When you look at
Zacchaeus, what do you see? We know what
the crowd saw. They saw a short man,
collaborating with Roman occupiers, a man they disdained and feared in equal
measure. They saw someone who they
presumed was an extortioner, and I’m sure tale upon tale of how wicked this
bogeyman was spread, picking up embellishments like ships collecting barnacles. We don’t know whether this was true. We don’t know whether his extravagant gift to
the poor was a one-off, spontaneous gesture occasioned by meeting Jesus, or his
habitual practice that he just now makes public. We don’t know if he extorted anything, or if
his promise to pay back four times as much was a cheap one to make because he
had only ever made the costly decision to never act dishonestly. All we know was that he wanted to see Jesus,
and he would go to any lengths necessary to make that happen. This well-to-do well-feared man, would
publically humiliate himself by shimmying up a tree: All to see Jesus.
We don’t
know much else about Zacchaeus, because Luke didn’t write his gospel to give us
surety about Zacchaeus, but for the sake of our faith in Christ. We don’t learn many details about Zacchaeus, and
Jesus doesn’t seem to care much about them. We have plenty of other scriptures assuring us
that Jesus could read people’s heart, he could learn people’s backstories just
by looking at them. But, he doesn’t
here, or if does, he doesn’t mention it.
He overlooks all the details that would be fascinating to us, and sees
right into the depths of Zacchaeus’ heart; he sees a seeker, he sees someone
who longs for him, he sees someone ready to welcome him into his home. I’ve mentioned before here (but I forget if
it was at the Vigil Mass or morning Masses) one of my favorite prayers from
Mass, right after the Our Father, when the priest asks “look not upon our sins
but upon the faith of your church.”
Jesus looks not upon any detail at all, so delighted is he with this
faith!
How can we
understand God, almighty, all-knowing, overlooking things? I have a certain track record with
overlooking things; like last week when I overlooked putting a mug underneath
the Keurig machine before brewing coffee.
In school, I was terrible at team sports because I would overlook where
the ball was, only finding my athletic home in swimming, as the large expanse
of water and solid wall at the other end of it were pretty hard for me to
overlook. For a couple of years as a
young adult, I overlooked that smoking kills.
Haven’t touched a cigarette in almost fifteen years, praise be to
God. Sometimes, I’ve overlooked a friend
who needed reaching out to, or I’ve overlooked the humanity of a beggar who it
was more convenient to ignore, or I’ve overlooked the sorrow and repentance in
the person I wanted to hold a grudge against, or the good heart in the person I
was sure was misguided, or the still-hurting wound that someone was acting out
of when they flared up at me. I’m
guessing I’m not alone here. I’m
guessing we all overlook things. Whether
out of inattentiveness, or sloth, or fear, or stubbornness… we overlook things.
God never
tires of being attentive. God counts
every hair on our heads and cares for every sparrow of the sky. But, our first reading tells us: God
overlooks sins. And it’s not the
accidental overlooking of completely missing that ball whizzing past me that I
was meant to catch. And it’s not the
deluded overlooking of missing that warning on the cigarette packet. Wisdom tells us the only thing that could
move God to overlook anything: love. God
loves all that He has created. Now, note
that you can’t overlook something that doesn’t exist – for God to overlook sin,
sin must be real… and it is. Sin is all
too real. But God can overlook it, God
can look over it. God can see that the
sins we accrue, that drag behind us, slowing our every step… can see that these
are not all there is to us. God can look
over all the base refuge that collects on us and see what’s higher than
that. He can see His likeness. The book of Wisdom delights in this,
exclaiming: “Your imperishable spirit is in all things!” He sees His children: beloved, o so loved,
even though disobedient.
And now
here we, like Zacchaeus, are about to dine with Jesus, with God among us who
overlooks everything, looks over all the dross to see our hunger, see our
faith, and feast with us. Like
Zacchaeus, we’re called to respond with joy.
Like Zacchaeus, we’re called to hasten.
Like Zacchaeus, we’re called to ask what’s blocking our view? What keeps us from seeing God in our daily
lives? What distracts us from his grace
all around us? What do we need to
overlook, to look over? What tree can we
climb, even if it seems embarrassing or too public for us? Is it service of the poor, the sacrament of
reconciliation, wearing our faith more on our sleeve, asking for help with a
problem that’s too much for us, more prayer?
God is coming, to feast, to rejoice, to overlook sin. Inviting us to climb and look over too. Because awaiting us is the sight of our God,
lovingly looking back at us, and delighting at our faith.
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