Jesus (43 page)

Notice that Zacchaeus already knows what he needs to do. Jesus doesn't have to tell him. Oftentimes, so do we. While we often wish that God would somehow show up in the flesh and tell us exactly what we should do, if we're honest with ourselves, we already know the right thing to do. As Mark Twain said, “It ain't those parts of the Bible that I can't understand that bother me; it is the parts that I do understand.”

Some context is helpful here. The story of Zacchaeus in Luke's Gospel follows the story about the person traditionally called the Rich Young Man, in which a rich “ruler” asks Jesus what he must do to gain eternal life. After the man says that he follows the Commandments, Jesus tells him to do one more thing. “Sell all that you own and distribute the money to the poor.” But the man, good as he is, cannot do this. So he “became sad.”
¹⁵

By contrast, Zacchaeus is already performing an act of charity. The man known to be good cannot follow Jesus because he is tied to his possessions. The man known to be bad is already following Jesus by acting generously to the poor. As Luke Timothy Johnson notes, the one who frees himself from ties to possessions can follow Jesus; the one who clings to wealth is closed to the call of Jesus, even when he is standing in front of him. “Disposition of the heart is symbolized by the disposition of possessions.”
¹⁶

Amy-Jill Levine suggested to me that Jesus may have given Zacchaeus another gift. The people may not know that Zacchaeus is already giving money to the poor. Jesus allows Zacchaeus to tell the crowd what he has already been doing. Contrary to what the crowd might think, he is not, at least regarding the poor, the “chief sinner” after all. The story also shows that someone as unlikely as an agent of the occupation government may work toward the betterment of the people and that we should not judge people by their reputations, or their day jobs. Appearances can be deceiving.

After speaking to the Rich Young Man, Jesus turns to his disciples and says that it is easier for a camel to enter the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter heaven. The disciples—for whom wealth was sometimes seen as a sign of God's favor—are dumbfounded. “Then who can be saved?” they ask. Jesus says, “What is impossible for mortals is possible for God.”

Is Jesus saying that you cannot have any possessions and be his follower? Not as I see it. Jesus constantly calls us to simplicity of life and asks us to have an overriding concern for the poor—how we treat the poor is one of Jesus's litmus tests for entrance into heaven—but everyone needs a certain amount of goods to live.
¹⁷
And notice that Zacchaeus has not said that he will give
all
his money to the poor. He may still be wealthy. But, as usual, Jesus puts his finger on what prevents that specific person from being free. This is why he asks the Rich Young Man to divest himself. Jesus invites people to be free of anything that keeps them from God, whether that's money or status or our inflated self-importance. Zacchaeus was free as soon as he climbed the tree. So while the Rich Young Man goes away sad, Zacchaeus is filled with joy.

So to the disciples' question, “Who can be saved?” Jesus answers, in effect, “Take a look at Zacchaeus.”

Then Jesus publicly pronounces a blessing on Zacchaeus and his house, which apparently he has now entered. He too refuses to be cowed by the crowd. “Today salvation has come to this house,” he says, addressing the crowd, “because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.”

The story began with the image of Zacchaeus seeking Jesus, but ends by saying that Jesus was seeking Zacchaeus. To find God is to be found by God, who has been looking for us all along.

Z
ACCHAEUS
'
S TALE IS ABOUT
more than material goods standing in your way of God. It also has to do with not letting others stand in your way to God, for Zacchaeus literally cannot see “on account of the crowd.” As with Bartimaeus, the crowd tries to prevent the man from moving closer to God. In Bartimaeus's case, they shush him. In Zacchaeus's case, the crowd physically prevents him from even seeing Jesus and then grumbles when Jesus asks for his friendship.

How can “the crowd” prevent us from seeing God? Sometimes people overwhelm us with demands. We all need time away from the crowd, simply to refresh ourselves with solitude and prayer. Jesus himself needed to withdraw from the crowd for intimate moments with the Father.

But the crowd prevents us in other ways.

The crowd can pressure us to go along with received wisdom. Following the crowd can mean bowing to popular opinion and also refusing to think that things could be different. The herd mentality often inclines toward the status quo. Sometimes we Jesuits ruefully say about a patently foolish way of doing things: “Why do we do it this way?” “Because we've
always
done it this way.” The crowd can prevent us from seeing a new way God has in store for us.

The crowd can make us fearful of rejection. Even without overt threats, such fear can hinder us from change. We may wonder,
What will everyone think if I do or say this?
Even if the crowd is not paying any attention, we may fear their rejection. We don't want to draw attention to ourselves, so we do nothing.

Finally, the crowd may actively oppose our moving closer to God. You might be openly attacked for being charitable to an outsider. Or your desires for a holier life might be mocked. Once over a dinner I shared a spiritual experience I had enjoyed on retreat. “Yeah,
right
,” someone said. He turned back to his food, and everyone chuckled. It was discouraging, but not surprising. The crowd, whether in your hometown or in your home, may prevent you from moving nearer to the Lord.

For me, then, the most touching part of the story is not Jesus's surprising blessing. It is Zacchaeus's confidence. He expresses it first by climbing the tree. Then he expresses it again by standing his ground. Try to imagine this: The man is filled with joy at what is about to happen to him, filled with hope and enthusiasm—and the crowd is furious. Everyone wants to extinguish his hope. They want to return him to despair. But he will not let them.

Zacchaeus does not let their fury dissuade him. His enthusiasm is undimmed. He does not let the crowd rule him. He does not need the approval of everyone, including presumably the disciples, any more than Bartimaeus did. He sees, he chooses, he acts. For this Jesus pronounces him saved.

Sometimes I am part of the crowd. I am the one who thinks the other person cannot possibly change. Like “everyone,” I sometimes harden my heart to the possibility of conversion for others. So I have to remind myself never to close my heart to anyone. If you or I run across a “chief sinner,” who are we to condemn him if God wants to welcome him?

So now the obvious question: Are you ready to be a “fool for Christ,” as St. Paul would term it, as Zacchaeus was, or does the crowd keep you back?

Many of us live in fear of being seen as uncool, foolish, gullible, unsophisticated, and consequently rejected. But why not be foolish for Christ? You could be foolish about forgiveness and offer reconciliation to someone against whom you've held a grudge—even though others tell you to write him off. You could be foolish about charity and refuse to bad-mouth someone at work—even though others delight in making fun of her. You could be foolish about humility and refuse to seek acclaim—in a culture that prizes it. You could be foolish by living simply—in a world of materialism. You could be foolish about your relationship to God and set aside time for prayer—in a society that prizes nothing more than activity. You could do all this even though people disdain you.

The crowd may condemn you for wanting to get close to God, because they know that if you do, then they may have to do so as well; that is, they may be invited to change, and that frightens them. So they do the easier thing: they mock you.

Zacchaeus shows us choices. You can be like those in the crowd, keeping people down, laughing at those who want to change their lives, praying that people are punished, not forgiven. Or you can be like those in the crowd who want to do the Christian thing, who want to be compassionate, but are kept back for fear of looking foolish or being rejected.

Or you could be like Zacchaeus, the little man who doesn't care what people think, who only wants to see “who Jesus was.” Because he knows that that's the most important thing in life—to know who Jesus is.

So which will it be? Are you ready to go out on a limb for Christ? If you do, then, as it did for Zacchaeus, salvation will come to your house.

A
ZIZ MANEUVERED HIS CAR
into the center of Jericho, and soon George and I spied the Zacchaeus tree. Enclosed by a circular iron fence, the sycamore tree stood in the middle of a busy traffic circle, with small cars zooming around it. Tall and leafy, it stretched its long pale branches over the blacktopped roads. More than a few experts say that the tree could in fact be two thousand years old. But who knows? I liked looking at it, though. And I took many photos of the tree and imagined Zacchaeus sitting high in the branches, straining to see his future.

“So,” said George, after I climbed back into the car. “Was it worth it?”

It always is. Just ask Bartimaeus and Zacchaeus.

T
HE
H
EALING OF
B
ARTIMAEUS

Mark 10:46–52

(See also Matthew 20:29–34; Luke 18:35–43)

They came to Jericho. As he and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” Jesus stood still and said, “Call him here.” And they called the blind man, saying to him, “Take heart; get up, he is calling you.” So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. Then Jesus said to him, “What do you want me to do for you?” The blind man said to him, “My teacher, let me see again.” Jesus said to him, “Go; your faith has made you well.” Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.

J
ESUS
M
EETS
Z
ACCHAEUS

Luke 19:1–10

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 sycamore 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.” So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him. 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, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.”

C
HAPTER
18

Bethany

“Take away the stone.”

T
HE SMALL TOWN OF
Bethany, which is mentioned frequently in the Gospels, used to be reachable via a long path that led from Jerusalem through the Garden of Gethsemane and up and over the steep Mount of Olives. But the path that Jesus often used is used no more. The wall installed by the Israeli government dividing off Palestinian territories makes direct access impossible. Now pilgrims have to take a bus from the Damascus Gate at the Old City walls to the town. It's a long drive for such a short distance, but had I not seen the town, I would have felt that my pilgrimage was incomplete. It was a place that I had long prayed about—the town where Lazarus was raised from the dead.

A German Jesuit named Stefan was staying at the PBI, and one morning he was scheduled to celebrate Mass at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. So at seven o'clock, Stefan and I, along with a visiting Portuguese diocesan priest named Domingo, celebrated Mass there. Afterward we rushed to catch the bus to the town called by the locals
El-Azariyeh
, after the name of Lazarus. The decrepit minibus, similar to the one George and I took to Bethlehem, was crammed with Palestinians returning home: women in hijabs, men in keffiyehs, all chatting away as the rattletrap bus bumped noisily over the streets.

Stefan wanted to exit the bus at an early stop so as to see more of Bethany, which turned out to be quite poor, as poor as some of the worst slums in the United States. Perhaps because it was still early in the morning, only a few shops were open along the trash-filled streets. The combination of closed shops, men wandering through the streets aimlessly, and uncollected garbage reminded me of some of the slums in Nairobi. A surprising number of small children ran around carrying small toy guns, playfully pointing the black plastic replicas at one another. At first, I wondered if this was a reflection of the larger culture of violence in which they lived, but then I reminded myself that I had played with similar toys when I was a boy. Still, it was disconcerting to have a six-year-old point a realistic pistol at you, say “Bang!” and laugh.

Stefan, Domingo, and I made our way through the streets and trudged up the hill that led to the Church of St. Lazarus. (George was visiting the Holocaust History Museum that day.) It was just a few meters away from the Wall. In a few minutes we reached a white stone staircase that led to a sign, “Tomb of Lazarus,” in front of a metal door. Father Doan at the PBI told us to ask for the keys to the tomb from a Muslim man. I smiled when I saw that the man's main job was not caretaker of the shrine of Jesus's greatest miracle, but owner of a shop across the street, which sold sodas, candy, and souvenirs.