Out on a Limb for Jesus

 

           

 If you're like me, you've had the rather annoying song, "Zacchaeus was a wee little man, and a wee little man was he!" going through your head since you heard the Gospel lesson today. If you know the song, you might also think you know this sweet little story. Well, I'm here to tell you today that there's actually more to consider here than a cute story.

            Did you know, for example, that Zacchaeus might not have even been a "wee little man?" That's right! Check out the vague pronouns in the text. The bible says that "he" was trying to see who Jesus was, but "he" couldn't see, because "he" was short in stature. One famous preacher, Fred Craddock, suggests that Jesus might have been the one who was short![1]  Maybe Zacchaeus couldn't see who Jesus was because the crowds were towering over a wee, pudgy Jesus, hiding him from view. Does that mess with your image of God's Son? As one who's "vertically-challenged" myself, I kind of like the notion that Jesus, too, was a short man. Why not?

            More importantly, though, I want to suggest that Zacchaeus wasn't quite the sinner that we assume him to be. Oh yes, he is indeed the chief tax collector in Jericho. And yes, tax collectors were collaborators with Rome. They took money from their own downtrodden people to give it to the occupying authorities. And yes, tax collectors had ample opportunity to fill their own pockets with the hard-earned coins of the poor. It's safe to say that no one in the crowd of Jews in that Jericho marketplace liked Zacchaeus. They probably turned away in disgust when they saw him coming. Having recently lived in Kentucky, I, for example, love to imagine Mitch McConnell up there in that tree. Can you picture it? With his fancy suit and tie, clinging precariously to a tree branch, his bulging eyes peering through the leaves at Jesus down below? Can you imagine your least favorite politician or celebrity forced to climb a tree to see Jesus? Isn't that fun?

        Now, with that image in your mind's eye .... did you know that the name Zacchaeus literally means "innocent" or "righteous" in Hebrew? What if Zacchaeus were a tall, even righteous tax collector? The exception to the rule? There might even be further proof for Zacchaeus' goodness in our text. Greek verbs work differently than English verbs. I won't bore you with a grammar lesson, but I will say that the future tense of Zacchaeus' response is merely the choice of the translator. Instead of promising, "I will henceforth give half my possessions to the poor," Zacchaeus might just as well be testifying to his own generosity in the present time. He might be saying, "Here I am, Jesus! I give half of my possessions to the poor, and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I pay them back four times as much." And then, Jesus responds to his righteous deeds with approval, telling the judging, disapproving crowds that "today, healing has come to the family of this righteous son of Abraham."

             Perhaps Luke wants us to think about the ways in which we judge others, the ways in which we assume that we know other people, especially those we don't like. In our polarized times, perhaps it is good to remember that our labels are not Jesus' labels. Jesus wants to break bread with us all. Father John Shea writes: "To Jesus every person was a guest. An invitation had gone out from the heart of all life to every heart within life, for does the rain discriminate or the sun play favorites? [Jesus'] voice was the music of welcome in the ears of rejection; his presence a silver setting in the slums with linen napkins on the laps of lepers."[2]

             Whether he's righteous or a sinner, Zacchaeus is desperate for Jesus. That's what strikes me about him today. He's desperate enough to climb up in a tree, to risk looking foolish, to throw caution to the wind. He's desperate enough "go out on a limb."[3] When was the last time that you went out on a limb for someone? I'd do just about anything for my loved ones: For Don, for my kids, for my grand-kids. And I go out on a limb when I really get riled up about some injustice, too. If children are being hurt, that will get me up and going. Righteous anger can usually spur me on. And of course, my own pain will also get me to take action pretty fast. What about you? 

    When was the last time you went out on a limb for Jesus? When was the last time that you were totally desperate to catch a glimpse of him? It's probably safe to say that, when it comes to seeing Jesus, most of us are satisfied with standing around in the comfy crowd down below, aren't we? Stopping by his teaching to overhear a good word on our way to someplace else. Huddling with our friends as we listen, backs turned to those on the fringes. Pretty satisfied with ourselves for even standing there. Even I can sometimes forget that the deep love for which I am so desperate resides in Jesus' eyes. I forget that the meaning for which I long lies in Jesus' shadow. I forget that my gnawing hunger for freedom from guilt and shame is satisfied only by the bread that Jesus offers me.

 Barbara Brown Taylor once said that "our duty in this time of famine [for meaning] is not to end the human hunger and thirst for God's words but to intensify it, until the whole world bangs its forks for God's food." She calls on us to "increase our sense of loss until we are so hungry and lonely for God that we do something about it ... as a people."[4] After my experience at the Trunk or Treat last night, I think that she has a good point.

If you read your Buzz this week, you'll know that our neighbors asked if they could have a Trunk or Treat in our parking lot yesterday. The house where they used to celebrate Halloween burned in the Marshall Fire. Since they invited us all to attend, I was able to talk with several of the young parents. Three different moms pointed me out to their children.

        "She's the minister of this church," they explained. "She does all the .... um, teaching and um .... stuff inside." 

        The children, you see, and probably some of these moms, have never been inside a church before. As the children eyed me with curiosity, the mothers explained that their children have often expressed a mysterious interest in religion. They even asked to go to a church, but the moms were wary and fearful. Maybe sometime they would do it ..... they added.  The idea of walking in a church probably felt about as uncomfortable to them as shimmying up a tall tree in a crowd.

I, of course, sprang into action. "Bring your children by anytime," I offered. "I can show them around! Or come to a service!" I was trying not to sound too eager, like we wanted to gobble them up or anything. I added, "Even if you don't want to come sit in a service with your kids, maybe there is something that we could help you with? Something spiritual that might speak to your lives?" There was a long silence. Then one mom spoke softly and a bit wistfully. "I wouldn't even know what that would be ...." she offered, her voice trailing off.

I wonder if we've been hungry so long that we don't even know anymore what it's like to be full. If we church-going folks could get in touch with our own hunger for seeing Jesus, though, wouldn't that be something? What can we do to get our stomachs rumbling for some extravagant love, for some miraculous healing, for some forgiveness and mercy? What if we wanted a taste of Jesus so badly that we pounded our fists on the table? What if we wanted to get a glimpse of Jesus so badly that we went out on a limb? 

I know what would happen. He would spot us up there right away. His face would light up, and he'd say, "Hey, there you are! Come down and get ready to feast! I want to come to St. Ambrose today!" And filled with joy, we would testify, "Look how we are giving of ourselves for the life of the world!

Now that would be real parish revitalization!

 

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[1] No footnote here, except that my husband heard it in a sermon in Princeton many years ago.

[2] John Shea, Stories of Faith (Chicago: Thomas More Press, 1980), 171-72.

[3] William J. Adams, Proper 26 Year C, found at https://www.sundaygospeltalk.com.

[4] Barbara Brown Taylor, When God is Silent (Lanham, MD: Cowley Publications, 1998), ?.

Righteous Energy

 

         

As a single, working mom, dreaming of fewer mornings and afternoons behind the wheel, I led my reluctant sixteen-year-old into a car dealership one Saturday morning. We came out with a used Geo Prism, which seemed to fit the bill. It even had a warranty, so what could go wrong?

          Unfortunately, a quiet 16-year-old and a hurried, mechanically-clueless mom in a car dealership are like a pair of young, tender wildebeest in a den of hungry lions. Let me just say that we bought a real lemon of a car. It didn't take us long to find that out, either. Within the first week, when the car started having problems, I was dismayed to find out that the expensive repair of a cracked engine part was not covered under the skimpy "warranty." Neither were any of the long list of assorted issues that continued to come up. I was furious. I called the dealership and asked to speak with a supervisor, giving the salesman who answered the phone a piece of my mind and demanding justice. In passing the phone to his colleague, the salesman forgot to put me on hold. Imagine my dismay when I heard, "Hey Joe, remember the lady with her kid who came in here last week, the one we unloaded that old Geo Prism on? She wants to talk with you, and O boy, is she mad!" he added with a gleeful giggle.

          Well, from that moment on, I was on a crusade for justice and vengeance. I was absorbed with it. I spent hours online, reading about Geo Prisms, the dealership, and the rules around warranties. I pursued an eloquent complaint with the Better Business Bureau. I wrote a passionate letter to the dealership. I wrote to corporate headquarters. I carried on and on about it, driving my friends crazy. For the next twenty years, I sternly warned everyone I met in Louisville, Kentucky who was looking for a car NOT to go to Star Ford at Oxmoor. I put more "righteous" energy into this project than into anything before or since.

          Unlike the widow in our Gospel parable, I never got justice or vengeance. We were stuck with that awful car for years, spending much more on it than it was ever worth. But there are definitely parallels in my story with today's Gospel:

First, like a widow in ancient Israel, I was, as a single mom in a car dealership, a stereotypically mistreated and easily ignored character. Yet, like the widow in our parable, I was also no paragon of virtue. I was forcing my son to buy a car (with his own money, no less!) because I was tired of driving. To top it off,  I was reacting less out of a desire for justice than a desire for vengeance for having been laughed at and humiliated. The parable says in Greek that the widow, too, desires the judge to grant her not "justice," but vengeance. She wants an opponent to get what's coming to him for having wronged her personally. And she's determined to get that vengeance, too! She isn't just persistent; she's violently persistent. In the Greek, the judge says that he's afraid of being beaten black and blue, like a boxer in a ring.

          Secondly, I see something of the mocking, unscrupulous car salesmen in that judge, as well. The judge in the parable is the opposite of what a moral person is called to be: instead of loving God and loving his neighbor as himself, this judge doesn't fear God and cares nothing about his neighbor. He even admits as much in his own words! The only reason that he acts on the widow's complaint is that he's worn down and tired of being attacked. The unjust judge certainly doesn't represent God in this story!

          Remember, Jesus tells parables, not allegories. Parables are supposed to make us think, to make us change how we see things. They are supposed to make us uncomfortable. We can't assign allegorical roles to the characters and gather up a neat little moral message. With these characters, Jesus is showing us that he knows how corrupt and discouraging the world can be. There is humiliation and vengeance. There is corruption and injustice. Our motives and our reactions are never pure. Sometimes I'm the widow, bent on getting revenge at all cost. Sometimes I'm the judge, looking out for number one. Sometimes it feels like God is indeed an unjust judge who has forgotten me, who makes me wait far too long for an answer to my pleas. Sometimes I wonder if God is a neglected widow, persistently pursuing me, desperate for my wandering attention. And in all of the messiness of this world, it is easy, O so easy, to lose heart. To give up. To turn inward. To put up barriers between ourselves and God, between ourselves and the world's problems.

          In her Convention address yesterday, Bishop Kym talked about the difficulties of following Jesus in our time. She mentioned those who pound on her door persistently crying out that Christianity is for superstitious fools, that it has nothing relevant to say to our world. At the same time, others beat her down with complaints about the direction the Church is taking to address injustices, climate change, and other "controversial" issues. She told us that, in spite of those who want to beat us up on all sides for who we are as Christians, we must continue to love. In our everyday lives, day in and day out, we are called to act in love, to follow the example and teaching of our Lord Jesus Christ.

          And that's what Jesus is showing us, too, in today's parable. We live in a world that can be grim, a world in which God often seems absent. We do lose heart sometimes.  And yet, the truth of our faith is that we live and move and have our being in a world in which God is present, in which God's reign has begun. It has begun in Jesus, and in us, as we follow him: praying, opening ourselves to God, reaching out to one another, acting in love. When the Son of Man finally does come, Jesus asks, will he find faith on earth? In other words, when he returns, will he find a dead, frozen world—one that is grim and joyless?[1] Or will he find us acting as Christ's hands and feet, persisting in prayer, persisting in goodness and love, in spite of it all?

          My hope--my challenge--for myself and for all of us, is that we take up Christian practice in our everyday lives—things like prayer, hospitality, generosity, celebration, gratitude and all the rest. That we take them up not just in our spare time, or with our spare energy, or with a half-despairing heart. No, that we take them up with the same single-minded passion, certainty, and new-found energy that I took on bad-mouthing that car dealership in Kentucky. If we could do that, just here at St. Ambrose, imagine the divine joy and love and freedom that we could unloose in our corner of this messy world!

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[1] Richard Lischer, Reading the Parables [Interpretation] (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2014), 115.