Sunday, October 30, 2022

Pentecost 21, Proper 26 (Year C)

Habakkuk 1:1-4; 2:1-4; Psalm 119:137-144; 2 Thessalonians 1:1-4, 11-12; Luke 19:1-10

The Rev. Clint Brown

It is always a delight to come around to this story of the wee little man Zacchaeus every three years of the lectionary. Amid all the ideas of huge, eternal consequence with which Scripture is concerned, there are scattered these surprising intrusions of a “lived in” world to which we can relate. This is one of them. And the delight comes not only because the story is amusing but also because, even here, the message is profound, for this story has much more to teach us than that we should merely be intrepid enough to climb trees to see Jesus.

Since we left Jesus last week he hasn’t been just sitting still. He has been on the move, making his way steadily toward Jericho. He has been approached by a rich young ruler wanting to know the way to eternal life, and Jesus tells him to perform the commandments and also to sell all he owns – this not as well received (Luke 18:18-25). A little further along a blind beggar, on hearing that Jesus is about to pass by, makes a complete nuisance of himself to attract his attention, and Jesus, who doesn’t take it to be a nuisance at all, stops and grants his request to have his sight restored. And now Jesus has arrived at the gates of the ancient city, but only to pass through it. It is not his intention to linger here because, as we know, his heart is set on going to Jerusalem (Luke 9:51). Indeed, for ten chapters now Jesus has been trying to get there, and now he is within a day’s journey and eager to finally arrive. But Jesus is going to be delayed one more time – not because of an accident, not by the sudden appearance of a royal procession to block his way – but by the coming across his path of a tree climber named Zacchaeus.

The branches of a sycamore tree spread low to the ground and so Zacchaeus, curious about Jesus, and short of stature, has decided to climb one to get a good look. There is no explanation given for how Jesus knows Zacchaeus’ name, but it doesn’t depend on anything supernatural. Perhaps, as some have suggested,[1] Jesus saw Zacchaeus scramble into the tree and was curious to know about someone who would do such a thing and put it to his disciples to find out; or, perhaps, he was well-known, notorious, and one of those surrounding Jesus may have pointed him out. “Rabbi, see that guy. Remember when I told you the story of the worst tax collector I knew – you know, the one I jokingly said would make your camel feel that it could get through the eye of a needle way before him? Well, that’s him. Zacchaeus. Nothing but a leech sucking the blood of his people.” However it happened, the remarkable thing is that Jesus did stop and call him out, and, in that way, changed his life forever.

This is the profound lesson of the story. Zacchaeus is transformed by Jesus’ acceptance of him.[2] The crowd had blocked him and shooed him away; the disciples had been repulsed by him and eager to avoid him; but Jesus had seen him and given him the time of day. And in so doing Zacchaeus was made to believe that he could be a different sort of person because Jesus believed in him. Now what I find most revealing in the story is that Zacchaeus seems to be trying on his newfound religion like a new set of clothes. I imagine him stumbling a bit and being quite unsure of what to say and how to act in the presence of his august guest. Perhaps the last time he had darkened the door of the local synagogue was for his aunt’s funeral a few months ago, but as much as he might have felt like a fish out of water, he knows enough of custom and etiquette to extend hospitality (19:6). He couldn’t tell you where to find the Great Commandment in the Bible if his life depended on it, but he knows the Law and that what it requires when you defraud anyone is to pay them back four times as much (19:8; cf. Leviticus 6:5; Exodus 22:1, 4; 2 Samuel 12:6). He is beginning to realize how inappropriate the dirty joke was he cracked when they were walking to his house and that he shouldn’t have dropped the f-bomb when the servant dropped the serving dish a while ago, but he’s new at this and nervous and he’s doing his best. He knows that he is a bad man and he wants to be a good man and for that he knows he has the perfect role model. His response to Jesus, you see, is to try to imitate him. However imperfectly, he is trying on the habits and qualities of a righteous man, perhaps for the first time in his life.

Writing about habit formation, the author James Clear notes that,

As a general rule, the closer we are to someone, the more likely we are to imitate some of their habits….One of the most effective things you can do to build better habits is to join a culture where your desired behavior is the normal behavior. New habits seem achievable when you see others doing them every day. If you are surrounded by fit people, you're more likely to consider working out to be a common habit. If you're surrounded by jazz lovers, you're more likely to believe it's reasonable to play jazz every day. Your culture sets your expectation for what is ‘normal.’ Surround yourself with people who have the habits you want to have yourself. You'll rise together.[3]

There is a story, coming down to us from medieval times, about a young man – not a nice young man – a rogue, in fact – who fell in love with a beautiful but saintly and pious young woman. Knowing that he hasn’t a chance in the world of getting close to her, he cleverly disguises himself as a saint by stealing one of the masks used at the annual festival by the town’s theater troupe. As best he can the young man desperately tries to act like a saint, to say and do what he thinks a saint would say and do, and so begins to woo her. Sure enough, over time, the girl does begin to fall in love with him; but as they see his success, the young man’s scoundrel friends become incensed. Jealous of his success and out of spite, one day they challenge him to reveal himself in the middle of the town square, in the presence of his beloved, to remove the mask and show himself for who he really is. Trembling with fear, utterly dejected, and knowing that all is lost, he slowly removes the mask, only to reveal that his face has become the face of the saint.

If we would but clothe ourselves with Christ, we just might find ourselves becoming him.

[1] Raymond Bailey, “Luke 19:1-10” from The Lectionary Commentary: Theological Exegesis for Sunday’s Texts, v. 3 The Gospels (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2001), 437.

[2] Ibid., 438.

[3] James Clear, Atomic Habits: An Easy & Proven Way to Build Good Habits & Break Bad Ones (New York: Avery, 2018), 116-17.