Zacchaeus in the Sycamore Tree

This week's Gospel was another of those knee-slappers. Jesus just keeps 'em coming.

Zacchaeus in the tree.

Luke 19

Zacchaeus the Tax Collector

 1 Jesus entered Jericho and was passing through. 2 A man was there by the name of Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax collector and was wealthy. 3 He wanted to see who Jesus was, but because he was short he could not see over the crowd. 4 So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore-fig tree to see him, since Jesus was coming that way.

 5 When Jesus reached the spot, he looked up and said to him, “Zacchaeus, come down immediately. I must stay at your house today.” 6 So he came down at once and welcomed him gladly.

 7 All the people saw this and began to mutter, “He has gone to be the guest of a sinner.”

 8 But Zacchaeus stood up and said to the Lord, “Look, Lord! Here and now I give half of my possessions to the poor, and if I have cheated anybody out of anything, I will pay back four times the amount.”

 9 Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, because this man, too, is a son of Abraham. 10 For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.”

Okay, so picture this—Zacchaeus, the chief tax collector for the city of Jericho, and a wealthy man, is significantly shorter than average height. Isn't this already a little amusing, vaguely cartoonish? A comic reversal of expectations—the “big shot” is physically small. And isn't his enthusiasm about seeing Jesus also comic? You would think such an important official would have more important business than to be out in the street for a passing parade. Can't you just imagine him trying excitedly to jump a few times to see over the backs of others?

Now imagine one of the least loved and richest citizens of the city, presumably at least middle-aged, climbing a tree to watch this fellow from Nazareth passing by. Isn't this a bit beneath the expected dignity of, say, a Paul Martin, a Gordon Brown, a Jim Flaherty, or even your local banker?

Now, consider: Zacchaeus is sitting up in the tree—absurd image, but there it is--and Jesus comes by. Jesus stops and calls to him by name, and tells him to come down. In reaction, Zaccheus—this important customs official, and not really knowing “who Jesus was”-- immediately scrambles down as he is told. That's not all--he promises on the spot to give half of what he has to the poor, and to repay fourfold anyone he might have cheated.

Is he so impressed that Jesus knew his name? But really, why? Zacchaeus was obviously well-known in Jericho—everyone recognizes him, and everyone asssumes that Jesus too knows who he is, for they are scandalized by Jesus's favour. After all it is hard to imagine any itinerant preacher, Son of God or not, approaching a well-dressed, middle-aged man sitting in a tree without asking those nearby who the hell that is. And those around him would know.

There's more. Why doesn't Zacchaeus know whether he has cheated anybody? And, if he does not know, how can he promise to pay all back fourfold? If he does not know, how can he know this does not amount to more than he is worth?

No—sorry, this all not what it appears. Zacchaeus is not, as one might suppose, as the story seems at first to say, a repentant sinner. After all, given his demonstrable impetuousness here, can we really assume that he does, afterwards, follow through on his promises? Yet Jesus declares him saved, right here, right now, without yet having done so.

The essence of Zacchaeus is that he is “in the world, but not of it.” As his stature first suggests to us, he is the eternal child, in a world of adults. He lives only in the present moment, amazed by everything, heedless of either past or future. That is why he does not really know if he has cheated anyone, and does not think or care whether he will be able to fulfill his promise or not. Being without guile, he does not consider his dignity in climbing a tree; similarly, he has clearly not cared overly much for popular opinion in becoming a tax collector.

It is this childlike absence of guile, this alienation from the social world and its standards, this wholeness of heart, and not any change of heart, that marks Zacchaeus as saved. Not surprisingly, the name “Zacchaeus,” in Hebrew, means “pure.”

And one can understand, instinctively. Is he not, instinctively, lovable?

Tradition has it that he later became the first bishop of Caesaria.