“The long and the short of it!” - A Palm Sunday Reflection April 10th 2022 on Luke 19: 1-10…
(Please read Psalm 100, Ezekiel 34: 1-16; Luke 19: 1-9 11-27)
“Jericho in the spring – my town – surrounded by palm trees – scented with balsam groves – the caravans have come from the East and they’re unloading their rich cargo of dates, palm-honey, myrrh and balsam. Most of it - for the Roman governor and his tax-chest and his hangers-on… The place positively reeks with revenue. We’re setting up early, my colleagues and me, hoping that Caesar won’t take too much more than is due to him…
Early spring in Jericho and a chill attached itself to the shadows that started to stretch across my town. The eastern sun always reminds me of a freshly minted coin – of opportunity. Perhaps a denarius or two will end up in our pockets. By the way, I’m a tax-collector – not well-liked, but never mind!
I had the sense that the buzz in the air was about more than money. I wonder how such a thing can be possible! There’s not much that I don’t hear about. That day a preacher was coming to town. Some said he was the Messiah. The crowd grew steadily and the hum of anticipation grew with it. The squeeze of the crowd grew claustrophobic (I think you call it); people were curious and elbowed their way to the front, jockeying for position: “Get out of my way, little man!”
How difficult it is to be short, short as a boy, short as a man – but I found ways of coping in a tall world – ignoring the stares, the laughs and jokes at my expense – growing up (if you like!) as the boy who was pushed around. Being trodden under foot, I think the kindness in me was trodden away; it died…
I grew calloused and cruel just like the tall people who surrounded me and I carried that feeling with me for years. I even carried it up the stout trunk of a sycamore tree.
Little people like me find a way of making up for their lack of height; first, they laugh at the jokes, then they learn to fight back. So I became a big man, a tall man in the world of tax and money. I could climb my own ladder and stomp on anyone (of any height) who happened to cross my path. What I lacked in stature I would make up for in wealth – and they would have to look up to me for a change!
And I made it to the top of the tax tree, king of the hill, a little man no more. I could rub my hands in glee. King of the hill, a big man in Jericho…Twenty springs I have seen; every shekel I have made has been won at a price, at the price of the spit and venom of those who despise my kind – we, the corrupt, the Roman-loving traitors – ranked alongside the robber, the leper, the murderer…
O, I had amassed a kind of power, much wealth, but the recognition I most wanted (deep down) had always eluded me – I was without friends…
Not much gets past me. I had heard the stories (the tall tales) about this Jesus: that he was a friend of tax-collectors, even that he ate with them at their houses. We all know about Levi – how he left our lucrative business to walk the dusty countryside with this Galilean. I remember thinking it was either a bad joke or that, just possibly, Jesus really was unique – maybe even the One! The thought began to captivate me; who would have thought it – a Messiah who loves tax-collectors! No!
And so, he finally appeared. People were draped over windowsills like washing – waiting and watching the procession. A growing fringe of people lined the rooftops and looked down. On the streets were huddled humanity; curious holy men and housewives, teachers and travellers, men who made bread and did business. All life – elbowing! And what’s new?
I can’t see over the crowd! Not knowing why (to this day!) I climbed the tree, just to catch a glimpse. With the eagerness of a child I shinned up a sycamore tree – for the first time ever! I edged out on to the limb for the better view. Strange kind of king, I thought, not so much pomp and ceremony about this Jesus – and not that tall, either!
And then he stopped. He looked at me – in a way no one had looked at me before. Kindly, loving eyes which found me there… in a tree. Something happened in my heart…like seeing beauty for the first time, like a dawn that had finally come to dispel the darkness of night. Strange warmth began to stir in the heart of a despised tax-collector…
Thousands of eyes followed the man as he parted the sea of people. He made his way to the tree. I felt the darkness of my soul shrinking back. For years, I thought, I had rendered unto Caesar; now/then it was time to give an honest account of myself to Jesus…
And my soul knew how bad my own account was! The ledger is full of entries (shameful) of money extorted, money under the counter, money skimmed off the top…money, money, money! And the bottom line: Zacchaeus, you are bankrupt! My name means, “pure, clean, just” – what an irony!!
I had the sense he wasn’t looking for an audit! He was looking for something else. Those searching eyes found the stepped-on part of my life; he saw every footprint, every heel mark, every bruise caused by an elbow! He had compassion for the little boy. Zacchaeus, he called! Can I stay at your house?!
I looked into eyes which searched the dark corners of my life. They are the eyes of a king; they are the eyes of a friend…Nothing, not even the cries of contempt, would or could intrude upon that moment. My house? Eating with a sinner? I did not hesitate. I just jumped down from that tree like I could fly!
Feelings that had been barricaded for years came tumbling out. Another wall in Jericho had just come tumbling down! My house – salvation had come to my house! Unbelievable…
Jesus said something about a camel being passed through the eye of a needle. That’s not so great a miracle! The real miracle is that I don’t worship money any longer.
I’m still a short man, but tall in faith, hope and love, because I worship the one who has become my true wealth. And he never looks down on me! Take the money! My heart lies elsewhere!
And even what I have left in my coffers; well, even that, I will entrust to the strange King of an even stranger kingdom. It must be strange, if he lets someone like me in! My money is His money after all! I can’t bury what I have in the ground like the man in the story. Thank God I am not that man anymore! The receiver-general would become giver-in-chief!
And thank God we have a Shepherd who cares for his sheep…even the sheep like me!
He had searched for me, met me at last… and dined with me…and now, like the crowds that begin to gather on what you call Palm Sunday, I will follow him into Jerusalem and exclaim, Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord…and I will mean it.
The long and the short of it is…I am his sheep, a sheep of his pasture and he is my God!”