Sunday, October 30, 2016

Thirty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle C

Luke 19:1-10
When I was about eighteen I worked for the Forest Service during the summer. I was technically a fire control aide, but there weren't that many fires, so the forest ranger would give us assignments having to do with cleaning up campgrounds and clearing brush. At our ranger station there were three college students, one teacher who was there for summer employment, and a retired Marine sergeant who had never married. He was the boss. And whenever he talked every other word was unprintable. And when he got upset, after listening to him you wanted to take a shower.
Naturally, after about a month all of us were talking like the boss. One day my dad came to see how I was doing and we went out to supper. During our conversation I suddenly became aware that I was talking like my boss, and it was apparent that he didn't appreciate it. I apologized, but pointed out that everyone in our group talked that way. He looked at me and said, “But you are better than that.” From that moment on, I stopped sprinkling my language with words that shouldn't even be heard in locker rooms.
I think that's what is happening in the gospel story today. When you read this story you sometimes get the impression that Zaccheus isn't really a bad guy; he's misunderstood. But that probably isn't the case. He is after all the chief tax collector. That meant that he oversaw the other tax collectors in his district. When the Romans came to collect taxes, Zaccheus had to pay them out of his pocket, and then with the help of Roman soldiers and the other tax collectors, the citizens would be told how much they owed. Zaccheus and the other tax collectors had the right to ask for more than what was strictly owed; it was a commission of sorts. And the system was easy to abuse and tax collectors didn't feel particularly kind-hearted to the people they taxed, who shunned them and considered them sinners. Was Zaccheus a bad guy? Probably. He was wealthy, and he didn't get that way by being fair.
But Jesus comes along and invites Zaccheus into his inner circle. He doesn't condemn him or tell him to stop being a tax collector. He merely invites himself to supper. Instead of shunning him like a good Jew would do, Jesus reminds Zaccheus that he is better than that, better than he himself thought he was. And Zaccheus immediately reacts; he promises to give half his wealth to the poor, and repay four-fold anyone whom he has cheated. If Zaccheus was defending himself and claiming to be an honest man, as some people read this gospel, there was no need for Jesus to declare that “Today salvation has come to this house” and “the Son of Man came to seek and save the lost.” Zaccheus was a sinner and one of the lost; Jesus said, “you are better than that” and conversion happened.
So we always need to say “so what does that story have to do with me?” I don't cheat people, I don't extort, I haven't gained my wealth by dishonest means. In fact I'm not even short and I don't climb trees. It's nice that Jesus forgave Zaccheus, but he's always forgiving people, that's his job.
But Jesus doesn't just forgive. He calls Zaccheus to something higher. In those days to eat with somebody was a sign of intimacy; we still remember this in our weekly Eucharist. When Jesus invites Zaccheus to enter into that more intimate relationship with him, a friendship, Zaccheus' reaction is first, joy, and second, to reach for something higher. In the presence of Jesus, he realizes that he is better than that.
It's no different for you and I. Jesus looks at me and loves me with all my flaws and forgives my sins. But he wants more for me; he wants me to be better; he says, “you are better than that” “you are better than you think you are. And when we hear him say that, we want to be better; it is a moment of grace which allows us to be better; to strive to be the best version of ourselves that we can be. I look back at that moment when I stopped using foul language; it was a sudden thing. And I think that's what happens to some people who are burdened by alcohol or drug addiction who suddenly turn their lives around. For many it is a religious experience, a sudden realization that they are better than that. When we go to Jesus with those habits that lead us into the same old sins over and over again, he will break their hold on us if we let him; because one of the messages we hear in the sacrament of reconciliation is to go and sin no more – those aren't meant to be just words.
But there's another lesson here. Jesus could have been like those people in the crowd who say, “he has gone to be the guest of a sinner.” There is something in us – maybe it's an instinct – that wants to have nothing to do with people who seem to be unlovable. Someone who cheats us; someone who hurts us; someone who acts out of selfishness. The girlfriend who seemed to have a happy marriage and was a faithful churchgoer who suddenly runs off with another man; the friend who is arrested and sentenced to prison for embezzling from his employer; the priest who is suspended from his duties because someone has accused him of a sexual indiscretion. Our reaction is to back off, to have nothing to do with them; because he or she, it turns out, is not the person I thought he or she was.
But Jesus shows us that if we are true Christians; if we are truly trying to imitate our master, then our reaction should always be to say “You are still my friend, and you are better than that.” My brothers and sisters, let this week listen to Jesus as he tells us “you are better than that” and let us have those words on our lips as we go about our daily lives, because many people need to hear them, and who else will speak them if not you and I?