Zacchaeus. Weird name, right?

Driving back from the Alpha retreat this weekend—which was at a former seminary building in Long Island---I listened to one of our elder parishioners telling her friend in the back seat that the room she stayed in was nice, but there was a problem in the bathroom.  The mirror was so high, she said, that she couldn’t even see her face to comb her hair or put on her lipstick.  I immediately smiled, trying to imagine the scene.  How tall are you, Ann, I asked.  “4 foot 11,” she said.  “I used to be 3 inches taller, but I’ve been shrinking.”  She is pretty short—not exactly hobbit-sized, but there is a resemblance.  She made us all laugh in the car.  Ann is a humble soul, and welcomes a joke on herself. 

4’11.  I thought I had problems.  I’ve always wanted to be taller.  Not that I’m so short, you know.  I’m 5’8”, which is supposed to be the average height of an American male.  But most guys I meet seem to be way taller, so what’s up with that?  When I meet some guy who is taller I usually ask them their height, and then I reveal my jealousy. But I’ve come up with a solution that at least satisfies me.  When someone asks me my height these days, I tell them I’m 6 feet.  They usually pause, and it’s always fun to see the smile turni into question in their eyes.  I’m 6 feet, they say.  No, I say, you’re 6’4”. And so we both feel good about ourselves. 

What is it about being small that I don’t like?  Maybe it just makes me feel less important.  Big guys get more respect, people pay more attention to them, like you do on the highway when a big truck bears down on you in the rearview mirror. When you are making a movie, if you want to make a character look powerful, you shoot them from a low angle, looking up at them. That makes them dominate the scene, like an adult does when a child looks up at them.  So maybe I’m a bit insecure, and dream that more height will give me more power in my world.  

We’re told that Zacchaeus was a small man.  Short, was the word in the Gospel. I think that’s a significant detail.  Why did that matter in telling the story?  Let’s go with the oft-told theory that short people—usually short men—are prone to having what is popularly called a Napoleonic complex.  Because of their short stature, they feel the need to prove themselves, often with overly aggressive, bossy attitude. They tend to be overachievers, having to excel at everything to make up for their size.  It makes you think of dictatorial leaders like the murderous Joseph Stalin who was 5 foot 4, Benito Mussolini who was 5 foot 5, Kim Jong Il who was 5 foot 3.

I was walking with Fr Austin’s Murphy the other day—he’s a sizable dog--and this little muffin of a dog ¼ of of his size ridiculously went after Murphy.  When we got away from the yappy annoyance, I wondered, wait, is that me?

Here’s the thing about Zacchaeus. He was a tax collector. Specifically he was a toll collector for the Romans and he was apparently very successful, which probably meant that the little man was pretty aggressive.  And his Jewish sisters and brothers hated his collaboration with their powerful enemy.

But there was something more to Zacchaeus than meets the eye.  For one thing, there was a clue in his name. Weird name, right? But Zacchaeus means ‘pure, innocent, clean’.  I think that’s a significant detail.  When we demonize someone, we make them caricatures, don’t we?  They become one-dimensional to fit our purposes of making the world black and white. He is a tax collector, a traitor, scum of the earth.  Vile, disgusting, greedy little man.  The perfect bad guy. 

But was he only that?  The little man climbed the tree to see over all the taller heads…what?  What was he looking for in the guy coming down the road?  What did he want from Jesus, whom he had never met before in his life? 

It was Jesus who reached out to him, though. Jesus looked up at the guy in the tree and saw something else in him. Maybe deep down something pure, innocent, clean.   Zacchaeus, he said.  Zacchaeus.  Try to imagine Jesus gently laughing as he called out his name to him, compassion in his eyes.  Zacchaeus. Come down. Let’s chill for a while together. 

When I was a little kid and was upset or mad because I wasn’t getting my way, I’d go off somewhere and pout, all the while hoping that someone would come and take me out of my funk.  And it was usually my mama.  Now Jimmy, come have some cake with me in the kitchen.  Come help me plant these flowers outside.  Come sing me that song I love. She always got me out of my hiding place, transformed my mood and my day.

There was something of that going on in this story, I think.  This is what Jesus was always able to do, wasn’t it?  Throughout the Gospels, Jesus is always opening his arms and his heart to the banished, the condemned, the untouchables, the abandoned, the outcasts, the contemptibles, the despised, the sinner. Reaching out to the woman caught in the act of adultery, the Samaritan woman at the well, a criminal hanging on the cross beside him. Calling out their name, inviting them to the banquet, no questions asked, understanding who it was to whom he was talking—this one, a little man seeking validation and love in his exercise of power, no matter how tyrannical.  Zacchaeus.  Zacchaeus.  Com’on.

Didn’t he embody the message we just heard from the book of Wisdom; God “has mercy on all…overlooks people’s sins… loves all things that are and loathes nothing that He has made; for what He hated, He would not have created.” Zacchaeus. Jimmy. Amanda. Kyle. Paulo. Elizabeth. Chris. Nancy. Mary. Emily. Rob. Ava. Catherine. Aaron. Kristin. Debbie. Connor.

Lots of people didn’t like that.  What was Jesus doing, going to that guy’s place? How dare he sit and have a meal with that traitor, that sinner, that despicable man?  He was a tax collector, for God’s sake. Well maybe not for God’s sake, but for God’s sake Jesus knew he was waiting to be saved from his little self. 

The happy consequence was that by Jesus’ love Zacchaeus found his way back to his own name—pure, innocent, clean. He had a life conversion in that invitation—gave away half of his possessions to the poor, promised to repay anyone he had extorted four times over.  He was no longer a small man, but had grown into a giant one. That’s what goodness does, it makes us grow taller. 

You know you don’t have to be 4 foot 11 or 5 foot 3 to be small of soul.  No matter our physical height, we can be small-minded, selfish, petty, and hurtful to others to boost our ego. I bet if I played a game of two truths and a lie with anyone in this room you could easily come up with two recent truthful times when you chose to be small toward a friend, family member, co-worker, classmate, apartment resident or a stranger.  

And I’m convinced that Napoleonic complex or not, the reason we do that is because we often don’t believe deeply that God loves us. So many of our sinful actions are rooted in that disbelief.  I’d go so far as to say that ALL of our sinful actions, all of our fears, all of our competitiveness, all of our insatiable drives grow out of a profound doubt and distrust of God’s immediate, encompassing, astonishing love of us, me, you. 

Zacchaeus. Zacchaeus. God “has mercy on all…overlooks people’s sins… loves all things that are and loathes nothing that He has made; for what He hated, He would not have created.”   Underneath it all we are all of us Zacchaeus. Pure, innocent, clean.  It’s time to grow tall, isn’t it?