Daryl shares a contemporary story of Zacchaeus based Luke 19: 1-8
The crowds were thickening as the time for the Passover drew near. The
roads were full of pilgrims as they made the journey up to Jerusalem for the
festival. Family groups, wives, husbands and children, many with lambs in
tow, ready for the sacrifice. Others dependant on the markets in Jerusalem to
supply their offering. All headed to Jerusalem to remember God’s saving work
of old, delivery from slavery, from foreign rule.
It must have been so exciting, to have lived in those times of God’s breaking
in on Israel’s behalf, I mused. Not like the time we experienced now, the
might of Rome all around us.
I smiled at the irony of it, God’s promised land might be our home, but the
harsh glare of Roman rule was our lot and I was knee deep in it.
Sometimes I wonder about joining the pilgrims, I am Jewish just like them but
perhaps that is where my closeness with my fellow people stopped and
started. I was too well known to hide in the crowd and in the fever of the
passover, a collaborator with Rome like me would be easy picking for some
Zealot keen to put their knife to work. Even with all the extra Roman guards
who were sent to Jerusalem at the time of the Jewish festivals to make sure
no one started an uprising, there would be no safe place for me in the city,
especially if I wanted access to the temple.
I did find myself longing though for something different from my lot. I chose it
long ago and for many years I had no problem, there was no doubt I was
good at what I did. It was no mean feat to hold the post of Chief Tax Collector,
in a busy place like Jericho for as long as I had.
Herod the Great was the one who really put this place on the map when he
negotiated it from Caesar Augustus. Herod spared nothing in the scope of his
building projects, he really wanted people to see him, to show off to Caesar
and gain more political might. His palace was amazing, befitting a king,
massive and beautiful, with huge pools. The aqueducts he had built to service
the city with water. The might of Herod’s rule seen in the Hippodrome built in
the ancient part of the city, the extravagance of it and all for play.
No one wanted to get on the wrong side of Herod, ruthless as he was, but he
certainly knew how to get things done. Making sure people like me extracted
every denarius of tax due, so his many lavish building projects throughout the
land, not just here in Jericho could tell the story of his might as King. It was a strange system where he was allowed to call himself King, but he was very much under roman rule and required to extract massive tax from the people
back to Rome.
Yet he still managed with a bit of cunning, to name things after various roman
gods, and Caesars, so he could carry out his expansive building projects and
so make his name great too. Sometimes I used to ponder the injustice of it all.
I lived as one of the fat cats at the top of the tree, yet the vast majority of
ordinary people did all the work, the manual hard work of farming, fishing,
traders, running stands in the markets, importing products and selling them to
the minority of us who had the money to buy them. We had huge numbers of
slaves at our beck and call, ready to do whatever we commanded them, and
no choice or freedom would be theirs.
The ordinary people didn’t get to experience the luxury that Herod had, he
built it on the backs of people like me. I ran the system that funded the
Roman rule and allowed rulers like Herod and his offspring to succeed. I
tendered the tax amount I would take from the citizens of Jericho and its
surround, from traders who came through. I ran the team of tax collectors,
they all answered to me, I had to pinch myself to believe it sometimes. I was
just a short little guy, nothing to look at, but I made the most of the opportunity
given and really had risen above my status in life. I was one of the Elite, or
the rich ones in Jericho. Not that I came from money or even that I gained
real honour from my role as Chief Tax Collector, but I had the voice of the
important people that mattered. I knew from the years of service who was
growing and selling what and the elite tolerated me. They needed to or the
might of the roman system would come swinging and we all understood that.
My gang of tax and toll collectors did the hard graft and I got the reward of
their work. No one wanted to pay their tax, but it didn’t take that much to
make sure I got my share. No one could stand against the might of the
Roman rule. The peace of Rome they called it, a very polite way of saying the
Emperor gets this tax to fund the expansion of his empire and his lavish living
for him and his mates. The ordinary people paid a collection of their crops as
tax or money if they were traders or workers. Rome always made sure
everyone knew who was boss. The ordinary person often living hand to
mouth. Only just enough to survive, always having to graft out their living.
Still I couldn’t complain, I may not truely fit anywhere, hated by the Jewish
people I truely belonged to, since I aligned myself with Rome and extracted
the hash level of tax it required to keep its empire running. Tolerated by Greek
and Roman elite, obviously not one of them, but living among the wealthy elite of the city with all the luxury a man could ask for and more. I had made plenty over the years, Jericho was a wealthy place, a nice place to live I
thought, with its tropical climate.
I overheard the murmuring of the slaves as they stood off to the side. I liked
to keep an ear out for what was happening in their world. They had many
connections among the slaves of other elite families and it was always helpful
in my line of work to hear who was and wasn’t doing well and why this might
be. Information and knowledge was key in a role like mine, I couldn’t afford
any affront to Rome. I was intrigued as I overheard them speak of a Rabbi
known as Jesus, from the province of Galilee. I had heard rumours of him for
a few years now. The Jewish rulers in Jerusalem were up in arms over him.
They had even sent parties of officials out from Jerusalem to visit him in the
rural areas. I wasn’t sure what all the fuss was, but if the flash cats from the
temple were heading down to see him, then it must have been some fuss he
had been making. They didn’t like to put themselves out from the pretty tidy
life they had created for themselves in Jerusalem.
They made it very clear I had no place in God’s kingdom, as one who
supported Rome, and enforced the payment of taxes. But I didn’t see how
they were much better, they too lived as elite people, a ruling class, at the top
of the tree so to speak and from what I heard they were often in collaboration
with Herodian officials and Pilate to make sure they had their place in the sun.
The servants were earnest in their discussion, they knew not to draw
attention to themselves least they get told off by the senior house keeping
servant. Yet despite some strong shushing I found it easy to cast an ear to
their conversation. I didn’t hear all the conversation and nor did I want to call
out a servant and officially ask for a full account least I draw unwanted
attention to myself. But it did sound like this Jesus had healed a blind man
begging on the roadside out of town. Caused quite an uproar by the sounds
of it. I can imagine the merchants cursing, it was hard enough to move goods
at this time of the year with the crowds heading for Jerusalem and the
Passover. If this Jesus was healing people then the road would be
impassable, the thong of people who gathered would be impossible to shift.
Still, I suppose with more people to sell more goods to, there’s more tax for
my men to collect. I would need to up the level of staffing or I would easily
miss out on some revenue.
It was a nice evening to pass the time with a good wine and the sun slowly
setting, it was a truly beautiful picture. I found my mind kept getting distracted
from the beauty of my section and the setting of the sun, to the servants discussion. Still I didn’t imagine it would bother me for too much longer. Jesus time would be short lived if he continued on towards Jerusalem at Passover
time. Even with the crowd, between Herod, Pilate and the Jewish leaders
they kept a strict rule on things, any teacher who incited the people against
Rome would end up toast. It was a fine balancing act on all sides, the
Romans allowing what they saw as our strange temple system and hordes of
pilgrims travelling the country at the time of the festivals to Jerusalem, to
celebrate and give their offering. If they didn’t allow it then experience said
the people would come anyway and rebel and when you did allow it if an
individual or groups voice became too strong and incited the people to uprise,
then it was a difficult thing to put it down. But at least you had a better idea of
where the threat was and a sizeable garrison to quickly put them to the
sword.
I wondered if the peasant teacher, Jesus of Nazareth, knew that he had made
such a fuss among the Jewish rulers. If he wasn’t careful they would pick him
off before the Passover, least he try to build any opposition that would
embarrass local leaders and cause a response from Rome.
Healing the beggar wouldn’t allow him any privacy, the crowd would continue
to point him out, and bring the sick before him from all around.
As I took my morning stroll through the streets, I could see the crowd was
heaver than normal, I had my servant push on ahead to find out what was
happening.
Intriguing I thought, as he reported back to me. All these people at this time of
the morning, all to see the Rabbi Jesus. I wondered what he looked like, did
one who could heal the blind man look different from the rest of us. The
crowd were very vocal, talking and pestering one another about his healing of
the blind man.
I found myself wanting to see what he looked like and then a plan began to
form. I had no chance been the little shorty I was to see him over the crowd,
so I would run on ahead. It had been years since I had run anywhere. Anyway
it was not proper for a man like me to run.
But if I wanted to see this Jesus, I needed to get ahead of the crowd blocking
my opportunity. My heart was thumping in my chest like crazy and even in the
cool of the morning the sweat quickly formed. My servants wide eyed look
reminded me that what I was doing was not what was expected of me. He
was forced to run along with me, but was obviously more attuned to such activity than I was. Soon I was out in front of the crowd and then I saw the gnarled sycamore fig tree, a bit short and squat like me. It had been years
since I had climbed a tree, but its big branch reached out over part of the road
and it would provide me a perfect vantage point to see what was so special
about this Rabbi Jesus and even some cover from the heat. My servant tried
to stop me but I brushed him aside and he had the good sense to just wait at
the base of the tree. It was a welcome relief to pause in the branches of the
tree. Slowly I could see Jesus and his followers walking up the road, the
crowd continuing to press closely on all sides.
Imagine my surprise when he got below my vantage point and called me by
name out of the tree. Inviting himself for the night to my place.
I found myself coming down out of the tree with much more poise than I
thought possible and soon I was standing there in front of him.
Everyone knew I was a tax collector and he, Jesus, a Rabbi. The mutterings
of the crowd were inescapable, building in pitch. Part of me smiled at the
outrage of it all.
I half expected Jesus to realise his error and withdraw his request but he
remained steadfast and soon along with his followers we were on our way to
my place. I enjoyed the conversation as I walked along together with him and
his followers.
I and others understood the scandal of Jesus invitation, to come under my
roof and enjoy my hospitably was to welcome me and accept me. It was most
unusual for a Rabbi concerned with ceremonial cleanness like they usually
are, to even have the time of day for me, a tax collector, a collaborator with
Rome. But this didn’t bother Jesus, it was like we had known one another for
a long time.
I soon came to understand more of who he was and welcomed his invitation
to follow him. Imagine me a tax collector hosting the long awaited Messiah,
the Son of David, King of Israel, in my place. It felt so good to be in the middle
of God’s redemption. I felt so liberated by his acceptance, his welcome into
the family of God.
The reciprocity of grace was soon at play and I gladly declared to Jesus that I
would give half my fortune to the poor and if I had wronged any then I would
pay back four times the amount.
Some might see me as trying to bribe my way into the kingdom and God’s
favour, but Jesus knew it was out of thankfulness for the salvation he had
already declared mine.
His words startled me, and not just me I suspect, as he declared me a true
son of Abraham, that salvation had come to my house.
I smiled as through the noise I could overhear the wonder in my servants
voice, never had we hosted such a party as this.
Zacchaeus the Tax Collector
19 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.”
The New International Version (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2011), Lk
19:1–10.
Tawa Baptist 