Zacchaeus Reimagined

When I was growing up in the church, one of the stories I remember learning in Sunday School was the story of Zacchaeus (Luke 19:1-10). There was even a song we would sing: "Zacchaeus was a wee, little man, and a wee little man was he..." (Anyone who knows the song, it's now stuck in your head, too. You're welcome.)

The gist of the story was that Zacchaeus was a wicked tax collector who wanted to see Jesus pass through town and so climbed a tree to see above the crowd (because he was a wee, little man). Then Jesus picks Zachy out of the crowd and invites himself to Zacchaeus' home. Little Z is then so touched by this honor that he changes his life and promises, "I will give half my money to the poor and if I have cheated anyone, I will repay them four times as much." A sinner has been saved. Jesus proclaims, "Salvation has come to this house." Roll credits. It's a perfect redemption story. Like Scrooge in "A Christmas Carol," but without the spirits and Tiny Tim.

Unless it isn't...

I recently had this story opened to me in an entirely new way by someone who pointed out one small piece of grammar: the present tense.

You see, when Zacchaeus says, "I will give half my money to the poor," which is the way many English translations write it, he's actually speaking in the present tense. If you look at the Greek text, what he literally says is, "Behold, Lord, half of my wealth I give to the poor and if I have cheated anyone, I repay them four times as much." He's not promising to change his ways; he's describing how he's already a fair and generous person. He's not a penny-pincher like Scrooge; he's an ancient Bill Gates! Mind: blown.

When I went back to reread the rest of the story, I realized that nothing in the text says that he's a bad or wicked man. He's only described as a "tax collector" and "wealthy." And when Jesus declares, "Salvation has come to this house," the rest of his sentence is, "because this man, too, is a child of Abraham."

Suddenly everything I learned about this text is backwards. If Zacchaeus was being honest in what he said, then the point Luke is making is this: being a tax collector for the Romans would not have made him popular with his neighbors and they probably treat him as an outcast and a traitor. Still, Little Z does his job fairly and is generous with his money and when Jesus visits his house, he is honoring him before the community for being a righteous person and declares him in good standing with God. The "salvation" is that the community has a change of heart, not Zacchaeus.

This isn't a story about a sinner needing redemption, it's a warning about rushing to judgement, just like Harry Potter discovering in book seven that Professor Snape was actually a good guy all along. It is a reminder to me that knowing one thing about a person doesn't mean I know everything about a person. Those I may want to call immoral or bad may actually be kind and good people. And even if they aren't, they are still children of Abraham, beloved by the same God who puts up with me.

"When you are a stranger, hold your tongue and wager that love will set you free... until it sets you free." -Jars of Clay, "Inland"

Pope Francis the Economist

Back at the beginning of December, Michael Gerson had an excellent op-ed piece for the Washington Post about Pope Francis' published exhortation "The Joy of the Gospel." (Side note: I'm in the middle of reading the exhortation myself. If you are interested, you can purchase it on Amazon or download a free digital copy for your e-reader here.) As explained in Gerson's article, part of the Pope's exhortation addresses the ethics of economic systems, warning against economic practices that turn people into commodities and value profit over human dignity. This quickly drew some howls of criticism from commentators who accused him of socialism and marxism, among other things.

Since I believe Gerson does an excellent job of refuting these accusations while simultaneously lifting up the themes of Advent, I won't waste time repeating his arguments. Instead, I want to pursue another thread of the debate that caught my attention.

In reading some of the comments and articles critical of the Pope's position, there was a theme running through much of the thinking that either implied or stated outright something like this: "Economics is not a spiritual issue and a pope has no authority to speak on this. The pope should stick to spiritual issues and let us deal with these real world issues." It was as if some were saying, "You stick to saving souls and let us save people's retirement accounts."

The problem with their line of thought is that money IS a spiritual matter. While we may think of the world in terms of spiritual and secular matters, the Bible doesn't. Everything is a spiritual matter because everything comes from and belongs to God.  And if we look at the Bible, it would seem that money especially is a spiritual matter.  

Jesus talks about money more than any topic other than the Kingdom of God. Yep. He has more recorded words on money than on prayer, heaven, hell, or sin.  Roughly 1 in 7 verses in the Gospel of Luke relates to money. (Or so I've read. I've never actually counted every verse to make sure.) In the Old Testament, much of the condemnation leveled by the prophets stems from people failing to do anything to help the poor, hungry, and unclothed.

Contrary to those who want to say economics is unrelated to "spiritual matters," it would seem that God cares an awful lot about how we think about and use our money. Pope Francis doesn't just have the authority to speak on economic issues, but as a spiritual leader, he has an obligation to address money issues. God expects to be Lord over our entire life, not just Sunday morning. If Jesus has redeemed our entire life, then that has an impact in how we spend our money, do our jobs, act in public, and so on. As Gerson points out in his article, the Pope doesn't hate business or money, but he rightly points out that they, like anything in this life, can be used for good or for ill and we need to be conscious of how we use them.

That's a struggle and I for one face it daily, but I cannot divide my life into two boxes called "spirtual" and "secular" and then hand one to God and say, "You can have this one, but don't worry about what's in the other one." That doesn't deepen my relationship to God. To use an economic term, that cheapens the relationship.

"That kind of luxe just ain't for us; we crave a different kind of buzz." -Lorde, "Royals"

Thank God for Difficult Words

The title to this post pretty much sums up how I'm feeling this morning as I sit and work on yet another sermon on a difficult text from the Gospel of Luke. Since the beginning of the summer, the Revised Common Lectionary, which sets the readings for most Protestant and Catholic churches each week, has been working through the middle of the Gospel of Luke and has been coughing up some doozies.

In the past few months, we've heard Jesus say, "Do you think I've come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division" and "Anyone who sets a hand to the plow and turns back is not fit for service in the Kingdom of God." He also had the stern and strange "Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple." On August 4, we had the parable of the foolish landowner, who is chastised for saving his wealth, which is bookended by this past Sunday's parable about the wicked manager who is condoned for shrewdly cheating wealth out of his employer.

Now this week we have the parable of Lazarus and the rich man, where the rich man is sent to a place of torment after death and when he pleads to Father Abraham for comfort or aid to his brothers, Abraham's response is essentially, "Too bad." God is abounding in compassion, eh?

So why do I give thanks for these passages? It's not because they are easy to understand. They're not. And they're even harder to preach on. If I'm going to help other people understand this passage, then I have to find an understanding for myself, which usually means hours of study and beating my head against the wall (which may or may not be a literal thing). These passages make me uncomfortable and challenge my way of thinking about Jesus and what it means to follow him.

And that's why I end up feeling grateful for them.

By struggling with them, I'm forced to think clearly and deeply about God and my relationship to him. The more I struggle, the more I recognize there is a lot I still am learning about life, about God, and about me, which makes me want to know more and go deeper. These stories paint a picture of a God that is much more complicated than any simple characterization like "God is love" or "God is the ultimate judge." Isn't any good relationship about growing toward a better understanding of the person you love? By wrestling with these texts like Jacob at the Jabbok (Genesis 32), I, too, end up humbled and blessed.

“I found God and He was absolutely nothing like me.” -Live, "Where Fishes Go"