Thirty-First Sunday in Ordinary Time
“… the Son of Man has come to seek and to save what was lost.” Lk: 19:10
Whenever I read this Gospel account, I’m reminded of a story I once heard. It goes like this:
One bright, sunny day, a knight in shining armor was galloping down the road on his big white stallion when suddenly he spotted a tiny sparrow lying flat on his back in the middle of the road with his legs sticking straight up into the sky.
The knight thought this was a bit odd, so he reigned in his horse, climbed down, walked up to the sparrow and said: “Tiny little sparrow, what are you doing lying here in the middle of the road, flat on your back, with your legs sticking straight up into the sky?”
“Well,” said the sparrow, “I heard the sky was falling and I want to do everything I can to hold it up.” “Why that’s preposterous,” said the knight. “With those scrawny little legs of yours, you’re going to hold up this entire sky?”
“Well,” said the sparrow, “one does what one can.”
One does what one can.
I like to think that the response of that tiny little sparrow is somewhat like what the man “of short stature” in today’s gospel reading was saying to himself “when he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree in order to see Jesus.”
He was doing what he could.
And yet to the people of Jericho where he lived, what Zacchaeus was doing seemed impossible. He was hated by the people of his town. He not only was a tax collector; he not only was a thief; he not only was in collusion with the dreaded Roman empire … he was the “chief” tax collector and he was “a wealthy man.”
To the ordinary people of that time being gouged by tax collectors, he was despicable. In their mind, there was no way he would possibly be interested in someone like Jesus, to say nothing of going to the extreme of running ahead and climbing a tree to see him, and then scandalously welcoming Jesus into his home! Impossible. Unheard of.
But it happened … because Zacchaeus was curious and courageous.
Like the knight in shining armor, he was amazed that some poor, homeless prophet could demand the attention and respect of so many people. He wanted to see for himself what the fuss was all about. So, rather than climbing down from a high horse, he climbed up a tall tree.
What Zacchaeus then discovered was a revelation: Jesus presented a picture of a God the likes of which Zacchaeus never dreamed possible – a God who not only welcomes blind beggars, who not only embraces prodigal sons, who not only heals cripples and lepers, who not only goes in search of the one lost sheep, but who dines in the home of greatly despised sinners. Even a chief tax collector.
In fact, what he further discovers is that Jesus mirrors a God who reaches out and invites him: “Zaccheus, come down quickly, for today I must stay at your home.” Notice: Jesus doesn’t say I “want” to stay, but I “must” stay at your home. There’s an urgency. There’s a demand. There’s an imperative.
What this dramatic story shows us is one thing: that a whole new way of thinking, a whole new way of dreaming, a whole new way of living is within the reach of everyone – even the most public of sinners. What Jesus is telling us is that transformation, change, being open to new ways of living never dreamed possible is available to all of us – no matter our past, no matter the weight of our sins.
Jesus wants to dine with everyone. All – even the tax collectors – are invited into his reign of peace and justice and mercy.
There is one catch, though. Like Zacchaeus, we have to be open to change. Our hearts have to be ready for transformation. We have to share in that same curiosity and courage that impelled Zacchaeus to run ahead and climb that tree.
He didn’t care if he made a fool out of himself. He had to know. He had to see for himself.
Consider Zacchaeus’ response when Jesus says, as he does to each of us, I “must stay at your house.” The Gospel tells us: “He came down quickly and received him with joy.”
Transformation, soul-change, occurred in the heart of Zacchaeus. So much so, that he couldn’t contain himself a minute longer. With a new-found passion, he announced: “Behold, half of my possessions, Lord, I shall give to the poor, and if I have extorted anything from anyone I shall repay it four times over.”
Conversion, renewal, the dream of a new beginning washed over him. A rich and corrupt man is not only willing, but now takes joy in the prospect of transitioning to a brand-new way of being human.
His blindness is healed. His heart has been softened.
Zacchaeus, the former money man, now discovers a brand-new investment outlet for all his many resources: the reign of God.
“One does what one can,” the tiny little sparrow reminds us.
Zacchaeus really got that.
The question you and I are left with is: Are we doing what we can?
Ted Wolgamot, Psy.D.
11809194.1
10/26/16
