YOU FIT RIGHT HERE

Luke 19: 1-10
Steve Lindsley
August 14, 2011

You get the feeling that this sort of thing happened to Jesus all the time, don’t you?  The scripture Cathy read for us has Jesus “just passing through” Jericho when he meets Zacchaeus.  Just passing through.  You know, I doubt Jesus kept a calendar; I’m pretty sure he didn’t start every day with a “To Do” list.  You read the gospels and you realize that the vast majority of things Jesus did were not things he intentionally set out to do.  For the most part, they all kind of came to him.

I wish I could live like that, you know?  I wish I could just kind of wander into the places God wanted me to be.  And I guess, in a sense, my life is like that.  All our lives are like that.  But it doesn’t feel that way.  Instead, like you, I’m bound to the almighty schedule, zigging and zagging back and forth between this appointment and that conference call; this hospital visit and that errand.  So much of life seems to be the very antithesis of “passing through.”

But it wasn’t that way for Jesus.  He stumbled upon the woman at the well.  He just happened to find himself surrounded with thousands of hungry people out in the desert. I doubt he went into the temple that day planning on overturning some tables.  And he just happened to run into Zacchaeus as he was “passing through” Jericho. 

This is the first thing Luke tells us in this story about Jesus and Zacchaeus.  The very next thing he shares is that Zacchaeus was a chief tax collector and was rich.  And if you and I were in Luke’s audience; if we were Christians living in the latter part of first century Palestine, I imagine our reaction would’ve been swift.  You can almost still hear the catcalls and hisses from the gathering, the moans and groans and contorted faces as if smelling fresh garbage. 

That’s because tax collectors in that day and time ranked at the very rock bottom of the popularity totem pole.  They were hated not only because they over-collected taxes from the poorer Jews, but because they were Jews themselves.  The worst kind of traitor – employed by and aligned with the Roman empire to further that empire on the backs of their very own people – and getting filthy rich themselves while doing it.

We don’t know much about Zacchaeus, but the way Luke tells it, we don’t need to.  We know enough already.  We can pretty much extrapolate and form a picture of the man Jesus happened upon that day.  We see someone who was terribly good at his job – ruthless, even.  He knew his community well.  He knew when a family gained some extra livestock and was there in an instant to claim Rome’s share.  He had no qualms about squeezing the highest tax rate out of his fellow citizens; and if one resisted or begged for leniency, Zacchaeus was the kind of guy who’d increase the percentage just to make a point.  He dressed extravagantly, not only because he could afford it, but because he wanted everyone else to know he could.  And at the end of the day, after delivering Rome’s share and keeping his sizeable own, Zacchaeus would head home to lavish living quarters, furnished by the most exquisite items, all purchased with money taken out of the pockets of his fellow Jews.

And I wonder, in light of all of this, why Zacchaeus wanted so desperately to see Jesus that day; the day he got word that the man from Nazareth was going to be “passing through.”  Why he threw his public reputation out the proverbial window and hiked up a sycamore tree so he could get a better view.  Why he would even care what some run-of-the-mill preacher and teacher had to say.

Maybe he was incessantly curious. Maybe he was bored.  Or maybe, along with all those other things that made up Zacchaeus’ life, and in some ways because of them, maybe there was one other thing he was: and that was lonely.  Utterly and painfully lonely.  There’s no mention of family; no word of friends or acquaintances.  And is it any wonder why?  For all we know, Zacchaeus returned home every night to an extravagant but empty house. Maybe the reason Zacchaeus climbed up the tree that day was because he didn’t fit in anywhere; and was hoping that perhaps, with Jesus, he just might.

So when Jesus did pass by, when he looked up into the branches of that sycamore and saw the rich tax collector staring down at him, what is most surprising is not that Jesus called this man he’d never met before by name: Zacchaeus.  We’re kind of used to Jesus doing that sort of thing, aren’t we?  That way he seems to know more about us than we think he should, or want him to; the way he perceives and senses not only who we are but what lies in the depths of our hearts.  After eighteen previous chapters of Jesus doing amazing things, calling a man by name doesn’t jump out at us all that much.

What does surprise us, what surprised Zacchaeus, and what surprised everyone else there that day, is what he says to him: I must go to your house today.

Not, “I’d like to go to your house sometime,” but “I must go to your house today.  Right now. He’s not asking, is he?  Think about that: out of all the people who’ve lined the streets of Jericho that day, out of all the other places Jesus could’ve chosen to spend his time, Jesus wants to be with the local hated richer-than-rich tax collector at his home – the home that no one else ever went to.  Now.

What do you make of Jesus’ urgency here?  That’s the real question in all of this, isn’t it?  Why was visiting with this man in his home so important to Jesus, so necessary a thing for someone who was just “passing through?”

Back earlier this summer I got reacquainted with a great Steve Martin movie called Cheaper By The Dozen.  You heard of it?  It’s a movie about a husband and wife who are parents to twelve kids ranging from kindergarten through high school.  The opening scene of the movie sort of captures the chaotic but caring lifestyle of this family of fourteen, as they get ready for their day.  Everyone is huddled shoulder-to-shoulder around the breakfast table, diving into eggs and toast and juice.  Everyone, that is, except Mark – the eighth kid if I remember right.  Mark’s not at the breakfast table because he’s looking for his lost frog named Beans.  He’s asked everyone all morning if they’d seen him, but no one’s had the time to answer.  Everyone’s in such a hurry.

And as the family is sitting around the table downing their breakfast, Mark finally spots his frog – sitting in the kitchen light fixture right above the table!  He has this net and he’s extending it upward to try and get Beans down; Mark’s father sees what’s going on and tries to stop him.  Too late! Beans jumps out and lands squarely in the big bowl of eggs.  Total chaos ensues!  Everyone trying to grab the frog; eggs and toast and juice flying everywhere and landing on clothes and in hair.  Plates and glasses shattered.  And when all calms down, there Mark stands with Beans in his net, as the rest of his family glare at him in disgust.  One sister blurts out, “Nice move, Fed Ex.”

Now we’re outside the house and everyone’s leaving, piling into cars and hopping on bikes, heading off to school.  Mom is at the bottom of the porch steps barking out last-minute orders and well-wishes.  A dejected Mark mopes down the stairs.  His mother stops him and asks what’s wrong.  Mark looks up at her and with sad eyes says, “Everybody says the Fed Ex guy dropped me off because I don’t fit in with this family.”

And without pause, in one of the movie’s most powerful scenes that sets the tone for everything else to come, Mom pulls Mark over and hugs him to her side; she cradles his head in her arms; and says, “You fit, Mark.  You fit right here.”

You know why I think Zacchaeus climbed the tree that day?  You know why I think Jesus told him he just had to go to his house?  Because I believe both of them knew that Zacchaeus wanted so much to fit in; needed to fit in, somewhere, with someone; so he would not be imprisoned one moment longer to the life he’d made for himself.  And I think Jesus wanted Zacchaeus to know, beyond a shadow of doubt, that he fit right there – right in his embrace, his amazing grace, his everlasting love. 

And it’s amazing, isn’t it, what happens to Zacchaeus because of that?  I mean, Jesus didn’t have to say a thing to him about changing his ways.  He didn’t have to give him a stern lecture about returning all the money and things he’d taken unfairly and turning over a new leaf in his life.  Zacchaeus did it anyway – immediately.  And it shouldn’t surprise us that much, should it?  Because when we find out where we fit in – right in Jesus’ embrace – when we find out where we fit in, we want our lives to change, too.  We can’t help but toss aside all the things that hold us back from that embrace; all the things that keep us from experiencing that amazing grace and that everlasting love.

And so on this morning, my friends, as we gather inside these four walls amidst a world outside where stock markets go wildly up and down, where rioters riot in London, where political partisanship is quickly becoming the rule and not the exception, there’s no doubt where you and I fit.  We fit right here – right at the table the Lord has prepared for us.  And just as Jesus himself couldn’t wait to get to Zacchaeus’ house for dinner that day, he’s prepared a meal for us here.  Bread and the cup, the body and the blood, given to us and given for us.  So you and I will never forget that we are always children of God.  So we’ll always know exactly where we belong.

Eat and drink, my friends.  Jesus can’t wait to dine with us today.  This is where fit in.  And this is where we belong.  Thanks be to God.  AMEN.

Comments

[TCDavis]

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