Sermon: "Zacchaeus" Lent, April 6, 2025
Luke’s Gospel: Jesus and the Outsiders, Outcasts, and Outlaws
Scripture: Luke 18:35-19:10
Preacher: Rev. Ryan Slifka
Title: “Zacchaeus”
Today we’re continuing in Luke’s gospel. Here Jesus is journeying closer and closer to his destination: Jerusalem. And the cross.
At this point he’s amassed quite a crowd of followers. As they approach the city of Jericho, a blind beggar hears the commotion, rushes out, and begs Jesus, Son of David, to have mercy on him. Jesus does. And restores the man’s sight. And the crowd goes wild.
Now, the same crowds are there when he enters Jericho itself. This time, though, it’s not a blind beggar whose interest is piqued. But the opposite.
A guy named Zacchaeus. He’s the opposite in the sense that he has his eyesight, yes. But he’s got a job: not only a tax collector, we’re told, but a chief tax collector. And it’s made him a fortune. He’s the opposite of the blind beggar. He’s rich. A highly successful and wealthy man. You might have noticed at this point in Luke’s gospel he’s always pairing together opposites: here it’s a guy nothing materially, and a guy with everything materially. And they’re both intrigued by Jesus.
The problem with Zacchaeus, though, is that when Jesus is passing by he can’t see him. Some of you know why on account of a popular Sunday school song. “Zacchaeus was a wee little man/a wee little man was he.” He’s big on wealth, but short on height. So you can imagine him on his tippy-toes, just trying to catch a glimpse of this famous guy everybody’s talking about. He just can’t see.
He’s so curious, though, that he won’t let his verticality ruin this opportunity. So he sprints ahead and, monkey-style, climbs this big, leafy sycamore tree. In the hopes that, from there, he might be lifted over the crowd.
Which is a hugely embarrassing thing to do. Like, it’s not something I’d ever do. Like, I’d never run as fast as I could and shimmy up a street light just to catch a glimpse of Santa at the Courtenay Christmas parade! I can just imagine everybody thinking to themselves, “I can’t believe what he’s doing–he’s a grown man.” Multiply that for Zacchaeus times ten. Not only do grown men not run, they certainly don’t climb trees. That’s for children. Not only that, but rich, influential men of his level of importance definitely don’t do stuff like that. Imagine what his employees and his friends at the chamber of commerce will think!
But that’s what he does. In climbing this sycamore tree he embarasses himself. So curious is Zacchaeus just to see who this Jesus is that everyone’s talking about, that he’s willing to throw his dignity out the window. He’d humiliate himself entirely. Just to satisfy his curiosity about Jesus.
Now, truth be told, I meet a lot of folks like Zacchaeus. There are lots of folks out there who are curious. Curious about Jesus, church, God, Christianity. The problem is that to indulge this curiosity can be deeply embarrassing. At least for some.
I remember a few years ago meeting someone for coffee in their early 20s. Someone who we might call a “seeker” who said he was interested in Christianity, but had a lot of questions. Very progressive, young, artistic type.
I’ll often wear my clergy collar when I am out and about because I find people are much more likely to just talk to me out of the blue. A form of peacocking for the Lord, if you will. When he showed up he seemed really nervous. I asked him why, and he said he was worried that one of his friends would see him with a guy dressed like a priest and think he’d “gone all religious.” That he was one of “those people.”
In telling me this, this “seeker” was just repeating our common cultural consensus. For those of us who are baby boomers and older, we might think of Christianity as establishment, or conservative, or deeply uncool. But my guess is that we’re not particularly worried our friends are going to spot us going to church, or having coffee with a Minister. But for those of us who are younger it’s a different world. In a podcast I was listening to a few weeks ago, a pastor in Portland said that when he grew up in the 1980’s Christians were thought of as weird, but now they are thought of as threatening.
Why so threatening?
Well, as a kid I thought it was weird. I didn’t go to church, and the church kids were like Rod and Todd from the Simpsons–real dorks. And as I grew up, went to university, started hanging out with a more progressive-leaning crowd (yes they have those in Alberta), I thought Christianity was sexist, homophobic, handmaid of colonialism. I thought Christians were judgmental, and I thought they were anti-science. I thought was all bound up with a particularly un-compassionate form of far-right politics. And as those holding cultural power in our society have become more progressive, this sentiment has grown. Christianity is not only weird, it’s potentially very threatening to women, to LGBTQ+ people, to other religions, to human dignity all around the globe.
Now, of course I don’t deny any of the horrible actions of Christians throughout history. The basic Christian belief is that all people are sinners. But I don’t think Christianity, at its core is any of that. But that doesn’t matter. What people have heard and have thought it is. So even if you’re interested in Christianity, curious about Jesus, talking to a minister, showing up at a church, let alone admitting you’re a Christian can be extremely embarrassing. I get it. For my young seeker friend, it would be like Zacchaeus climbing that Sycamore tree just to get a peek at Jesus. To be one of those people. A potential source of great humiliation.
Now, for a while in my Ministry, my counter would be something like this: Christianity is actually not that weird. Here’s how it all fits into modern science. Let me show you how it all fits into the world as it is. See we’re not like those Christians! We’re good and progressive.
But I’ve come to realize something else: that it’s always been an embarrassment. It’s always been a humiliation of some kind.
I mean, look at Jesus. If you take a look at the icon you’ll see—Jesus Christ himself endured the worst humiliation, mocking, scourging, abandonment by friends, for our sake. The early church fathers made the connection between the humiliation of Zacchaeus climbing the Sycamore tree with the humiliation of Jesus climbing the cross.
And what’s worse is that, Jesus says if we want to live, we need to learn to die to ourselves in the same way. Jesus says we have to do the same, take up the cross and follow him. We’ve gotta climb the tree like Zacchaeus. Which means, if anything, humiliation.
The truth is that following Jesus has always involved some kind of humiliation or the other. We can’t have our cake and eat it, too. If we want to follow him, it’s par for the course.
Now, this means a change of thinking. Rather than trying to convince each other and those who are “seekers” that it really isn’t embarrassing, or won’t involve discomfort, I propose instead we take what I’m going to call the “Zacchaeus option.”
What’s the Zacchaeus option? Well, accepting the fact that curiosity towards, or association with Jesus will be embarrassing. And not pretending otherwise.
Not for its own sake, though, but with the faith that whatever embarrassment there may be, it’s worth it. Because for Zacchaeus, the embarrassment, the humiliation. That’s what it is. It’s ultimately worth it.
He’s twelve branches up, he can see the whole parade. And there’s Jesus, right in the crush, shaking hands, kissing babies, dropping blessings. The crowd processes closer and closer, Jesus gets bigger and bigger. And you know what? Jesus cranes his neck, locking eyes with this tiny guy up in the tree. And not only does Jesus see him, he addresses him directly. By name in fact!
“Zacchaeus!” Jesus says. “Hurry up and crawl back down here! Because today I’ve gotta stay with you! I’m coming to your house!” Personally, I’d be a little self conscious. Like, when was the last time we cleaned the bathroom? Do we have anything kosher in the fridge? But Zacchaeus isn’t worried at all. He’s so excited that he slides down that sycamore like a fire pole to receive Jesus’ self-invitation. He’s overjoyed at the possibility of welcoming Jesus.
The most remarkable thing, though, is what happens when him and Jesus make it back to Zacchaeus’ place. They’re sitting around the dinner table, and before Jesus can even say a word Zacchaeus stands up and just starts blurting stuff out. “I’m going to start giving my money away,” says Zacchaeus. “I’ve realized just how blessed I am. I’m going to start by giving half of everything I’ve got for the poor. And you know what? Everyone’s I’ve defrauded, squeezed, screwed over to get where I am? I’m going to find them, and pay them back four-fold.”
What’s the big deal? Why the change? Jesus didn’t shake his finger at him. Jesus didn’t tell him to stop being greedy, or to be more generous. What happened is that the love of God came into his life. That the God who sees him as he is, the God who loves him as he is, the God who pledged to be a part of his life before he could even change it. The God who promises to give a life full beyond anything riches in this life could give. He let this God into his house, he let Jesus into his life, and he not only found joy where it wasn’t before. It changed him. He found himself forgiven of his transgressions, he found himself giving his money away and making restitution for his wrongs.
It may have cost him his dignity. He may have had to undergo some embarrassment, jeers, insults, he may have had to bear some humiliation, but in the end it was worth it. Because it was the first step into letting God into his life. Jesus says he comes to seek and save the lost, and that’s exactly what gets him so pumped her. He was lost, and then he was found. And it changed him.
In doing so, he was an image, an icon of Jesus. The one who endured suffering and humiliation on the cross, only to be glorified, vindicated in resurrection. In the end, this was worth all the humiliation in the world.
And this dear friends, is the same promise for all of us. In the words of the Apostle Paul, Romans chapter 1, he says, “for I am not ashamed of the Gospel, for it is the power of God unto salvation.”
For those of you who are curious, those of you who have taken the risk to climb that sycamore tree of possible embarrassment by showing up here in church–well done. We hope that in your time with us you’ve caught sight of the God who raised Jesus from the dead, and gives us life. And for those who aren’t quite ready to make the climb, but who are curious, metaphorically lurking behind the crowd. Watching online, or listening by podcast. My prayer for you is that you might take the risk to see what all the fuss is about. Knowing that it’s worth it.
Jesus sees you wanting a glimpse of God. He recognizes your yearning for more. He knows your name. He is inviting himself into your home, your life. He is choosing you, especially. Know that right here and right now, like Zacchaeus he’s calling you by name! He’s calling you by name and what he says is “I’m coming to your house!” And I pray that you let him on in![1]
I’m not going to lie! There will be embarrassment, humiliation. After all, in climbing that sycamore tree we’re also climbing the cross. But the good news is that it’s all worth it! That’s the promise! Joy! Comfort! Peace! A purpose in this life! And a future that never ends! There’s a cross. But in Christ the tree of death has become the tree of life.
I’ll leave us today with the words of the great Christian saint, Augustine of Hippo, who found himself converted to Christianity in the fourth century much to the dismay of his friends, and his humiliation.
“For our part,” says Augustine. “For our part let us climb the sycamore tree and see Jesus. The reason you cannot see is that you are ashamed to climb the sycamore tree. Let Zacchaeus grasp the sycamore tree and let the humble person climb the cross. That is little enough, merely to climb it. We should not be ashamed of the cross of Christ.”[2]
I offer this to you in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. AMEN.
[1] See Victoria G. Curtiss, “Letting Loose,” Fourth Presbyterian Church, October 23, 2011, https://www.fourthchurch.org/sermons/2011/102311_8am.html
[2] Saint Augustine of Hippo, Sermon 174.3.