Here’s a story from Luke 18. One day a respected community leader called out a question to Jesus: “Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus listed off for him the Ten Commandments: “Don’t commit adultery, don’t murder, steal or lie; honor your parents.” With more than a touch of pride, the man said, “Since I was a boy, I’ve obeyed all these commandments.” That should have ended the conversation. I think the man expected to hear a complimentary word from Jesus followed by a polite round of applause from the gathered crowd. But instead Jesus said to him, “I’m sorry. You still lack one thing. Sell all you have and give the proceeds to the poor. Then you will be rich in heaven.” When the man heard this, he went away sorrowful, for scripture says he was very rich. The crowd watched him walk away and Jesus offered up his famous proverb: “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.” The surprised crowd, who believed to a person that wealth was a clear sign of God’s favor, asked Jesus, “Who then can be saved?” To which Jesus replied, “What is impossible for mortals is possible for God.”
Here’s a story from Luke 19. Another rich man has an encounter with Jesus, but this one is the antitype of the first one. Both men are rich – but one was rich and respected by the people of the community, while the other was rich and hated by the community. One was likely tall – at least he had the stature to approach Jesus directly and speak with confidence about how he had kept all God’s commandments from his youth. The other man was short – a person of no physical or moral stature in the eyes of others, because he had broken the community’s laws of honesty and righteousness for a long time. Both men had an inner restlessness. The first man wondered about inheriting eternal life. The second man, hated by so many, wondered if this Jesus was different from everyone else – and felt he would learn the answer to that question if only he could look upon Jesus’ face just for a moment. The first man’s restlessness was not eased when Jesus told him to sell all he owned, so he went away disheartened. But the second man’s restlessness was cured in an instant, as soon as Jesus invited himself to Zacchaeus’ house for dinner.
Why the different outcomes to these two stories? Interestingly, it has much to do with the two men’s relationships to money; and instead of the respected ruler being the one held up for us to emulate, the surprising saint in this story is the short, despised, tax collector.
Here’s the pivotal question: What stands between you and doing what is right in the eyes of God? Think about this for a moment while I tell you about a study involving meditation. More and more, the value of meditation is being scientifically accepted. Quieting ourselves down, being mindful of our breathing, and centering ourselves instead of being mentally scattered has been shown to enhance our memory skills, our creativity, and improve our overall health. Now, all that is well and good for us individually, but can meditation make us better people ethically? A psychologist had one group of people take an eight-week series of meditation classes, while another group was told they were on a waiting list for a future course. Eventually both groups were invited to the lab to be tested on their memory and cognitive skills, when in truth the researchers wanted to see if those who meditated would show a greater sense of compassion in the face of suffering.
When a participant entered the lab’s waiting room, he or she found three chairs there – two of which were occupied. Once the participant sat down in the empty chair, in would come a fourth person, using crutches and wearing a boot for a broken foot; someone who would sigh in pain and then lean uncomfortably against the wall. The first two people, who secretly worked for the researcher, ignored the new arrival, so the participant had a clear moral dilemma: Stay seated like everyone else or offer the seat to the person with a broken foot.
The results were striking. Of those who didn’t take the meditation course, only 16% gave up their seats, while the percentage rose to 50% for the group who meditated. What accounts for this threefold difference in behavior? Some of it may relate to how meditation enhances one’s attentiveness, increasing the odds that you would notice another person’s pain as opposed to being lost in your own thoughts. But the psychologist concluded that this increase in compassion was linked to meditation’s ability to break down the barriers that keep us disconnected from the world around us. In meditation, you close your eyes and breathe and remember how you are a part of all life, of all God’s world. You call to mind the people you love; perhaps you remember the people you’ve seen that day – and all the worldly categories of ethnicity, status or age just melt away, as you literally feel a greater connection to, and compassion for, others. Interesting, isn’t it?
What does all this have to do with Zacchaeus? Remember: Meditation makes us more mindful of what is around us; it makes us feel more connected to earth, to God, and the people of God around us. So what blocked Zacchaeus’ connection to God, or in this case, God in Jesus Christ? From a literal perspective, the crowd of people lining the street blocked short Zacchaeus from Jesus. But surely Zacchaeus could have squeezed in somewhere. If he were an honored and respected man, people would have made room for him.
Do you know what really kept him from Jesus? Honestly, it was his wealth – his ill-gotten riches earned as a tax collector for the oppressive Roman government. People didn’t see Zacchaeus as a person. They saw a short, rich man surrounded by his bags of gold – their gold – their hard labor and sweat from crops and commerce now piled up at Zacchaeus’ feet. That’s why he was hated. That’s why no one would make room for him. That’s why Zacchaeus was sure he would never get close to Christ.
But restless Zacchaeus was tired of living this way. So what did he do? He literally distanced himself from his money. He climbed a tree, leaving his wealth and reputation back on the ground. He climbed a tree like a gangly boy, scraping his knees on the rough bark, shinnying along branches so that anyone glancing up would see his skinny legs and leather sandals dangling in the air. By the world’s standards, Zacchaeus made himself foolish and acted as somebody without a cent in the world; and in that moment, he could see Jesus.
Just as important, Jesus could now see him. Scanning the crowd outside the city gates of Jericho, Jesus’ eyes as always were drawn to the person pushed outside the circle of the community: the leper, the blind man, the woman with the flow of blood, the grieving widow who’d lost her only son. On this day, Jesus saw Zacchaeus. And Jesus knew that a wall of judgmental humanity would always block out Zacchaeus from coming into the circle of the community, unless Jesus did something. So Jesus did something. “Zacchaeus,” he said, “come down, for I am staying at your house tonight.”
With the first move he made to climb down that tree, Zacchaeus was a changed man. The English text says he was happy, but the Greek word is stronger; he was joyful, rejoicing. But the real test would come once he stepped back down on the ground. Back on earth he became the tax collector again – the rich tax man – the 1%-er named Zacchaeus. Since the crowd wouldn’t budge or break ranks to allow him into the circle of acceptable society, Zacchaeus knew he had to act.
By going up that tree, Zacchaeus distanced himself from his money and saw it for what it was – at best a tool, a way to pay for things, to be part of the marketplace of life. But at its worst, the money was a barrier – a wall between him and others, between him and God. Zacchaeus climbed down that tree and chose to serve God, not mammon. He shouted, “Listen: Half of what I own, I give to the poor. And whoever I have cheated, I will make things right.” Those are words of mindfulness, of seeing people as peers, not subjects. They are words of compassion and faith and a joyful unburdening as he started down a whole new path in life.
When we meditate, we close our eyes and in the quieting down we realize what a gift it is to be alive and how we are to nurture that gift in others. We fast for a meal, remembering how often we take food for granted, and then we sadly notice how much we waste, and how much we could easily share with others. Like Zacchaeus, we see our money as something piled up at our feet – something we protect so we can buy stuff and be in control. But when we get some distance from it, we see it as a tool that either builds up spiritual lives or distances us from God and God’s children right before us. Today we present pledge cards. They might have been filled out as a burden or a bill to be paid, but hopefully they were filled out prayerfully, as a way to see God clearly and to trust Christ completely. Those cards are ways to intentionally make a promise to be in relation with this church, these ministries, to everyone who is around us.
In this mindful approach to money, we are like Zacchaeus up in the tree: seeing Christ, hearing Christ call our name, moving to follow him, inviting him into our home, setting him right beside us as we pay bills or plan for retirement; trusting him to provide, to lead us, to calm our anxieties, to be the Lord of all our days. For so he truly is.
What stands between you and Christ? How might money – money worries, money accumulation – be blocking you this day? Here’s what I know. I know that Christ calls us by name and wants us to focus clearly, mindfully, lovingly on him. I know that God does provide for our needs. I know that to whom much is given, much is expected. I know that when we give, we receive much more, poured out, overflowing in bounty.
Zacchaeus didn’t go out on a limb that day. Zacchaeus climbed to new heights. Meditate on this surprising saint and in all things, trust in the Lord.
AMEN