Go Climb a Tree
Homily on Luke 19: 1-10
 
 
          There were two men who died and went to heaven.  One was a deacon and the other was a regional auditor for the IRS—someone who goes over your tax returns to see if you did something wrong.  Now when they got to heaven they were met by St. Peter, who drove them around to show each of them where they would be living.
 
          Now he dropped of the IRS auditor at his house first, and it was magnificent.  It was huge, had a swimming pool and tennis courts, fountains, manicured lawns—spectacular.
 
          So the deacon sees this and figures that if this is what an IRS auditor gets, he, the deacon, being a member of the clergy and all—he’ll certainly get something nice than that, something truly amazing.
 
          St. Peter continues on with the deacon, and finally comes to a modest, two-bedroom rambler, and tells the deacon that place is for him.
The deacon can’t hide his disappointment, and says: “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but how can it be that the IRS guy gets such a spectacular place, and my place is so modest in comparison?”
 
          “Well,” says St. Peter, “you see when you preached, mostly people slept.  But when the IRS auditor knocked on people’s doors, they prayed like nobody’s business.”
 
          We have in today’s Gospel the first century equivalent of the IRS auditor in the person of Zacchaeus, the chief tax collector for the region of Jericho.  And we see Zacchaeus, the chief tax collector, wanting to see Jesus and, because there was a big crowd around Jesus and because Zacchaeus was very short, Zacchaeus decides to do something pretty remarkable—he looks down the road, figures out where he thinks Jesus is going, spots a tree that will give him a good vantage point for seeing Jesus, and goes ahead and climbs the tree.
          Perhaps at first glance that doesn’t seem so remarkable, but if we think about what’s going on here for a minute, I think you might agree that it is.  After all, Zacchaeus is a very wealthy man, a man with a position of considerable power and influence.  He didn’t get there overnight—so he’s probably older, well past his tree-climbing years.
 
          And climbing a tree was certainly not the sort of dignified behavior someone in his position with his wealth would usually display.  He could have had his servants clear a path.  Or he could have subtly or not-so-subtly threatened the crowd (“better let me through here or you might not like your tax bill next year”), but he doesn’t.
 
          He literally goes out on a limb, alone, vulnerable, seeking, as Luke tells us, to “see who Jesus” is, anxious to observe and connect with the man he’s heard so much about.  Of course we don’t know why Zacchaeus is so motivated to see Jesus, to connect with Jesus, to reach out to Jesus.  Is there some issue or crisis in his life, or does he just sense that there is something unique and special about this man who is walking by?
 
          But something, or more properly, someone—the Holy Spirit-- moves Zacchaeus and Zacchaeus climbs the tree and opens himself up to Jesus. Jesus’ response is just what we have come to expect.  Chief tax collector of not, wealthy man or not, Jesus responds to seeing Zacchaeus up in the tree by inviting Himself in to Zacchaeus’ house.
 
          It doesn’t matter who we are or what our situation is, when we open ourselves up to Jesus, He always invites Himself in.
 
          And we all have times when, like Zacchaeus, we feel the Holy Spirit move in our lives, motivating us to go out on a limb, to do something outside our comfort zone, to be alone and vulnerable and open to Jesus’ presence.
 
          I had an experience like that almost 20 years ago, and I still recall it vividly.  As most of you know, I’m a lawyer and do courtroom work, which can sometimes be stressful.  On this particular occasion I had a case out in Los Angeles that had gotten particularly nasty.  The federal court judge who had the case was quick-tempered and unpredictable, and he seemed predisposed to do whatever the lawyers for the other side asked him to do.
 
          I won’t bore you with the details, but essentially what happened is that we did something in court in Minnesota that the lawyers for the other side in Los Angeles didn’t like, and we pretty sure they court convince the judge he shouldn’t like either.  As they wanted to describe it, we were thumbing our nose at the court in LA by what we did in Minnesota, and so the judge in LA ordered us to fly out to California and explain ourselves to him.
 
          Now you know you might be in trouble when a judge does that, and when the in-house lawyer for your client bales on the trip at the last minute, you’ve got to figure that he’s decided he doesn’t want to be anywhere near the courthouse in LA when this California judge goes ballistic.
 
          So I went out to California with more than a little trepidation.  And, of course, the plan was late and it was midnight by the time I got to the hotel.
 
          And the hotel had only the worst possible rooms left—I got one next to the elevator and could hear the elevators going up and down and the doors opening and closing as I tried to get to sleep.   By about 3 in the morning, I was a mess.  I had worked things around in my head so that I was convinced that I should bring my toothbrush to court with me so I was ready when the judge decided that we were in contempt of court and going to jail.
 
          And about that time the idea came into my head that I should go find the Gideon’s Bible that would be in one of the drawers in the hotel room and read the 23 ^rd Psalm.  You know—the one that starts: “The Lord is my shepherd…” Not exactly climbing a tree, but nothing I’d ever done before. 
 
          Where did that idea come from?  Maybe the Holy Spirit, although that sounds a bit presumptuous.
 
          In any case, I had nothing better to do as I tossed and turned at 3 a.m., so I did—I found the Bible and started reading the 23 ^rd Psalm. 
 
          Read it—nothing.  Read it again—still nothing.  Read it a third time, and decided this was a silly idea, and began to put the Bible down, when I heard, although there was no sound—perhaps it is better to say that I experienced— “keep reading.”
 
          So I did.  And while I was reading it for the 7 ^th or 8 ^th time, I suddenly experienced this incredible sense of peace, of assurance that all was well, this certainty that whatever happened in court that morning it would be ok, that  Jesus was truly with me.
 
          And the next morning, when I stood up in court in front of the judge, I could almost-literally feel Jesus hand on my right shoulder—remarkable.
 
          And, if it matters, that day is the only day the judge actually took our side of things, and almost threw the lawyers for the other side in jail for having insisted that we come out to LA and explain actions which the judge concluded were completely appropriate.
 
          And what’s the end of the story for Zacchaeus?  What happens after he goes out on the limb and Jesus comes into his house for dinner?
 
          Well, the story doesn’t end there.  We don’t know for sure but some in the early Church, like Clement of Alexandria, taught that Zacchaeus was named Matthias by the apostles, and that Zacchaeus—Matthias—was the one who took Judas’ place among the apostles after Judas betrayed Jesus and killed himself.  
 
          So Zacchaeus, the chief tax collector, wealthy and the sort of person most people thought was corrupt, becomes one of the 12.
 
          You see, you never know where Jesus will take you when you open yourself up to Him and He walks through your door.