Dinner With Jesus
Stories
Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit
Series VI, Cycle C
Object:
I used to wish I were tall. All the other children were bigger. They were stronger ... faster. I was a shrimp ... and it used to bother me. I used to lie in my bed at night wishing that I was the biggest kid in town. Then nobody would push me around. None of the other children could beat me up. None of them could ever call Zacchaeus names (at least not if they wanted to keep their teeth in). None of them would ever give me any trouble again. Yeah, I wanted to be tall, but....
As time went along, of course, I stopped worrying about it too much. As we get older, we learn to stop being concerned about things over which we have no control. Anyway, whenever those old dreams about being tall would glance across my mind, I would just content myself with thinking, "It doesn't matter. When I sit on top of my money, I am the tallest man in Jericho. Ha!"
Yes, I do have some money. I admit that it all might not have been obtained in the most upright of fashions. But, we tax collectors don't make our living by being particularly upright. And I know that is at least part of the reason that people have hated me -- they have thought I got my money dishonestly. Well, perhaps yes, perhaps no. But they know how it works. If tax collectors took only what was due for the emperor, we would have nothing for ourselves. I sometimes wonder whether these people of Israel would rather have a Roman coming around for the empire's portion rather than one of their own, another Jew. At least another Jew is going to have some feeling for his own people -- a Roman would have none!
I have to admit that I probably went into this tax-collecting business for more than just the money. In a way, I probably wanted to get back at some of my wonderful neighbors, the ones who taunted me and bullied me when I was growing up. If I had been a little taller back then, they might have left me alone. But I wasn't and they didn't, so when I became old enough to make a career for myself, tax collecting didn't seem like such a bad thing -- I could make a pile of money and stick it to my so-called friends at the same time. I didn't have to worry about how tall or short I was because if anyone gave me any trouble, I could call the tallest Roman legionnaire in Jericho to back me up. Short doesn't matter when you have very tall protectors.
Of course, outside of tax collecting, it still matters sometimes. It mattered this morning. Word had come that this incredible teacher about whom the whole nation had been talking, this Jesus of Nazareth, was coming through town. Now, I admit that I have never been the most religious of men. I'm a Jew, but I would confess that I am not the most devout Jew who ever lived ... far from it actually. But I was curious about this rabbi. I had heard of some tremendous things he had done ... healing the sick, restoring sight to the blind, making the lame to walk. Who wouldn't be curious about someone like that? I wanted to see him.
Apparently half the people in Jericho felt the same way as I did, and they were all gathered on the road waiting for this Jesus to pass by. That was when being short mattered again. I couldn't see. The crowd was too dense. No one would let me through to the front. And when they saw who it was who was trying to get past, they crowded in all the closer. I wish I had been taller.
Finally, I got fed up. There was no way I could fight that mob, and if I had stayed where I was, I would have seen nothing. So I went down the road apiece and climbed a tree, a sycamore that stood right by the wayside. True, it had been years since I had climbed a tree. I'm probably lucky that I didn't fall and break my neck. But I perched myself up there and thought, "Ha, I'm the tallest man in Jericho now."
It wasn't long before Jesus came. He was surrounded by a mob, folks crowding in, hanging on his every word. I really couldn't hear him very well until Jesus and the crowd got right near to me and my sycamore. What happened next I will never be able to explain if I live to be older than Methusaleh. As the group made their way under my precarious perch, Jesus stopped. He looked up at me and said, "Zacchaeus, come down immediately. I must stay at your house today" (Luke 19:5). I could hardly believe my ears. He knew my name. Who would have told him? And stay at my house? The house of a tax collector? Someone so hated by everyone that they wouldn't even let me get a glimpse of him until I climbed that tree? Jesus was coming home with me? Incredible!
Needless to say, I hurried down and stood there right next to this fantastic man. No longer did I have to stretch and strain just for a glimpse of him; he was right next to me. I admit, I felt pretty tall!
Within a short time, we had arrived at my home. My mind was still reeling at the fact that this famous stranger had invited me to dinner, even if it was at my house. We made our way through the open courtyard and came into the house, leaving the heat of the crowd and the midday desert sun behind us. My wife and servants had already heard we were coming because word went around Jericho like wildfire that Jesus was coming home with that rotten little Zacchaeus. But at a moment like that, I didn't care what people thought ... rotten ... little ... it didn't make any difference. I was about to eat with Jesus, and somehow that seemed to make everything in my life all right.
As we dined together, it became apparent to me that there was nothing I could hide from this man. He knew me inside and out, seemingly better than I even knew myself. I wondered why he would want to spend time with me, but he said something to me that I didn't understand at first, but now that I have had time to reflect on it, I think I know what he meant. He said, "The Son of man came to seek and to save what was lost" (Luke 19:10).
Let me explain what happened. By the time our meal was over, I was convinced that I had been wrong in what I had been doing all these years. Not the tax collecting, because somebody has to do that. There is nothing inherently wrong with being a tax collector. No, what I had done wrong was to seriously overcharge people, to cheat them for my own gain. It was stealing, pure and simple, and our law says "Thou shalt not steal." So I stood up beside the table and said that I was going to make restitution. I would return all that I had taken illegally and pay a 300% interest penalty. I also realized that I could and should do more to help those in Jericho who were less fortunate than I, so I said I would give half my goods to the poor. I had plenty. I could afford it. Then I sat down.
There was a kind of stunned speechlessness in the room. Everyone just looked at me. Here was that old thief Zacchaeus saying something that was so incredibly out of character that no one could react in any way other than astonished silence. I really felt good about myself at that moment ... better than I had in years. It was almost as if a great weight had been lifted from me. I had done something actually good and without even being forced. Jesus didn't make me do what I did. But somehow, just eating with him made me want to do right. That's when he said what he did ... about seeking and saving the lost.
I was lost ... lost in my own interests, my own greed, my own self-pity. Then down the dusty road came Jesus. He looked up at me on that sycamore branch and invited me to dinner with him. Suddenly, little lost Zacchaeus had been found ... and I will never be little or lost again.
____________
Note: This monologue first appeared in StoryShare, an internet preaching service of CSS Publishing.
As time went along, of course, I stopped worrying about it too much. As we get older, we learn to stop being concerned about things over which we have no control. Anyway, whenever those old dreams about being tall would glance across my mind, I would just content myself with thinking, "It doesn't matter. When I sit on top of my money, I am the tallest man in Jericho. Ha!"
Yes, I do have some money. I admit that it all might not have been obtained in the most upright of fashions. But, we tax collectors don't make our living by being particularly upright. And I know that is at least part of the reason that people have hated me -- they have thought I got my money dishonestly. Well, perhaps yes, perhaps no. But they know how it works. If tax collectors took only what was due for the emperor, we would have nothing for ourselves. I sometimes wonder whether these people of Israel would rather have a Roman coming around for the empire's portion rather than one of their own, another Jew. At least another Jew is going to have some feeling for his own people -- a Roman would have none!
I have to admit that I probably went into this tax-collecting business for more than just the money. In a way, I probably wanted to get back at some of my wonderful neighbors, the ones who taunted me and bullied me when I was growing up. If I had been a little taller back then, they might have left me alone. But I wasn't and they didn't, so when I became old enough to make a career for myself, tax collecting didn't seem like such a bad thing -- I could make a pile of money and stick it to my so-called friends at the same time. I didn't have to worry about how tall or short I was because if anyone gave me any trouble, I could call the tallest Roman legionnaire in Jericho to back me up. Short doesn't matter when you have very tall protectors.
Of course, outside of tax collecting, it still matters sometimes. It mattered this morning. Word had come that this incredible teacher about whom the whole nation had been talking, this Jesus of Nazareth, was coming through town. Now, I admit that I have never been the most religious of men. I'm a Jew, but I would confess that I am not the most devout Jew who ever lived ... far from it actually. But I was curious about this rabbi. I had heard of some tremendous things he had done ... healing the sick, restoring sight to the blind, making the lame to walk. Who wouldn't be curious about someone like that? I wanted to see him.
Apparently half the people in Jericho felt the same way as I did, and they were all gathered on the road waiting for this Jesus to pass by. That was when being short mattered again. I couldn't see. The crowd was too dense. No one would let me through to the front. And when they saw who it was who was trying to get past, they crowded in all the closer. I wish I had been taller.
Finally, I got fed up. There was no way I could fight that mob, and if I had stayed where I was, I would have seen nothing. So I went down the road apiece and climbed a tree, a sycamore that stood right by the wayside. True, it had been years since I had climbed a tree. I'm probably lucky that I didn't fall and break my neck. But I perched myself up there and thought, "Ha, I'm the tallest man in Jericho now."
It wasn't long before Jesus came. He was surrounded by a mob, folks crowding in, hanging on his every word. I really couldn't hear him very well until Jesus and the crowd got right near to me and my sycamore. What happened next I will never be able to explain if I live to be older than Methusaleh. As the group made their way under my precarious perch, Jesus stopped. He looked up at me and said, "Zacchaeus, come down immediately. I must stay at your house today" (Luke 19:5). I could hardly believe my ears. He knew my name. Who would have told him? And stay at my house? The house of a tax collector? Someone so hated by everyone that they wouldn't even let me get a glimpse of him until I climbed that tree? Jesus was coming home with me? Incredible!
Needless to say, I hurried down and stood there right next to this fantastic man. No longer did I have to stretch and strain just for a glimpse of him; he was right next to me. I admit, I felt pretty tall!
Within a short time, we had arrived at my home. My mind was still reeling at the fact that this famous stranger had invited me to dinner, even if it was at my house. We made our way through the open courtyard and came into the house, leaving the heat of the crowd and the midday desert sun behind us. My wife and servants had already heard we were coming because word went around Jericho like wildfire that Jesus was coming home with that rotten little Zacchaeus. But at a moment like that, I didn't care what people thought ... rotten ... little ... it didn't make any difference. I was about to eat with Jesus, and somehow that seemed to make everything in my life all right.
As we dined together, it became apparent to me that there was nothing I could hide from this man. He knew me inside and out, seemingly better than I even knew myself. I wondered why he would want to spend time with me, but he said something to me that I didn't understand at first, but now that I have had time to reflect on it, I think I know what he meant. He said, "The Son of man came to seek and to save what was lost" (Luke 19:10).
Let me explain what happened. By the time our meal was over, I was convinced that I had been wrong in what I had been doing all these years. Not the tax collecting, because somebody has to do that. There is nothing inherently wrong with being a tax collector. No, what I had done wrong was to seriously overcharge people, to cheat them for my own gain. It was stealing, pure and simple, and our law says "Thou shalt not steal." So I stood up beside the table and said that I was going to make restitution. I would return all that I had taken illegally and pay a 300% interest penalty. I also realized that I could and should do more to help those in Jericho who were less fortunate than I, so I said I would give half my goods to the poor. I had plenty. I could afford it. Then I sat down.
There was a kind of stunned speechlessness in the room. Everyone just looked at me. Here was that old thief Zacchaeus saying something that was so incredibly out of character that no one could react in any way other than astonished silence. I really felt good about myself at that moment ... better than I had in years. It was almost as if a great weight had been lifted from me. I had done something actually good and without even being forced. Jesus didn't make me do what I did. But somehow, just eating with him made me want to do right. That's when he said what he did ... about seeking and saving the lost.
I was lost ... lost in my own interests, my own greed, my own self-pity. Then down the dusty road came Jesus. He looked up at me on that sycamore branch and invited me to dinner with him. Suddenly, little lost Zacchaeus had been found ... and I will never be little or lost again.
____________
Note: This monologue first appeared in StoryShare, an internet preaching service of CSS Publishing.
