothing to be healed. You can imagine the crowd is clamoring for
him, with many of them wanting something from him. Maybe the only man not shouting was Zacchaeus
in that tree. Maybe that is why he
catches Jesus’ eye. Jesus stops. The crowd goes silent. The holy man is going to speak. Perhaps he will stay with us for a
while. But what they hear is the
furthest thing from their expectations.
“Zacchaeus, hurry up and come down from that tree. I’m coming to your house today.”
They thought they knew who Zacchaeus was and so at first
they were confused and then incredulous.
No, no, no, Jesus. You’ve got it wrong.
We know who this man is, and he is a sinner. There is no goodness in him.
Jesus does not listen, and walks off with this man they
thought they knew. And the grumbling and
the gossip and the questioning about the man they thought was holy were fierce.
On the one hand a holy man and on the other a sinner. In Jesus’ day it seemed relatively easy to
tell the difference. Actually it still
does, although holiness may seem far more elusive than it was then. Yet most of us know a sinner when we see one,
someone who is really bad, someone so bad we know they will never, can never,
change.
Holiness is known by your deeds, they said then, and they
still say now. Very few people deserve
to be called “holy.” Holiness is not
given, it is earned.
Jesus, the holy man, came to teach us, however, the exact
opposite. Holiness is given, it is not
earned. And one of the consequences of
that upside down truth is that you do not, you cannot, know who someone
is. It is not safe to label and judge.
Why not? Because
anyone can change. Anyone can change, because everyone has a
piece of the divine, a piece of holiness, within them. To be sure, it is sometimes buried very
deeply under a great deal of pain or anger or greed or hatred. But it is impossible for it not to be there,
because being made in the image of God is the very definition of what it means
to be human.
We decide for ourselves who other people are. It comes as natural to us as breathing. If
you think about it, it actually may be that original sin about which people
talk. Adam and Eve, as the story goes,
heard God walking in the garden after they had eaten from the forbidden tree,
and they clothed themselves because they were afraid. In other words, they
decided for God that God would judge them.
Having the knowledge of good and evil—the tree that was forbidden to
them—among other things gave them the capability and desire to judge. “You will not die,” the serpent told them,
“if you eat the fruit.” No, but you will
learn to judge and learn to fear and learn to hate and down that road has lain
more death than Adam and Eve—or perhaps even God—could ever have thought
imaginable.
Zacchaeus teaches us that our holiness, and the holiness of
the next stranger we meet—even the one we see and have the instinct to cross
the road—is connected first and foremost simply to our desire. Our desire simply to be, our desire to love
and be loved, our desire to be connected with something bigger than ourselves,
our desire to know our own purpose in this world—in this desire can be found
our holiness. It was an act of holiness
for Zacchaeus to climb that tree. Our
holiness is found in our desire because our desire is not just our desire. It is God’s also. God’s desire for us, in us.
Now is not that good news to tell? The good news we have to tell the world is
not that if you get your act together and straighten up and fly right, and act
like you are holy, God will reward you.
We may smirk, but I am here to tell you that a great deal of the world
believes that is precisely what we believe, and we do very little to convince
them otherwise.
The good news we have to tell is that God is already in
relationship with you, has already called you down from the tree and accepted
you, and has already set up camp in your house.
The only thing you need to do is to recognize that God’s desire and your
desire can be one just because, well, you want to recognize that it already is.
God
is not ready to make you perfect nor is God waiting for you to make yourself
perfect. Perfection and holiness really
do not have anything to do with one another.
God is always ready for you to recognize the holiness you have already been
given—the spark of God that resides at the very center of your being—always
have and always will. And God is always
ready to work with any attempt to coax that spark into flame.
They
thought they knew who Zacchaeus was, and, to a large extent, they did. But they missed what Jesus could see, because
he was not concerned with judging Zacchaeus at all. He knew that anyone who would climb a tree to
get a glimpse of him had enough spark that relationship with him would set him
alight. And it did.
I
you dare to accept the fact that you are a saint, a holy one, not by your own
merit but by the sheer gift of God, than you might be able to sense God blowing
on the sparks within you, coaxing them into flame. God is doing that because he really does know
who you really are, and who you can be.
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