Zacchaeus, the man up the tree in the Gospel story, was small of stature, a little man. He was a publican, which means a tax collector, actually chief in that office for the district of Jericho, so one assumes that he had had the job for a long time. Rome had heavy expenses in governing the Empire and in maintaining the necessary wide-spread military presence. So they made sure that the provinces, as far as possible, paid their way.
The way the Romans did this was to farm out the collection of taxes to local collectors who bid for the privilege, and then had the power of Rome behind them. The collectors, of course, added a considerable percentage to the tax in order to pay their own salaries. It is easy to understand that they were extremely unpopular as a class. To the grudge the Jewish people held on financial grounds was added the hatred they felt for anyone working for Rome. The tax-gatherers were feared, hated and despised.
Jesus was passing through Jericho, and thus only there for a little while. As he went along the street he glanced up and noticed Zacchaeus, who had climbed up the tree, in order to get a good view. I love the way the Bible draws unforgettable pictures in short compass. It was a sycamore tree, we are told. But when Jesus spoke to him, Zacchaeus came slithering down at once, and received Jesus with enthusiasm. The Pharisees, the sourpuss people, murmured—of course. Does not Jesus know the man is a sinner, beyond the pale? Now the interesting thing is what Jesus said to Zacchaeus—or did not say. He did not deliver a talk or a sermon to the people. He did not tell Zacchaeus to mend his ways, nor did he even say he accepted him. Jesus said only, "Come down Zacchaeus; I'm going to stay at your house today." That could be for dinner or to spend the night as well. Jesus was only passing through, but he was ready to alter his plans. His proposal to go to Zacchaeus' house was totally unexpected, and potentially injurious to his popularity and his cause.
The people murmured.
But Jesus was always doing things like this, in his everyday life. He was at dinner once with some of the leaders of the Pharisees, and a woman, known to be a prostitute, massaged his feet with ointment, wept over them and then tried to dry them with her hair. Most unsuitable, most offensive; but of course it was the saving of the woman.
And so here: His followers may have also been discontented. Why did Jesus have to recognize this unpopular man? But for Jesus it was Zacchaeus' need that was central; other considerations were as nothing. Jesus gave Zacchaeus, in that one sentence and gesture, the main things Zacchaeus did not have and most wanted, recognition, acceptance, friendship. I repeat, recognition, acceptance, and friendship—what we all want.
NOW, Zacchaeus was a rich and successful business man, and very sharp and decisive. He stood there and on the spot made a public statement, as we would say nowadays totally re-structuring his whole business. He said he would immediately give 50% of his fortune to the poor, and to those whom he had overcharged he would return an amount four times as great. People were astounded—such a thing was unheard of. But Zacchaeus had been very curious about Jesus—the Bible says he wanted to "see Jesus, who he was," that is, what Jesus was really like, what was his inward nature.
When Jesus simply accepted him, and said in the most natural way that he would come to his house, something broke inside Zacchaeus. He made up his mind; he was going to change his whole way of doing business, his whole way of life. In fact, Zacchaeus was absolutely delighted. Jesus did not see him as an outcaste. Jesus had turned his life around by the simple act of inviting himself to dinner. Zacchaeus's isolation was over. Years of depression and anger melted away.
All right. How does all this apply to us? We must each work out the application of this story for ourselves—but I see two ways, one public and one more personal and private.
The public collection of taxes: by and large we as a people have cleaned up our act by a fixed, professional method of collection under the law. But often the rich get off too lightly and the working poor are punished. Even the method of collection may be wrong. Paul Krugman recently pointed out in the New York Times that the Internal Revenue Service was intending to outsource the collection of unpaid back taxes to private debt collectors, who would receive a share of the proceeds. Krugman wrote, "It's an awful idea. Privatizing tax collection will cost far more than hiring additional I.R.S. agents, raise less revenue, and pose obvious risks of abuse." Abuse such as was practiced by Zacchaeus long ago. Of course, a much wider and more serious problem is the use of the taxes we pay: that we are passing on a debt of untold billions of dollars to our grandchildren and great-grandchildren for the expenses of a war of highly doubtful necessity. Altough many say that ministers should not preach party politics from the pulpit, we must preach justice and righteousness from the pulpit. But that is another sermon.
The closer, more personal application of the Zacchaeus story centers on the Coffee Hour. My emphasis on this point will come as a surprise to some people. But I believe the church service and the social moment of the Coffee Hour belong together. At the Coffee Hour we are with others in a setting for conversation. Jesus Christ was often with people when he was not alone for prayer and meditation. Sometimes he was with a crowd; often he was with a small group. It might be the disciples or a group at a meal, as it probably ended up being with Zacchaeus.
We need a word for this gathering in small groups practiced by Jesus. The Christian Church had not yet happened, so 'church' won't do. The word 'group'?—too colorless. 'Community'—too large and official. The Germans have a word 'Gemeinde', based on what people have in common, which has an intimate feeling. But we can use 'family', the Christian family. We need to practice gathering together as Jesus did.
And that is what we partially reach in the Coffee Hour. We meet friends and exchange news. (Never mind if the sometimes difficult, growing, adorable children eat up most of the cookies. I enjoy their surreptitious glance when they take two.) Do you just talk to your friends? Or after that to someone you do not know? Someone who has been sick, or worried, or recently bereaved? Do you seek out a stranger and include him or her? That was what Zacchaeus wanted—to be included. We don't need to be heavy-handed about our conversation. We can just be open and ready for anything. Christianity is a common effort, and always has been. But this openness can be practiced anywhere in our daily life and our work, certainly not only in church.
Jesus used an important common term of his time to place Zacchaeus as unmistakably belonging in the crowd—saying "He also is a son of Abraham." As was Christ. As are we all. And all of us are companions of Christ, actual or potential. At this time of change and new beginnings in our church it is vital to remember this—ll of us have similar trials and temptations; and occasionally each of us needs to come down from some lonely perch in our particular tree. We can all take comfort in realizing that Christ has united us, in the way he always did on earth, when he made many a meal a blessed experience. We need to be together, and great harm is done by excluding anybody—excluding anybody. AMEN