Coming home

Luke 19: 1-10
New Ark United Church of Christ, Newark, DE
November 3, 2019



Zacchaeus by Ira Thomas


Last Sunday a priest in Florence, South Carolina denied former vice-president Joe Biden from receiving the Eucharist because of Biden’s stance on abortion rights. The same was done to John Kerry during his presidential campaign.


And yet Pope Francis wrote that the Eucharist “is not a prize for the perfect but a powerful medicine and nourishment for the weak.” Benjamin Perry, a Presbyterian minister on staff at Union Theological Seminary, tweeted, “Do not deny anyone Communion. Ever. Communion is not a reward. It is not a privilege for the righteous. It is an invitation to step toward God’s table where everyone has enough and everyone a place. Remember: Jesus fed Judas.”



The story of Zacchaeus isn’t just about who’s in and who’s out. It’s about the assumptions we make about each other and how we base our generosity and hospitality on those assumptions. The people in the crowd assumed Zacchaeus was a crook because he was the chief tax collector and because he was rich.




According to the Jewish wisdom tradition, being rich is not an evil thing; in fact, it is a sign of God’s blessing and favor, that one must be wise and righteous in the eyes of God. Wealth is not an end in and of itself; it is vehicle for expressing one’s faithfulness to God and to neighbor. Are we generous or greedy, giving or withholding? And as for short of stature, the Greek words for this phrase translate as ‘small in maturity’, which could also mean the crowd was treating him like a child. They had formed a human wall between Zacchaeus and Jesus, deciding who had access to Jesus and who did not. A tax collector who worked for the Romans and the chief one at that? According to the crowd, Zacchaeus was definitely out.



This story has usually been assumed to be about a man who once cheated folks but for having received Jesus into his home now repents and changes his ways. But once again it all depends on how translators choose which word to use.




In verse 8 the Greek verb “to give”, didōmi, has been translated in the New Revised Standard Version in the future tense: “Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.” But in the Greek and in other translations it is in the present active tense: “I give…”, “I repay…”, implying that Zacchaeus is already giving to the poor and repaying any fraudulent transactions. If citizens could produce the receipt given to them, by law, tax collectors were required to repay the defrauded amount plus 20%. A faithful Jew was also required to give to the poor. Zacchaeus is not only faithful but goes beyond the law, giving half to the poor and repaying any debt plus four times as much. In fact, the name ‘Zacchaeus’ in Hebrew means “pure” or “innocent”.




Zacchaeus is a rich man in the classic Jewish tradition, in that he is more than faithful, but because he is the chief tax collector working for the treacherous Romans, the crowd grumbles and assumes Zacchaeus is a crook. Yes, he admits he sometimes cheats; essentially he’s admitting he’s human. Salvation has come to Zacchaeus’ household not because of anything Zacchaeus has done but because by coming to his house and being welcomed, Jesus restores Zacchaeus to community, affirming that he too is also a child of Abraham.




Author Stephanie Spellers in her book Radical Welcome says that there are three stages of welcome. The first is invitation: I invite you to my table, to my space, my home. The second is inclusion: I make a space for you at the table, I make room for you in my space, I prepare a room for you in my home. The third is incarnation: I accept you as you are, right where you are; I listen to you and what your needs are; I trust that you know your own truth about who you are. The first two assume the guest to assimilate. The third one asks us to adapt to the guest. When we do this we become the safe space. We become home.



Earlier this week in my morning reading the author of the meditation asked me to breathe deeply and to allow the phrase “I am going home” to enter into my mind. Tears came to my eyes as I felt this longing for peace and care and safe space in these times of distrust and separation and danger. And so I asked folx on Facebook what does ‘coming home’ look like, feel like to them. People used words like acceptance, satisfaction, safe place, seen, valued, heard, comfort, trust, belonging, connected, authentic, being able to be oneself completely, to relax, be vulnerable and be safe in a judge-free zone. What they are describing is unconditional love.




When coming home is unconditional love, it restores us, renews us, puts us in right relationship with ourselves and with others. When anyone comes to this Table, when anyone comes to worship, when anyone connects with this church in a meaningful way, it needs to be that kind of coming home. Not our home of origin, not a particular place, not our traditions, but the people we are and the love we offer, especially with those who feel lost, rejected, or invisible in this world. Rabbi Harold Kushner reminds us “When you carry out acts of kindness you get a wonderful feeling inside. It is as though something inside your body responds and says, yes, this is how I ought to feel.”




Today we’re honoring Reformation/Reconciliation Sunday and All Saints Sunday—which are really churchy ways of saying ‘coming home’ and repairing that home and remembering home, but the home is people making room for each other and the people are you and me and the lost are found and all those whom we love and miss. In the words of spiritual teacher Ram Dass, we’re all just walking each other home.  Amen.







Benediction – Rev. Linda Taylor, St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church, Saratoga, CA


We’re all going to the same place, and we’re all on a path.
Sometimes our paths converge.
Sometimes they separate, and we can hardly see each other,
much less hear each other.
But on the good days, we’re walking on the same path, close together,
and we’re walking each other home.

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