Little Man
(based on Luke 19:1-10)
Z: I woke up this morning feeling a bit out
of sorts. I felt empty, useless,
without motivation or conviction. I
hadn’t felt that way in a very long time.
This uneasiness made me start thinking back on my life.
I
remember growing up in a pretty regular family.
My brothers and sisters were always around. We did our morning chores, ran off to school,
tried to remember our lessons and came home to do more chores and play in the streets
with the other neighborhood kids before it was time for dinner. Nothing out of the ordinary or
different. Until the rest of my brothers
and sisters started to grow, but not me.
I’d always been the smallest of my siblings, but they started getting a
lot taller and filling out in ways that I simply didn’t. My older brother (who was only a year older
than me) was already half a foot taller than me. I was about the same size as my baby sister
who was four years younger, and even she was beginning to outgrow me. My brothers and the other neighborhood boys
would wrestle with one another, run races, and horse around. Even the younger kids could pin me down on
the ground, outpace me in every race, and easily overpower me. Sometimes even the girls would do it just for
a bit of “fun”. All the kids teased me,
mercilessly, about how small I was.
I
started spending more and more time helping Dad at his shop in town and
spending less time with kids my age.
When he didn’t have anything for me to do, I’d head back home and peek
in on Mom to see if she needed anything done in the house. She’d shooed my outside and tell me to go
play with the other kids. Dejected, I’d
slowly wander back out to the streets to watch the other kids play. Eventually, I’d just sit and think.
One
day, as I sat on the side of the street, playing with a handful of stones,
counting them and putting them into piles of different sizes, my dad came over
and sat down with me. He told me that I
shouldn’t be so sad. I was smarter than
the rest of my brothers and sisters. He
told me to not worry about being so small, that one day I’d grow up to be
bigger than most of them; I just needed to be patient and wait for my time to
become big and strong like them.
Well,
I tried to be patient and wait, but nothing changed. Instead, I started to spend more and more
time on my lessons. I was the first to
know the answer to every question the rabbi asked us. In fact, as my Father had noted, I was
smarter than boys much older than me. At
first, I thought this would make me feel worthy of the other kid’s affects, but
it only made them tease me more.
As
a young adult, having an affinity for numbers, I apprenticed with the money
changers at the temple. Eventually, I
became the local tax collector. Every
move I made helped me gain a little more confidence. I was beginning to be respected in ways I
hadn’t been as a child. I knew important
people and therefore, people wanted to know me. Unfortunately, I soon realized that most
people didn’t really want to know me, they only wanted to use me.
This
made me angry. Why couldn’t people see
me for who I was? Why couldn’t people
appreciate the person I’d become from the child I’d been? This bothered me for a long time. I watched people come and ingratiate
themselves in order to get something from me, perhaps an introduction to
someone of higher standing, perhaps an audience with the chief priest or even a
Roman official. Afterall, I knew them
all.
Somewhere
along the line, I stopped caring about them and what they thought of me or what
they wanted from me and started wondering what I could get from them. I was the tax collector, everyone had to come
to me. Well, if they wanted my favors,
they’d simply have to pay for them.
That’s when I started extracting just a tad more of their tax
money. Interestingly enough, the more I
required of them, the more favors they asked of me. And I grew in power and prestige. I worked my way all the way up to become the
head tax collector in Jericho for the Jewish people. I had the power I’d lacked as a child. I was rich.
I had a beautiful home. I had
lots of servants. And people groveled at
my feet for the tiniest of favors. I
knew they spoke poorly about me behind my back, but by now, I didn’t really care. I pretty much had everything I’d dream
of. This is what they’d wanted from me,
so this is what I’d gotten and what I’d become.
In
so doing, I’d spent my entire life building a wall between myself and others to
stave off the feelings of hatred, anger, and isolation, but suddenly this
morning that isolation felt depressing.
I’d
heard about this Jesus, an itinerant rabbi who was stirring up the crowds,
healing the sick, speaking against the hypocrisy of the scribes and the
Pharisees. I silently reveled in his rebellious
nature, to go against the grain. But I
realized that I wasn’t any different than the scribes or Pharisees. I, too, was a hypocrite – just a different
kind. I had wanted to be good, I had
wanted to be loved and cared about for me, but the children of my youth and
those I came into contact with as an adult who teased me and made fun of me for
being so small and feeling unimportant made me what I was. Deep down I’d felt that I wasn’t just a cheat
and a scrounger, that I really did want people’s loyalty and their affection
for the man that I was, or at least the man I could have become. But what I was on the outside was just that –
a cheat and a scrounger - a man who exacted a price for attention and a
repayment of the relentless teasing I’d gotten as a child and the back-stabbing
I’d endured as an adult.
This
Jesus was on his way to Jericho and for some reason I wanted to see him. I don’t know why, but I needed to see
him. I knew the crowds would be
heavy. How would I be able to see him, I
wondered? How would I be able to see
over the heads of all those who came out today to get a glimpse of this man? As the morning advanced, I became more
interested in seeing this Jesus. I
realized that it was a bit irrational, but somehow, I felt that I really NEEDED
to see him; more importantly, I needed him see me.
Suddenly,
I had an idea.
As
I walked quickly down the street from my house, I arrived at the place where I
thought I might be able to see him.
There was a sycamore tree that branched heavily over the street. I climbed unto his branches and found a good
resting place to wait for him. Shortly
after I arrived, I heard the crowd get more excited and the commotion
begin. He was headed in our direction. Within just a few short minutes, there he was
standing with his followers underneath the tree. Looking up at me, he spoke.
J: Zacchaeus, hurry up and come down from
that tree. I want to stay at your house
today.
Z: I was astounded. He noticed me. And he actually spoke my name. My thoughts ran wild. How had he known my name? I quickly came down from the tree. Landing on the ground, I again, could not see
him. The crowd of the people close in on
me and I felt dwarfed by their presence.
I felt the stares of all those who’d teased me as a child, hated me as
an adult, and mocked me behind my back.
I started to hear the whispers begin – Why would Jesus speak to
him? Why would Jesus even want to be
with such a sinner? What right does he
have? Zacchaeus is a cheat and a
scoundrel – a horrible little man.
J: Zacchaeus.
Z: I heard him say my name again and the
crowd began to part. As they moved aside
to let me through, a pathway emerged and there he was in front of me. I looked up into his face and saw
compassion. The kind I’d only ever seen
before in my parent’s eyes. The kind
that made my heart leap within me and filled my soul with something other than
contempt for my fellow man. Tears began
to well in my eyes. What in the world is
wrong with you, I thought? I quickly
brushed them aside and walked toward Jesus.
J: Let’s go to your house, Zacchaeus. I’d like to spend some time with you today.
Z: Why does he want to spend time with me, I
wondered the same things as the crowd did.
All the inadequacies came flooding back.
I felt like a little child again, unworthy of someone’s affections,
unworthy to be called friend, unworthy of all the human kindnesses others are
easily afforded. The crowds followed
behind us as I led the way to my home. I
desperately wanted to show Jesus the best of all I had. I wanted to flood him with gifts, to offer
his followers a place to stay, a meal to eat.
I sent for my servants to quickly make preparations for the most
important visitor. As we laid down at
the table, the servants brought a feast.
The brought bread and wine, vegetables from the garden and an ox roast
that had been cooking on the fires all morning.
Jesus remained silent through most of the meal, but kept watching
me. At first, this made me
self-conscious and uncomfortable, but the more he watched, the more relaxed I
became. At last he spoke.
J: Tell me, Zacchaeus, what is it that you
want?
Z: All I wanted was for Jesus to see value
and virtue in me. But mostly I wanted a
peace, a peace I’d never known. A peace
in my spirit and soul that knew I was a good man deep down inside, a peace that
knew I was not a sinner, but a man of God.
As he looked deep in my eyes, I knew what I needed to do. Regardless of how others had treated me, I
needed to show them the value of my heart.
Yes, I was a sinner. Yes, I had
cheated people out of money that did not belong to me. And I needed to make reparations for my sin.
Z: “Jesus,” I said, “I want peace in knowing
that I’ve corrected my mistakes and want others to know that I have a good
heart. Actually, that’s not entirely
correct. I need to know that I
have a good heart. Therefore, I will
give back four times whatever I have taken to whomever I have wronged”
J: Zaccheaus, salvation has come to this
house today. What did you see
that made you desire this peace?
Z: Master, I saw – mirrored in your eyes –
the face of the Zaccheaus I was meant to be.
The
most important reason for this church to exist is the hope that once in a
while, in sermon or in song, or through the friendships we make, we catch a
glimpse of what we were meant to be.
Grant
us the imagination, gracious God, to see the face of love and trust, and be
drawn by it to a nobler life through Christ our Lord.
AMEN.
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