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?
