Thank God For the Tree

(From Luke 19)

He entered Jericho and was passing through it. A man was there named Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax-collector and was rich. He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycomore tree to see him, because he was going to pass that way. When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, ‘Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.’ All who saw it began to grumble and said, ‘He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.’ Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, ‘Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.’ Then Jesus said to him, ‘Today salvation has come to this house.’

I had heard of Jesus but had never seen or met him. He had quite a reputation, though, appealing mostly to the disrespected and disregarded, but anathema to those in power. Many hoped he was the Messiah, born to restore Israel by force of arms.

However, those hopes were dashed as he made clear from the start that his was a mission of love. To the dismay of our spiritual leaders, Jesus was a healer, not a warrior. But what a healer! And his message of the Kingdom of God and his caring for the poor and marginalized resonated with many. Just not to those in power.

His reputation preceded him as Jesus approached my town, Jericho, on his way to Jerusalem. What awaited him there was anyone’s guess, but the smart money was on a confrontation of some sort, with potentially violent results.

I wanted to see Jesus as he passed through the city. The day was young enough that I guessed he would quickly breeze through town and continue on his way to Jerusalem, without stopping. Word of his approach spread throughout the morning, and as a result, people had come out of their houses and shops to see this remarkable man, even if only briefly.

Strangely, though I was busy, I felt the urge to drop my work and take the time to witness his passing. What drew me to the street was one part curiosity and one part admiration for the man who’d turned the prevailing power structure on its head. In the pit of my stomach, though, I feared that there would be a reckoning for him, somewhere down the road. Powerful people, I have learned, do not like it when their power is threatened.

Why was I attracted to Jesus? Well, strange as it sounds, I felt a sort of kinship with him. You see, Jesus was a man who stood with those who were out of favor in the society. And with respect to that society, I was without a doubt, out of favor. Potentially, no one would be more out of favor than I was.

Because I wasn’t just a publican, providing services to the Roman oppressors. And I wasn’t just a tax collector, squeezing the citizens for all I could. No, I went even further in that I served as a chief tax collector. That meant that local tax collectors reported to me and remitted their taxes through me all the way up the line to the Roman authorities. Along the way, some of that money naturally fell into my hands.

As a collaborator with the hated Romans, I was hated all the more because I profited off of my fellow citizens. In so many words, while they stood against the Roman oppressors, I took the opposite side by standing with them. I’ve heard the word “traitor” hurled at me countless times, and I suppose I have no real defense against it.

I had my reasons for collaborating. Even before I went over to the Romans, I had lived most of my life outside the mainstream of the Jewish population in Jericho. My family was not respected. We were poor, very poor. I was never seen as someone who would be successful. I was small for my age, weak compared to my peers. And today, I am still small (short) and weak. But in other ways, I became powerful. The hatred of my countrymen was the price that I paid for my power.

Let me add that I was good at my job. You might imagine that our Roman overlords are hard to please. Very hard. They have rules, lots of them. And punishments. Lots of them, too.

So, I had to learn. I worked my way up, taking on more and more responsibility. The job required sound administration, and I learned as I went. Tasks like good record-keeping, which don’t come naturally to me, had to be learned. And learn I did. By the time I was promoted to chief tax collector, I’d become a very good administrator, and a good manager of people. And, I had become wealthy!

Going out on the streets in Jericho posed some risk for me. I had many enemies. Hopefully, there would be a few Roman soldiers curious enough to see Jesus. Their presence would deter any negative action toward me. Just the same, I found a section of the street that was not crowded. In fact, I was all alone.

But my solitude didn’t last long. The crowd around Jesus was rapidly approaching. It seemed like a parade, with local folks marching with Jesus and his disciples, coming in my direction. It was a joyous throng, a hero’s welcome. Soon, people were crowding in around me, blocking my view of the street. By now, Jesus was only a small distance away, and, short as I was, I couldn’t see over the crowd.

Swallowing my dignity, I spotted a nearby tree and climbed it. Not only could I now see, I was also a bit out of reach to anyone who felt wronged by my collection duties. 

Jesus did not seem to be in any hurry. He would stop every so often and chat with an onlooker. He offered blessings. Overall, he seemed pleased with Jericho’s hospitality. Hopefully, his reception in Jerusalem would be equally friendly, but I had my doubts.

Outwardly, Jesus appeared quite ordinary. Yet I had to admit that there was a kind of presence about him, hard to explain, but something that set him apart. I consider myself a good judge of character and so I wanted to take some time to reflect on my first impression of Jesus.

I was puzzling about that very thing when Jesus stopped just in front of me, directly under my tree. Why was he stopping here? I could see no reason for this, as no one from the crowd was attempting to get his attention. In any case he stopped. And the crowd, by now quite large, stopped with him. And to my great surprise, he looked straight up at me in the tree. At me! It was a very uncomfortable moment. What was going on?

Jesus didn’t immediately speak. His pause gave me the time to look him over, close-up, and study his face a bit. There was a peace about him, that’s for sure. And a look in his eyes that was very focused, very direct, but not in a threatening way. To be honest, it was a bit hypnotic, Jesus staring at me and me staring back.

“Zacchaeus! Zacchaeus!” He was calling my name! My name! How did he know my name? My cover was immediately shot, my hiding place exposed. I feared the worst, that this prophet, passing through town, was about to call me out and label me as the worst of all sinners before heading on. Instantly, I began thinking of all of the damage that he could do to me, without even trying, in this incidental pause in his journey. There was no escape for me, up in the tree. I was trapped, surrounded by the crowd.

Then Jesus called out, “Zacchaeus! Come down! Come down! Come down right now! I’m having dinner with you tonight! Come down!”

Jesus and Zacchaeus

Illustration by Lorelei Shannon

Well, I didn’t come down right away. First, I looked at the crowd. All of them, without exception, were now staring up at me. I was recognized. And when I looked at their faces, all I could see was a combination of surprise and contempt.

A few of them even spoke to Jesus, as if to correct him. Surely, he was mistaking me for someone else. 

“Jesus,” they said, “You can’t mean this man! No one here would eat with this man. No one! He is crooked. He takes from widows and orphans. He is our enemy! Surely you do not mean to eat with him!” 

But Jesus was unmoved, ignoring their warnings.

There was no avenue of escape for me. And no soldiers in sight. In a way, I agreed with the crowd below. Why would Jesus want to eat with me? I suffered from no pretense about myself. What they said was true. Couldn’t he just leave me alone and be on his way? 

Still, Jesus was insistent and he repeated his command, which in effect, was an invitation for himself to join me at my table in my house, eating my food.

Finally, he moved on, but not before confirming the time for our dinner together. The crowd moved on with him, though many were shaking their heads about his exchange with me. Again, I was alone in the tree. Alone to reflect on what had just happened. 

For a long time, I just sat in the tree, thinking. All thoughts about my afternoon schedule were lost. I could only think of Jesus and his “invitation.” And I could feel something sinking into me at a deep level, something more than food and more than my position. Jesus had made a lot more than a first impression on me. A lot more.

For the first time in a long time, I began to think about my life and what it meant, and what it would mean in the future. How long would I go on like this? Taking other people’s money? Cheating? Keeping to myself? Living a corrupt life? Frankly, I didn’t so much mind being hated. I was used to it and it sort of gave me a notoriety that others lacked. In a perverted sort of way, I was famous (or infamous!) for my corruption.

But there was more to life than what I was living. After all, here was Jesus, who clearly owned nothing more than the clothes on his back, heading into serious trouble in Jerusalem. Everyone knew it and yet, he carried himself with great courage. And he showed a generosity and sincere caring for others, when he should have been concerned only for himself.

And in the midst of it all, what does he do? He stops in front of my tree, where I am basically hiding, and implores me to come down so that we can fellowship together. Was my life truly richer than his? Was I happier? 

I had to admit that I was not. The burdens of life weighed me down in a way that Jesus, I could tell, didn’t feel. In a way, I was a prisoner to the life I had chosen, while Jesus was free. Free to love. Free to give. Free to invite himself to dine with the most hated man in town and not worry about the reaction of others. There was more generosity in the man who had nothing than in the man (myself) who seemingly had everything.

I’m writing this account from Caesarea. It’s now thirty years since the day in Jericho when Jesus came through town. I think you know the rest of the story. How my life changed that day, the day that I climbed a tree to get a glimpse of Jesus.

Well, I got a whole lot more than a glimpse of Jesus. A whole lot more. And I have to say that one can never get enough of Jesus. Never.

Yes, we had the dinner. At my house. And yes, I invited all of my tax collector friends. And yes, they all came, without exception. Perhaps like me, they were just curious at first. But of course, Jesus is much, much more than a curiosity. He has a way of getting under your skin. Way under, in my experience.

And yes, you probably know that I turned a corner that day, giving away half of my wealth and repaying those I had cheated fourfold.

But that’s just the beginning. The impression that Jesus made on me went much, much deeper. 

I became a follower. Even though his earthly ministry would last only a little longer (my prediction of violence in Jerusalem proved correct), his spirit is alive. It’s alive in me and in countless others. So, I became a missionary of sorts.

I resigned my position as chief tax collector in Jericho and submitted myself to the apostles in Jerusalem not long after Pentecost. Like everyone else, they didn’t trust me at first. I had to work to win their confidence. And I did.

And the Romans; they didn’t like it one bit. In fact, they didn’t like my acts of generosity, which exposed their whole corrupt process of collecting taxes. They’d have preferred to keep that part quiet. There was already much too much unrest in their opinion. And they were right.

As a result, they tried me on charges of corruption, of all things. I was charged with being corrupt, in a Roman court. Of course, my corruption was nothing more than carrying out the process that the Romans themselves had created! So, I was found guilty of violating a Roman law by complying with a Roman process!

They didn’t punish me. If they had, they’d have lost all the tax collectors overnight. Instead, they exiled me. They just wanted me to disappear. I was happy to accommodate them.

To where was I exiled? To Caesarea! One of the most beautiful cities in the eastern Mediterranean. 

Once I arrived, my first order of business there was to start a church. I did and it is thriving. And believe it or not, I am the bishop of that church! Can you believe it? Zacchaeus, the crooked tax collector?

God is great. He has given me a new life, a life far richer than I could ever imagine. A life in Christ opens us up to untold riches. Riches that keep growing and growing.

Yes, God is great. And speaking as one who was justifiably the most hated man in Jericho, and whom God ordained as the first bishop of the church of Caesarea, I can also say with confidence that God has a great sense of irony and a great sense of humor!

Sometimes, I sit and wonder what would have happened on that fateful day, had it not been for the tree that I climbed. I don’t know, and I suppose that Jesus would have found a way to reach me with or without the tree. But in any case, thank God for the tree!

 So be forewarned! If you find yourself hiding in a tree, trying to get just a tiny glimpse of Jesus, don’t be surprised if he calls you out and asks himself over for dinner! And if you say yes, you’ll get so much more than a glimpse!

Copyright 2020 Robert Westheimer all rights reserved