Are We Being Short With Them?

I don’t suppose Zacchaeus is a very common name. If you’ve heard it, it’s probably from church and you might even know a song about him from Sunday School. His story makes for a catchy Sunday School song.

If you’re not familiar, the gospel of Luke tells that Jesus was passing through Jericho and a guy named Zacchaeus, who’s the the local “chief tax collector and was rich,” comes out to see him with the rest of the crowds. Jesus meets him and invites himself over to his house for supper, something which upsets the crowd, of course. Tax collectors are reviled by everyone. (No offence to Canada Revenue Agency who are very nice people please don’t audit me.) 

But then, Zacchaeus joyfully declares that he’s giving away half his fortune to the poor and paying back - y four times as much! - anyone he might have over taxed. Jesus responds that “salvation has come to this house” because Jesus has come to seek and save the lost. Mission accomplished. The end.

Except. There’s some added detail to consider. First of all, Zacchaeus gets a name, something that doesn’t often happen when Jesus meets people. More often than not, they’re “the rich man” or “the blind man” or “the lepers” or even “a Samaritan.” This seems more personal. Zacchaeus means “innocent” or “pure,” by the way.

And he’s short. “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.”

Wait. What?

It may seem silly, but, more often than not, the gospels tell stories with a certain economy of detail. In fact, one of my favourite things to do is try to figure out how what’s missing in the story might help us understand it better or at least give us another avenue to explore. But this time, it’s the opposite. Why do we need to know he’s short and has to climb a tree to see Jesus? And what’s with the name? He’s a tax collector, isn’t that all we need to know? After all, tax collectors are a special enough kind of sinner to get their own reference: how often do we see “tax collectors and sinners” as the people Jesus hangs out with?

Here’s a thought. Maybe it’s not about being able to see, but rather be seen. By Jesus. As the chief tax collector, Zacchaeus would have been known well enough by the community, but being of diminutive stature would have helped him hide a bit. Being in a tree, though, would have made it not only easier to see Jesus, but for him to be seen by Jesus. And it works, of course.

He’s also seen by everyone else, though, and the crowd’s not happy about Jesus going to his house for supper. Not only is Zacchaeus not intimidated - either by the crowd or Jesus - he has an announcement to make. He wants both Jesus and the crowd to know he’s turning away from sin and Jesus is happy to accommodate him. Maybe he’s a better man than we think. Maybe Jesus knows it, too.

And here’s the thing: we sure know what the crowd thought of Zacchaeus before, but we don’t get to see if their view of him was changed by this moment of embracing Jesus. This is where the story ends. Jesus came “to seek out and save the lost,” says Luke. But what happens next? 

Maybe that’s for us to wonder about. To wonder, not just at Jesus’ compassion and care for the lost, but at our own. Are we open to offering grace to someone turning their life in a new direction? Are we willing to offer mercy, compassion and, most importantly, space for someone who was lost and is finding their way to their true self.

The Company We Keep

Apparently, Jesus keeps just the worst company. According to the Temple authorities, anyway. Jesus, you see, hangs out with “tax collectors and sinners.”

No offence to any employees of Canada Revenue Agency, I’m sure they’re all very fine people, but in Jesus day, they were not. They were working for the Romans, and probably ripping you off as well, for their own personal gain. As far many people were concerned, there weren’t much worse in the sinner department.

So, in Luke’s gospel, the leaders of the faith community are grumbling about who Jesus spends his time with. I’m sure I would have just had Jesus point out the abundantly obvious, that he’s here to save people who need saving, not to sit with the spiritually healthy, but Luke’s more creative and way smarter than me. Instead, Jesus tells a series of three short parables, each of which has a similar pattern: someone or something is lost, it’s found, there’s a celebration when they’re restored.

There’s one with a lost sheep. A shepherd with a hundred sheep loses one so they leave the ninety-nine to look for the one. Great celebration when they find it. There’s a lost coin. A woman loses one of ten coins so she lights a lamp and sweeps the house until she finds it. Great celebration when she does. And then there’s the really famous one, the Prodigal Son. A son asks for his inheritance early, takes it, leaves and squanders it in a foreign land. When he runs out of money, he realizes he’s better off at home so he returns, ready to beg for help. His father welcomes him with open arms, and calls for a great celebration. His other son, though, is a little put out. He stayed and was a good son and he gets nothing. But his father says, exactly, you’ve always been here, but your brother was lost and is found. Time for a great celebration.

See. Jesus is here for those who need saving, that’s why he spends so much time with them. The end.

But hang on a minute. It’s more than that.

First, in each of the stories, there’s a moment for celebration because the lost is found … and restored. That’s the celebration: not just that they’re found, but they’re restored to the flock, the money pouch and the family. That will need the grace, welcome, acceptance and willingness of the flock, pouch and family. Perhaps not that hard for the flock, definitely not for the money pouch, and most certainly for the son. In fact, his brother is angry about it. Does he come round? Jesus doesn’t say.

Second, and it’s related to that, if Jesus is here for sinners and Jesus reminds us frequently that the temple authorities are, well, sinners, then why isn’t Jesus here for them also?

He is. These stories he tells remind us, I think, that to live authentically as Jesus in the world means being prepared to step out and look for the lost, to reach out to them and bring them into community. It also reminds us that being authentic community means to offer grace to the lost, especially to those who feel they don’t belong, to those who are different, who don’t “fit in,” who struggle, who are marginalized by the community. How often do we judge - like the temple authorities - instead of opening our hearts, finding empathy, and offering a space for others. Jesus is here for them, too.

How We Grow

Aren’t we all tired of it? I know I am. This constant chaos and upheaval, anxiety and frustration. The world can be exhausting.

I get that we’re all different and we can disagree on things. Oh, can we disagree. I get that we’re all different and that can sometimes be scary to people. And oh, can we be fearful. Really, really, really fearful. I get that we’re all different and we really want our own way. Oh, can we want our own way.

But that turns so quickly to hatred, anger, bullying, violence and fighting.

Disagreement ought to be met with discussion and debate. Fear of difference ought to be met with interaction and learning. Wanting our own way ought to be met with a healthy openness to new ideas.

Idealistic, I know. But it seems like discussion and debate has turned to mean spirited attacks, name calling and demonizing, factual information is being replaced with uncritical opinion and new ideas are rejected out of hand, if they’re even allowed to be expressed. It seems like we’re at a whole new ugly level of bitterness and recrimination.

Unless, of course, you’re lucky enough to avoid the news or social media - especially social media - or you live like a hermit in the wilderness. There’s far too many examples of what I’m talking about, everyday, everywhere. If you’re like me, you’re not just tired of all that, you’re tired of people talking about it.

Here’s a different way to look at it.

In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus tells a parable about a fig tree in a vineyard that wasn’t producing any fruit. The owner of the tree is angry that it hasn’t produced anything for three years so he tells the gardener to cut it down. “Why should it be wasting the soil?” he asks. But the gardener asks him to give it another chance. The gardener will care for it and feed it and if it doesn’t produce, then it could be cut it down.

It seems pretty obvious what’s happening here. If you want the tree to produce fruit, you can’t just stick in the ground and wait. It needs to be cared for. I’ll “dig around it and put manure on it,” says the gardener. You know he means the good kind, right?  Just like with people, he means to feed and nurture with healthy loving, compassion, care, respect and grace. And empathy. Especially empathy.

It’s not the kind of manure we’ve seen people, especially politicians, dumping on each other lately. Sure, you might need to prune the tree, but you do it with care with the goal to be more fruitful, not to be destructive. And if you really want the tree to produce something exciting, you want it to cross-pollinate or you might even splice in a branch from a different tree. Carefully. You most certainly will want to make sure it gets all the light it needs. You’d never keep it in the dark.

That light, by the way, is the same light we all need to live and thrive. We all grow and bear fruit when we are watered, fed and nurtured in body, mind and soul. And yet.

Here we are, worn down by frustration and anger, surrounded by the darkness of fear and hate, overwhelmed by manure of a different kind. Negativity seems so much easier.  Perhaps its results are quicker or maybe we want some kind of guarantee that we’ll get the fruit we want - expect, rather - before we invest in all that work, feeding and nurturing it with something positive.

But Jesus’ story doesn’t end with fruit or, for that matter, the tree being turned into firewood. It ends with the gardener asking for another chance. Jesus doesn’t say what happens after that. The story ends with the opportunity, not the result. The expectation of fruit, or lack of it, shouldn’t predetermine our effort to nurture and care for the tree. In every moment is the opportunity for new life, for growth and for bearing fruit, and we should seize that moment as Jesus does: with love.

Full and Whole

There’s a pretty obvious question most people will want to ask themselves when they hear the story of Jesus visiting the home of Mary and Martha, two very different sisters (Luke 10:38-42). Martha welcomes Jesus, as a good host should, but then is too busy to visit with him because of the many chores that go with running a household, especially one with an important guest in it. She ends up doing everything by herself because Mary just sits and listens to Jesus talk.

That's a little annoying to Martha who asks Jesus to tell Mary to help her. But Jesus tells Martha that it's Mary who's doing the right thing. In her haste to be the perfect  hostess, Martha has lost the focus on her guest, it seems, but Mary has found the one thing that's needed: time with Jesus.

The obvious question we go to, then: are you Mary or Martha, a listener or a doer?

Tricky to answer, though, because I’m sure we’ve all been in Martha’s shoes at some point, feeling like we’re doing everything and getting no help. It can be frustrating, exhausting and pretty annoying. But Jesus, in the story, clearly seems to think that Mary’s doing what’s important. And she is, in the story. 

And that's the point, don't you think? Jesus isn't meaning to take sides and make a universal statement about our behaviour, he's making an observation about this moment. But step back and look at the bigger picture. I think this is another moment when Jesus isn’t an either/or kind of guy, he’s an and/with. There's a time for busy-ness and there's a time for rest. Both are necessary. That’s even more obvious when we read what's around this story in Luke.

Before Jesus is welcomed to the home of Martha and Mary, he’s talking to a lawyer about what he "must do to inherit eternal life." What he must "do." Jesus’ answer includes the parable of the Good Samaritan that challenges him to consider who is his neighbour and how to do the neighbourly thing . That story ends with Jesus telling him to "go and do likewise" (Luke 10:37). That's a whole lot of doing, a whole lot of living love into action.

Immediately after his visit to the home of Martha and Mary, Jesus is asked to teach about prayer. He offers the words of what we know as The Lord's Prayer and a story about the importance of being persistent in prayer.

Doing, listening, praying.

It's not that any one is more important than the other in general, it's discerning which is most important in the moment. Which is "the only one thing" (Luke 10:42) needed in this moment?

In our world of usefulness, utility, multi-tasking and rushing from one thing to another to see how much we can cram into 24 hours, it might not seem practical to focus on what really needs your attention in this moment. 

But Jesus knows that wholeness comes with the interconnectedness of these things, not the dominance of any one. Each is important in their time, each offering an opportunity to experience a moment more fully and more completely.

It's what makes for harmony and wholeness in their home: Mary, the listener, Martha, the doer, are sisters. Jesus is the Word.  Don't pick one or the other for all things, let your home be full and whole.

Won't You Be My Neighbour?

This is the kind of story we need right now.

It’s been told so many times and has become so familiar that a key character in it has become the name we commonly call people who help out strangers. It’s so familiar that some people aren’t even aware that it’s a bible story told by Jesus. It’s so familiar it doesn’t even feel like it’s a parable anymore.

It’s the story told by Jesus, back in the day, to some Jews in the Gospel of Luke about a man on his way from Jerusalem to Jericho. He’s attacked by robbers and left for dead. A priest comes by, sees him lying there, and crosses the road to avoid him. Then a worker from the temple comes by but, again, crosses the road to pass by. Then a Samaritan, considered an enemy hated by Jews, comes by. They stop to help the man, bandaging his wounds and taking him to an inn where they pay for him to stay and be cared for.

It’s been told in other ways, in different contexts, but essentially: man needs help, two different people who should have wanted to help him ignore him, and then someone, a stranger, who we don’t think will help stops and helps him. That’s a bit simplistic, but you get the point, right?

This is the kind of story we need right now.

Jesus tells the story in response to a question: who is my neighbour? Well, two people whose roles might lead you to believe they’d make the best neighbours, who should not only want to help, they’re supposed to help, don’t. I guess you can talk about it, preach it and judge people for it, but you don’t have to do it. Maybe your idea of a good neighbour is to not get involved. Maybe you think not everyone’s your neighbour.

But now, someone you might not even want in your neighbourhood comes by and stops. You might be thinking they’re going to beat him up some more or take anything that’s left, like his shoes. And then they do the unexpected and help, bandaging his wounds and helping him up, finding him proper care.

Who was a good neighbour to the man in need? Jesus asks. The answer is the one who showed compassion and kindness. And Jesus says “Go and do likewise.”

Absolutely, Jesus. But, just to be clear, you mean show compassion and kindness to everyone, right? Even the priest and the levite, who we’re probably at least disappointed in, if not angry with.

Each of the characters in the story gets a label and we make assumptions about each of them. But we don’t know them, as individuals or as members of a community. And now that we’ve made those assumptions, perhaps we’ve labelled their whole community with them, too.

For as often as we’ve heard the story, perhaps right now is a good time to remember that, along with compassion and grace, loving our neighbour means getting to know them. It means being open to understanding them and hearing their story. And not just the neighbours we don’t know yet, but especially the ones we think we do and the ones we thought we did and now seem to be treating us differently. Is that really who they are?

This is the kind of story we need right now.

Jesus Says

Jesus says a lot of things.

Jesus says don’t be afraid. Jesus says you are blessed. Jesus says you are light. Jesus says love your neighbour. And your enemy. Jesus says love each other the way I showed you to love. Jesus says whatever you do - or don’t - to the least of people, you do to me. Jesus says treat others as you would have them treat you. Jesus says you, your self, your soul, is more important than stuff. Jesus says be humble, care for others, serve each other. Jesus says don’t judge others. Jesus says forgive.

Jesus says a lot more than that.

Jesus says. And we wonder, we interpret, we make statements, we create traditions, write books and preach sermons. Over centuries, we arrive here.

Jesus says a lot of things. Are we really listening?

The season of Epiphany wraps up this week. It’s the season of stories that reveal who Jesus is and, I hope, reveals how that same spirit can be alive in us. It begins with the light of the star that guides the magi to Jesus and concludes with the Transfiguration story, when a great light shines through Jesus on a mountain top, he’s seen with Moses and Elijah and a cloud appears and a voice says “this is my son, listen to him.”

Great story. Next week, we’ll head into the season of Lent, a time of reflection inspired by the story of Jesus going into the wilderness to find himself before he goes into ministry. Another great story.

Wait, let’s go back for a minute. The Transfiguration story might end there, but Jesus’ story doesn’t. He and the three disciples that had accompanied him up the mountain to pray come down and join the others below. A man calls out to Jesus to help his son who is “possessed of an evil spirit” because Jesus’ disciples, the ones who had remained at the foot of the mountain, couldn’t help him. Jesus, perhaps a little cranky after a night on a mountain, says “you faithless generation, how long do I have to be with you?” But, of course, he heals the son.

I think the Transfiguration story is a great story. I think it reveals the divine spirit that’s in Jesus, the same divine spirit he tries, time and again, to teach us is in each and every living thing, especially us. But the shining light on the mountain comes down into the valley of everyday and does what it’s meant to, and, if Jesus seems cranky that he had to do it himself, maybe what he’s trying to say is “when will you start to listen to me?”

Listen. Between the mountain tops and deep valleys of our days, a voice says “listen to him.” That’s the greatest wisdom of all. I wonder at how hard we try to explain away, make conditional, even build walls around what’s true in how Jesus’ life and words speak. Sometimes it’s less about what’s true and more about what we desire. Sometimes we’ll “use it” to judge, exclude, even control others. There are too many examples in the world today.

Listen. Perhaps it’s time to stop being Christian and just be Jesus.

The Answer Is Love. It's Always Love.

I’m pretty sure this is how it’s done. It’s not like we haven’t seen it before.

Someone sees you’re struggling. They see your hurt or your discomfort, anxiety or confusion and then it’s just a step or two to telling you what it is that you should be afraid of. You might not know any better, and when that same person tells you who to blame for it and that they have the answer to your fear, well, they’ve got your attention. All you have to do to be saved from this fear is whatever they tell you. Fear is a great motivator. The solution to it is a great power.

Fear comes to us pretty easily. I wonder, sometimes, if it isn’t the downside to our constant need to know more, our quest for knowledge. Remember the tree who’s fruit Adam and Eve weren’t supposed to eat?  It was the tree of knowledge. Because we want to know more - everything, even - we can easily come to fear what we don’t know.

We’re easily afraid of things that are different, too. Like people. Or culture or faith or even just, simply, ideas. That can often be because of what we don’t know. Things sometimes aren’t so different when you get to know them, but even when they are, why would we be afraid, rather than recognize and respect that difference? Maybe that thing that’s so strange to us might be meaningful to someone else. Or maybe we might learn something new, maybe we might broaden our view of the world, maybe we might be changed in some way.

We’re afraid of change, too, aren’t we? I don’t know why I say “too,” because isn’t fear of change really an advanced form of fear of not knowing? We might not know what change will do to the future, but we sure know what we like, what we’re comfortable with and what we think’s good for us. Change can be pretty scary.

I don’t suppose the unknown is the root of all fear and I don’t mean to minimize anyone’s experience of fear - each of us, as unique individuals, will know it our own unique way. But look around you. How much of our world, big and small, is ruled by fear mongering right now?

Politics is a pretty obvious place to look for examples. Governments should be elected and governance practiced on the basis of what good can be done for all people, not who you should be afraid of, who’s to blame for things and who’s telling you they can fix that if only you’d vote for them. Demonizing people, culture or ideas may get votes, but it doesn’t get to what is true. Whoever it is, whatever party, whatever view, whatever country or culture, if they suggest you be afraid, you should ask why. And don’t just settle for their answer, find the truth.

Law doesn’t always help when we treat it as simply a rule to follow or else. Our motivation ought to be what’s right and just, not that you’ll be punished. Fear of punishment doesn’t build a great society, belief in value of life and respect for others does. Laws should encourage good living and safeguard justice. If they don’t, shouldn’t you ask why?

And religion. Like politics and law and any system we’ve created, there’s such potential for good and yet, we’ve so often let it become about power and control. Fear has been a useful tool. It’s God’s love that makes the world a better place, not the presumed authority of someone or something that claims to represent God and demands your allegiance or worse, your servitude. To serve God is to love. If someone tells you different, you should wonder who they’re really speaking for and why.

Jesus says “don’t be afraid” more than anything else. Easy words, Jesus, but how? What do I need to do to not be afraid?

Love, says Jesus. Love your neighbour, sure, but also “love your enemies; do good to those who hate you; bless those who curse you; pray for those who mistreat you.” Love them.

But what does that mean? A smile and a warm hug? Maybe. I’m sure Jesus gave more than a few of those. But look at the stories, look at the teachings. Love means offering grace, compassion, kindness and healing. It means being calm in the face of anger. It also means standing up for what is just and right and speaking truth to power. It means listening to understand and seeking what is true. It means remembering we are all connected and all worthy of respect.

All of that is wrapped up in Jesus’ words “love one another as I have loved you.” Seek understanding, discern justice, offer grace and bring respect to it all. This is the answer to fear. 

Here We Are Again

Well, yes: here we are again.

I haven’t looked to see, but, next to how often Jesus says “don’t be afraid,” I wonder if the next thing he says most frequently is “listen.” I feel pretty certain that would then be followed by something he’s said before. Probably something about loving your neighbour.

So, listen, I’ll be honest. I’m struggling to read or watch the news anymore. The hate seems to be everywhere. It’s not enough to disagree with someone else’s viewpoint, or even to attack it, we’re attacking the people who put it forward. We’re using the word hate more and more and, if not using the word, then we’re using many words to signal that meaning. We’re cursing others and, again, not just their ideas or their different beliefs or cultures, but them, human beings that they are. Stories of abuse, of power and person, from the intimate to the international in scale, are everywhere. Sometimes all it takes is an insinuation, a suggestion or an accusation to start the hate happening. It doesn’t take much for the fire to spread.

So, listen. I think there’s lots in the Bible that’s interpretive. It’s not always as simple as the words on the page. But then, sometimes it is, and more often than not, that’ll be one of those moments when we might just wish “oh Jesus, I just wish you hadn’t said that.” That’ll be one of those moments of simple truth that we wish we didn’t have to address because we think it’s challenging or complicated or messy. Like love. Or life.

And that’s just it. To be life-giving, it needs love. Hate is destructive, it breaks down, it kills, it ends things. Love creates, builds up, gives life and begins things. Like relationships.

So, listen, says Jesus, here’s how you do it. Here’s how you live into your life, created in the image of God, created for relationship, created to create and to grow, created to mend and to heal. Start with you. You: love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless and pray for those who curse and abuse you, love those that are hardest to love. Do it for you. Make love the way that you operate. Create a place of care, forgiveness and respect around you. Then share that as widely as you can. Be Jesus to them, not as a behaviour but as a life, lived from the heart.

Hate, as Martin Luther King Jr. said, isn’t defeated by hate, it’s defeated by love. Its darkness is diminished by the light of love, its destructiveness is overwhelmed by love, its brokenness is mended by love.

So, listen, says Jesus, because it’s not just about you. It’s about the power of relationship and the power of that relationship to transform the lives of others. Love doesn’t make enemies, it makes friends, partners, lovers, it makes safe and endearing space for people to grow and thrive as the unique individuals that they are, in a way that builds community - the common unity of all of us together.

That’s a world powered by love, power that’s within each of us. And that’s where it starts: with you.