Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?--August 26, 2024

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?--August 26, 2024

"[Jesus] entered Jericho and was passing through it. A man was there named Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax-collector and was rich. He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to see him, because he was going to pass that way. When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, ‘Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.’ So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him. All who saw it began to grumble and said, ‘He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.’" [Luke 19:1-7]

You know, it's funny--well, in that sad sense of "funny": in the Gospels, people don't typically get upset with Jesus for keeping too many people out.  Rather, they usually get upset--enough to want to kill him sometimes--because Jesus is scandalously inclusive when it comes to sharing a table with him.  He is constantly upsetting people, from the Respectable Religious Leaders to the everyday folks who hate paying taxes to the Romans, because he shows up at dinner parties with notorious "sinners and tax collectors." They want to silence or get rid of Jesus, not because he is too strict, but because he is so loose with his lunch companions.

Now, to be sure, part of the outrage that leads to whispers and gossip about the traveling rabbi who "has gone to be the guest of a sinner" is that in the ancient Mediterranean world, especially in Jesus' Jewish context, you are making a statement when you eat with someone.  Sharing table fellowship is a sign of acceptance, of equality, and of relationship.  That's different from our culture, where you might have to share the office break room or lunch area with fellow co-workers you don't really like, or where all the kids in the school have to find any seat they can in the cafeteria in those long lines of tables with attached benches.  In our society, we don't necessarily mean to imply acceptance just because we happen to be at adjoining tables at McDonald's.  But in Jesus' social world, sharing a meal with someone said, "I accept you."  And when Jesus did that with sellouts and sinners (like Zacchaeus), well everybody got upset at the notion that Jesus seemed "soft on sin."

You understand that's what going on here, right?  The people around Jericho who are murmuring about Jesus' going to Zacchaeus' house are outraged because Jesus has just said to everybody in town that he accepts Zacchaeus by inviting himself over to Zacchaeus' house for dinner.  They are upset that there is no scolding, no finger-wagging, no insistence on repentance first as a prerequisite of the pleasure of Jesus' company.  They are mad that Jesus' presence at the table with Zacchaeus makes it look like Jesus is endorsing Zacchaeus' reputation as an imperially-subcontracted tax collector.  They start getting antsy and nervous because they think Jesus' choice of companions means he doesn't care about righteousness or holiness or goodness.  And they think he's signaling that God's love includes Zacchaeus as he is, rather than demanding some show of moral improvement from him first.

And, of course, they aren't wrong on that part.  Jesus' presence at the table with Zacchaeus is absolutely a statement of acceptance.  Jesus' bold move to invite himself over to the tax collector's house is provocative exactly because he is extending the love of God to Zacchaeus as he is, without requiring a probationary period of good behavior first. Jesus' meal fellowship with the ones labeled "sinners" and "sellouts" is a deliberate shot across the bow for all the self-appointed (and hypocritical) Gatekeepers and Guardians of Godliness who are scandalized by a God who meets us where we are and loves us as we are, even when "the way we are" comes with some pretty rough edges.

Now, it's worth considering at this moment that Jesus is no fool.  He knows precisely what kind of reaction his dinner with Zacchaeus will elicit, and yet he makes no effort to walk back his choice or call a press conference for some spin-doctoring.  There is no official statement from a podium where Jesus declares, "I didn't intend to communicate that I actually accept that no-good sinner Zacchaeus, and now I want to go on record repudiating him and his bad behavior!"  There's no apology to the Respectable Religious People saying, "If only I had known that this might offend or upset you, I never would have gone to Zacchaeus' house!"  Jesus knows he is being provocative, but he doesn't back away from publicly showing love to Zacchaeus and embodying God's acceptance.  To be sure, being met by this kind of love will do something transformative to Zacchaeus, and you probably know that at the end of the story (we'll get there tomorrow) he'll pay back anyone he has cheated and give away half of his possessions to the poor.  But Jesus doesn't make any of those into prerequisites for his acceptance.  He doesn't demand receipts before sharing a table with ol' Zach.  Jesus meets him with acceptance, and lets the act of accepting him do its own work on Zacchaeus.  Love has a way of doing that to us--like the old hymn says it, "Love to the loveless shown, that they might lovely be."  We are indeed changed by the love that meets us where we are--that's the wonder and the paradox of grace, I suppose.  Jesus meets us at the table just the way we are, and his choice to accept us as we are has a way of making us into new creations.

But don't miss the scandal of the story here: Jesus doesn't seem to care that he will get a reputation for being "soft on sin" or "too accepting" because of his choice to break bread with Zacchaeus.  He is less interested in what interpretations others will put on his actions and more interested in making sure that Zacchaeus hears, "You are beloved," loud and clear.  And I have to think that says something to us, who name the name of Jesus and claim to follow him, too.  All too often, Christians are known for who they won't associate with or who they won't share a table with, because they're worried it will send "the wrong message" to somebody else who might be watching... without giving a thought to what it sends to the folks we refuse to be seen with.  All too often, we ignore Jesus' example of inviting himself over to Zacchaeus' house without any strings, conditions, or disclaimers, and we end up making it sound like God's love is a reward for fitting into our cookie cutter molds.

What if we actually followed the pattern of Jesus and decided to be more interested in showing love to the people who have been told too many times that they are unlovable, rather than fussing nervously about what the Respectable Religious People will say?  What if we stopped casting ourselves as gatekeepers to God and saw ourselves, like Jesus, as people sent to bring God's presence everywhere, lavishly and loosely, into every place and to every person?  What if we dared to be enough like Jesus that the news around town about us Christians was not, "They are bigots and hypocrites," but "They keep hanging out with all the people who feel like they don't belong"?  

How might it change the life of someone who has been waiting to hear that God's love is for them, too, without having to measure up to anybody else's expectations as a prerequisite?  How might it change us to take seriously that Jesus has met us at the table in just the same way?

Lord Jesus, as you have met us at the table just as we are, send us out today to meet others and embody your surprising love right where they are, too.