A Taxing Situation: A Sermon on Exodus 20:15 and Luke 19:1-10

http://marialaughlin.blogspot.com/2013/05/#2855174954956457719

My local church is going through the Ten Commandments at the moment and I was given Exodus 20:15: ‘You shall not steal.’ Rather than going into all the various ways in which we might illegitimately appropriate from others, I thought the Gospel reading assigned (the story of Zacchaeus in Luke 19) leant itself towards a narrative sermon. I’d never preached a narrative sermon before, so this was a new experiment for me. It seemed to work well enough on the day, though I admit I’ve probably taken a few liberties in trying to create a relatable context—and I’m almost certain I’ve done Zacchaeus himself an injustice, choosing to present him as a boo-’n’-hiss EastEnders-style villain for the sake of contrast; the text of Luke doesn’t make him quite so objectionable, though I suppose in the context of the sermon, this is just one person’s view of him. Anyway, here it is.

Exodus 20:15; Luke 19:1-10

It’s been an unusually hot day here in Jericho today, the sort of day where if you stand still long enough you can see the air shimmer in the distance. I must admit I’ve been quite lazy today—I’ve had to be, really, otherwise I’d have collapsed a sweaty mess. But now things are cooling down, and I feel more energetic, more willing to emerge from the shade of the trees. I yawn, I stretch, inhaling dry air, and I step out purposefully into the still-strong sunlight—only to hear people shouting:

‘Look! It’s him! The miracle worker!’

‘Hey, everyone, it’s that man who heals people!’

‘Can you believe this? It’s Jesus! Jesus is here in Jericho!’

Jesus? I’ve heard of this bloke. He’s been travelling around the place with his followers, apparently curing people of diseases, performing stories about farmers and Samaritans, getting into arguments with Pharisees, telling us all to be excellent to each other, and so on and so forth. I must admit to being a little cynical about all this—once you’ve heard about one itinerant preacher, you’ve heard about them all—but I may as well go and see this Jesus seeing as he’s coming into town. It’s not every day a minor celebrity comes to Jericho, after all.

It’s funny: Jesus isn’t really anything special to look at. If it wasn’t for everyone else pushing towards him, despite the best efforts of his followers to cushion him, I don’t think I’d give him a second glance. But look! Old ladies, zealous young men, people with ritually unclean relatives—so many people want to see him or talk to him. It’s quite incredible, really. To be honest, I think Jesus looks a little embarrassed by all the attention and just wants to get out of there as quickly as possible. He probably wants to get to Jerusalem before dark—well, good luck with that!

Hang on—Jesus has stopped, quite abruptly, and is motioning for us all to be quiet. He’s cocking his head, as though listening for some faint or distant sound. He’s moving towards a sycamore-fig tree. It looks like someone’s sitting in the branches . . . who is it? And then I hear Jesus saying,

‘Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.’

Zacchaeus? Zacchaeus the tax collector? Seriously? You must be joking—why on earth would Jesus want even to talk with Zacchaeus, let alone stay with him? I hate this slimy weasel. He’s in charge of the local tax office and makes sure that he takes full advantage of all the privileges his position allows him. He has no qualms in sending his boys round if he says you haven’t given him enough or if you can’t pay him on time. He’s done that a couple of times with my brother, saying that he avoided paying export duties or something, when actually he had paid in full. And he’s quite happy to lick Roman bootstraps and drop the rest of us in it if he thinks it will benefit him somehow. I know some people think he’s okay and that he’s just doing his job, but I can’t stand Zacchaeus. He’s nothing more than a dirty, thieving, traitorous scumbag, and I’d as soon as spit on him as talk to him.

But it’s true—it really does seem as though Jesus wants to stay at Zacchaeus’s home. Nobody seems to like this idea; everyone around me is making it quite clear what they think about all this. I can’t imagine why Jesus wants to stay with Zacchaeus. I can only assume he wants in on the action. You know what these super-religious types are like—they’re all, ‘Give me some cash and I’ll pray for you’, aren’t they? I’d heard that Jesus was different, but really—really, he’s just like all the others: a money-obsessed hypocrite who’s quite happy to play to his privilege when it suits him. I’m sure Zacchaeus will give him a nice, clean bed for the night and the finest food, all paid for by me and all the other nobodies in Jericho.

Look at him, climbing down from that tree. Zacchaeus makes me sick, a little man with a big ego. Anyone who knows the law of Moses knows that what he’s been doing over the years is wrong. ‘You shall not steal’, that’s what Moses says. ‘You shall not steal’—not ‘you shall not steal unless’, or ‘you shall not steal, but’. There’s to be no stealing, period. I know that some people feel they have to—they can’t eat unless they snaffle some grain from an unattended sack or swipe a small jar of olive oil to sell on. But people like Zacchaeus and his fellow tax collectors—well, they know what Moses says, but they completely disregard it and collude with the Romans to make their lives more comfortable, forcing people to steal and cheat and sin just to survive. This is not God’s way for us Jews, and it makes me so angry!

But what’s this? What did Zacchaeus just say? Did I hear right—that he’ll give half of his possessions to the poor? Half? My goodness, that’s a redistribution of the wealth if ever there was one! And what else—that he’ll repay anyone he’s exploited and cheated four times as much? That’s more than the law of Moses actually requires. Is he for real? Looking around, I can see quite a few people doing mental calculations of how much they’re going to get back—it looks like some of them will get a lot, judging by the smiles on their faces! Someone has even gone up to Zacchaeus and shaken his hands!

It seems trite to say this, but I can’t quite believe what’s happening here. I’ve heard stories about this Jesus. I’ve heard he can heal the sick and calm storms. I’ve heard he has even raised the dead. But what’s happening now is beyond miraculous—he has somehow changed the corrupt desires and practices of a man whose life has been all about exploiting financial loopholes and leaning hard on people to fill his own pockets. If ever anyone has walked the thin line between the strictly legal and the downright fraudulent, it’s Zacchaeus. And yet this man Jesus has persuaded him to change the direction of his entire life simply by meeting him. This is surely the salvation and power of God at work, the coming of God’s kingdom! I need to ask Jesus some questions about all this.

But look—Zacchaeus is now leading Jesus and his followers away from us and towards his home. It doesn’t look like I’m going to get a chance to speak to Jesus after all. But I wonder: Would I really want to meet Jesus? If Zacchaeus is true to his word, if he does make things right by everyone he’s stolen from or cheated, then everything’s going to change for him. He’s certainly going to be a lot poorer for a start! But if I were to meet Jesus face to face, like Zacchaeus has, what will he get me to change in my life? Will even his slightest glance in my direction cause me to remember all those times when I have stolen from or cheated or exploited others for my own benefit, echoes of the sorts of practices I have found easy to condemn Zacchaeus for? Is meeting Jesus really a risk I want to take for myself?