Salvation Has Come to This House

Luke 19:1-10

Nov. 3, 2013

How many of you, listening to this morning’s reading from the gospels, were thinking to yourself, “Zacchaeus was a wee little man, a wee little man was he. He climbed up in a sycamore tree to see what he could see”?

Yeah, that’s a pretty unavoidable connection for anyone who grew up in Sunday school in a particular era. Or, perhaps, in this case, I should say “error,” because it’s really a shame that this story has been reduced to a little rhymey song. There is way more going on here than meets the eye at first reading.

It’s a liturgically full Sunday morning, so I’m not going to come close to doing justice to the story, but let me simply underscore a couple of issues at stake in this rich, brief text, and suggest one possible direction I discern in the reading.

To begin with, what’s the first thing that we notice about Zacchaeus? Well, duh, he’s short. I could point to Randy Newman here and tell you that “short people got no reason to live,” but, instead, I’ll quote the purity codes from Leviticus 21:

For no one who has a blemish shall draw near, one who is blind or lame, or one who has a mutilated face or a limb too long, or one who has a broken foot or a broken hand, or a hunchback, or a dwarf, or a man with a blemish in his eyes or an itching disease or scabs or crushed testicles. No descendant of Aaron the priest who has a blemish shall come near to offer the Lord’s offerings by fire; since he has a blemish, he shall not come near to offer the food of his God. He may eat the food […] but he shall not come near the curtain or approach the altar, because he has a blemish, that he may not profane my sanctuaries; for I am the Lord; I sanctify them.

By going to the house of a man short enough to be named that way in the text – likely a dwarf – Jesus is here – again – undermining the purity codes. Next time someone uses the Levitical codes in reference to the rights of gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender persons, sing ‘em a bar of “Short People.” If nothing else, it will confuse them!

But seriously, this is a story about grace, and, more to the point, about unexpected grace in the least expected place. For the second thing we know about the main character is that he is chief tax collector for the empire. Therefore, he is no doubt hated and likely feared. He’s probably also cheated his neighbors, and he is certainly up to his neck in complicity with and profit from an incredibly unjust and abusive system. He’s made himself rich at the expense of his neighbors, and, by climbing a tree, he’s also made himself a spectacle.

I mean, really, would Michael Bloomberg climb a tree in Central Park to get a better look at an itinerant preacher, even a famous one? No. He’d have arranged a front-row seat.

It’s really no wonder that bystanders raise questions about Jesus’ decision to dine with this man.

This is where the story gets way more curious and complex than a Sunday school lesson. First Jesus calls the purity codes into question. Next, in inviting himself to dine with Zacchaeus, he casts serious doubt on his own judgment – not to mention the possible affront to hospitality customs of inviting himself to dinner.

But the real complexity comes in what happens next, and, unfortunately, it revolves around a seriously questionable translation.  

The NRSV text that we just heard reads, “Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, ‘Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.’”

In this instance, Eugene Peterson’s The Message offers a more accurate rendition: “Master, I give away half my income to the poor – and if I’m caught cheating, I pay four times the damages.”

Catch the difference? The verb tense in the Greek is present, not future. Zacchaeus is not promising to change his behavior in response to the grace extended to him by Jesus, he’s merely telling Jesus about the good works he already does. Sadly, for the preacher, this undermines the simple and seemingly obvious reading of this story as a lesson in transformation.

In other words, Zacchaeus is not so much transformed as his is, instead, just like most of us: an imperfect person who tries to do good where he can, who finds himself part of an economic system that is profoundly unjust and a political one that is broken at best, and who is doing the best that he can. Indeed, he’s doing way more than most of us.

Contrast him with the rich young man that Luke tells us about just a bit earlier in his gospel: when Jesus says to him, “sell your stuff and give the money to the poor,” the man walks away from Jesus altogether. Zacchaeus, who is also rich, is already giving away half of his earnings, and holding himself accountable to an ethical standard more rigorous than the law requires. And, one might add in passing, much more rigorous than our current financial bigwigs are held to, as well.

He’s far from perfect, but salvation, this story insists, is not about perfection. Salvation is not solely about the destination, but is also always about the journey itself – about healing and wholeness, about reconciliation and restoration of right relationships.

To a great extent, this story is not as much about Zacchaeus as it is about the crowds who have judged and continue to judge him, who talk about him behind his back, who laugh at his stature and likely mock him when he climbs a tree to catch a glimpse of Jesus. These same people shift from enthusiasm for Jesus to deep suspicion of him seemingly in a heartbeat, and often according to whom it is that Jesus decides to hang out with at any given moment.

Truly, that sounds more like most of us than Zacchaeus does. Anybody giving away half of your income to the poor? No? Yeah, me neither.

Indeed, I find myself often feeling uncomfortable or challenged in places and situations where I know that Jesus would go: responding to human need that doesn’t come wrapped in politeness; making decisions about money, about need and desire, about justice, compassion and charity; speaking up and speaking out as a follower of Jesus when I’d just as soon rest in comfortable silence.

But salvation has come to the house of Zacchaeus, and if I want to participate in salvation, if I want to join that journey of healing, wholeness, reconciliation, shalom, then I better find myself a seat at the table in that house of the outcast, the sinner, the broken, the despised because that is where I’ll find the table of the Lord.

So: here we are – sinners all, some cast out of homes and families, sometimes despised, all broken. Here we are, at this table. And today salvation has come to this house! Let us break bread together. Amen.