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Eye-Opening Experiences: Seeing and Being
Seen
A sermon by Dr. Scott Spencer
First Baptist Church, Richmond, Virginia
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Luke 18:35—19:10
There’s something deeply embedded
in our DNA prompting a desire to see and to be seen. If you’re traveling with a
small child and suddenly exclaim, “Oh look at that!—say, a deer darting across
the road or a shooting star—they’ll whip to attention and scream, “Where,
Where!” and strain every part of their body to see the great event.
Grownups may not be so obvious, but we still want
to SEE just as badly. As much as I deplore rubbernecking, I can’t help taking a
peek as I go by the accident. And I’m amazed at how many otherwise sane adults
make fools of themselves jostling a crowd, jumping up, and craning necks to
catch a glimpse of the queen (should she come to town) or the latest American
Idol star. Go figure . . .
Make no mistake—we want to see
who and what there is to see—and we want to be seen. Somehow the
internal satisfaction of turning a cartwheel or coasting hands-free on a bicycle
is not enough. I know I can do it—that’s all that matters. No it’s not.
You’ve got to show it off. “Look Mom, no hands.”
Adults may not literally shout,
“Look at me,” but we still want to be seen in this car, in this suit of clothes
and hairstyle, with these diplomas on the wall, this business card, this date,
this VIP friend. We can’t help ourselves. If someone doesn’t observe and
validate our accomplishments—we’re not quite sure they really happened.
Seeing and being seen are
gut-level, hardwired instincts. Earlier in Luke, Jesus says: “Your eye is the
lamp of your body. If your eye is healthy, your whole body is full of light;
but if your eye is not healthy your body is full of darkness.” The eye is the
window to our souls. We connect most deeply with others through our eyes. How
we see and are seen touches the core of our being—for good and ill.
The two characters juxtaposed in
our reading long to see and be seen in healthy ways, but are significantly
challenged in their visual capacity to connect deeply with their society and
surroundings. Economically, they come from vastly different worlds; but
visually they share common obstacles overcome through Jesus, the light of the
world.
One is a blind beggar sitting on
the roadside at the edge of town. The blind were among the most isolated,
vulnerable, and destitute outcasts in the ancient world.
The blind man in our story may
have slept right where he sat. What happened when he managed to procure a few
coins through begging? Did he have someone to lead him to the market? Or was
he forced to wait for a farmer or merchant who might notice him (most looked the
other way) and sell him some food? In any case, his visual disability likely
made for a hard and lonely life.
The other figure, a man named
Zacchaeus, comes from the other end of the economic spectrum. He’s not just
making ends meet; he’s making a killing as CEO of the region’s internal revenue
service—“chief tax collector.” While such an occupation would not win
him a lot of friends (more on this later), it did bring him considerable wealth,
a nice home in the city, and a measure of political influence—things the blind
beggar could scarcely imagine.
But there is one little
thing hindering Zacchaeus. He’s “short in stature”—a “wee little man” as the
children’s song says—which, unless your dream is to play power forward, might
seem like an inconvenience, but hardly a tragedy. Yet at this period (and
others through history) abnormal shortness carried a stigma of deformity
and inferiority—falling “short” of the mark not only physically, but also
culturally.
Apart from the fact that
Zacchaeus would have been “looked down upon” in his society, he would have also
faced the practical barrier of restricted vision—in a crowd, for example, when a
controversial teacher like Jesus was passing through town. Seeing and being
seen were problematic for Zacchaeus—not to the same degree as the blind beggar,
but difficult all the same.
So—the characters in our passage
are in a double visual bind. Because of their blindness or shortness, they’re
obstructed by both physical disability and social stigma. Not only do they have
trouble seeing others, they have trouble being seen by others in a sympathetic
light. It’s not easy to break through such obstacles.
But it’s even worse than that in
our stories. The particular circumstances and people confronting the blind
beggar and Zacchaeus the taxman make their difficult lives even more difficult.
But, remarkably, despite everything and everyone stacked up against them, they
still break through to Jesus and experience his dynamic, “saving” grace.
Ultimately these are marvelous “salvation”
stories—the term “save” or “salvation” appears at the climax of each account.
Let’s look more closely at what leads up to these “happy endings.”
Perched at his begging post just outside the
city of Jericho, the blind man hears the rumble of a crowd approaching.
In the absence of one sense, he uses the others more keenly. He wants to know
what the hubbub’s about, and someone tells him, “Jesus of Nazareth is passing.”
OK—but Jesus is a common name and Nazareth is a
little village up north in Galilee—nowhere close to Jericho. So who cares?
Clearly some folks do—because he’s attracted quite an entourage. Maybe he
really is somebody; maybe he can help. Worth a shot—so the blind man belts
out: “Jesus, have mercy on me.” No telling how many times a day he asked
someone for mercy—why not Jesus?
But notice he doesn’t just say, “Jesus, have
mercy.” He adds a significant title—“Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on
me!” “Son of David”—where does he get that from? The crowd’s not saying it
here. And Jesus’ link to David has not been stressed in Luke since the birth
narratives. But these narratives still echo in the background.
Though raised in Nazareth of
Galilee, Jesus is born in Bethlehem of Judea, the city of David, not far from
Jerusalem—and Jericho. Word reaches a group of nomadic shepherds in the
region—an angelic word they claim—saying: “Unto you is born this day in
the city of David a Savior who is Christ the Lord.” They rush to see this
Christ-child named Jesus and then scatter about the region telling their
astounding story.
But I can’t imagine many people cared to
listen. A rag-tag band of shepherds did not make the most reliable witnesses or
solid citizens. Shepherds were commonly regarded as a suspicious group of
ruffians—many of whom turned to banditry and insurrection. Low-lifes, backwoods
types—or rather back-desert types—marginalized outside the city—not that far on
the social ladder above our blind beggar.
Maybe this blind man heard about Jesus’ Davidic
lineage, messianic potential, and saving power from these shepherds—or maybe
from that wild preacher John the Baptist who thundered around the Jordan
River—very close to Jericho—for a while.
The point is: those who are hurting,
struggling, outcast perk up when there’s talk of a Messiah and Savior
around—because they need help so badly. That’s a precarious place to be because
a lot of false messiahs and saviors lurk out there who will promise you the moon
and then disappoint you, if not take advantage of you.
But beggars can’t be choosy. So here
goes—maybe this guy’s the real deal. “Jesus—Son of David, Messiah [Please be
the Messiah], Have mercy on me.”
The first response he hears, however, is not
from Jesus, but from some folks standing closest to him, right in front of him,
who “sternly order” him to shut up.
Can you believe it? Here’s a
pathetic man with little to no voice in society, and these bystanders only
squelch it further. “It’s enough we have to look at you and your wretched
begging when we come in and out of the city; we don’t want you to ruin this
procession with your bellowing.”
There’s never a shortage of shushers
around throttling the cries of the needy. Shhh!! A little decorum please.
Mustn’t make a fuss and carry on like that! Just sit there quietly and we’ll
get to you. . . [sure we will]. Out of sight, out of sound—out of
mind. No need to bother.
If we won’t listen (to reprise
last week’s topic), the afflicted have no choice but to shout—and shout some
more—which is exactly what our blind man does. He will not be shushed! He
shouts “even more loudly, ‘Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’”
And Jesus stops and insists that this roadside
screamer be brought to him. Jesus has heard him (the whole countryside has
heard him)—but Jesus also wants to SEE him. When he “comes near,” Jesus looks
this man straight in the eye and asks what he wants. How can I help you? I
imagine the man meets Jesus’ gaze as best he can with his blind eyes and says,
“Lord let me see again. Let me see You, let me see these people (who don’t want
much to do with me), let me see this world.”
And Jesus responds, “Receive your
sight—your faith has saved you”—there’s that final saving note. With
eyes newly opened, the man rejoices and glorifies God—and we also learn that
“all the people—when they SAW it—praised God.” Now they see him, now
they join their voices with his (better late than never, I suppose).
That’s the blind man’s story. What about our
other visually-challenged character, Zacchaeus? How does he get to Jesus and
ultimately receive Jesus’ word of salvation?
He doesn’t cry out loud like the blind man, but
he does something equally, if not more, undignified: “He climbed up in a
sycamore tree—the Lord he wanted to see” (the song continues). Being a “wee
little man” he can’t see Jesus in the crowd, so he “runs ahead,” the text says,
and scrambles up a tree. You get the picture? Tiny man dashing madly through
the crowd and scurrying up the tree like an excited little child—or squirrel—but
NOT like a CEO.
No doubt some in the crowd notice his antics,
but they pay him little mind. If Zacchaeus wants to make a fool of himself,
fine with us. We don’t think much of him anyway. Having him “up a tree” and
out of the way—not a bad place for him.
Tax collectors are not the most
popular folk in any society—but under heavy Roman and Herodian taxation in
first-century Palestine, Jews like Zacchaeus who worked for imperial overlords
were especially suspect. We don’t want anything more to do with this guy than
we have to. Forget about him.
But when Jesus reaches the
sycamore tree, he “looks up” and SEES Zacchaeus. He may have chuckled a
bit—this elfin businessman sitting in a tree presents a funny scene, I think.
But laughing or not, Jesus does not just glance up and walk by. He sees
Zacchaeus and addresses him: “Hurry up and come down; for I must stay at your
house today.”
Jesus is doing more here than
booking a nice B & B for the night. He invites himself over (rather
presumptuously) because he wants to SEE more of Zacchaeus, spend some time with
him. And Zacchaeus is happy to comply. He “hurries down” the tree—more
scrambling and scurrying—and escorts Jesus to his home—
BUT not without gossip and
grumbles from the crowd. Just as there is never a shortage of shushers around,
so there are always plenty of shamers. Often the same folks who quickly
put a finger to their lips to silence shouters also wag that same finger to
accuse sinners. That’s what they think of Zacchaeus—and now Jesus, by
association.
“All who SAW it,” the text says
again—that is, all who SAW Zacchaeus leading Jesus to his home, muttered: “He’s
gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.” A scandalous situation—they’ve
got eyes wide open for that.
The notion of tax collectors as
“sinners” was a common—and in many respects, justified—stereotype in this
society. Many tax collectors took advantage of their occupation to profit at
others’ expense. As long as they passed on the required quotas to their Roman
and Herodian managers, it didn’t matter how much extra they charged for
“services rendered”—brokers’ fees, the cost of doing business and such.
Chafing under a heavy imperial
tax burden, Jews could scarcely afford being further gouged by unscrupulous
collectors—from their own people, no less. And chief tax officers, like
the diminutive Zacchaeus, stood to gain the most. A cute, cuddly, wee little
man?—don’t think so. More like a cold, callous, wee little weasel. That’s the
kind Jesus hangs out with?
Yes, indeed. This is not the
first time Jesus fellowships with “sinful” tax collectors. Early in his
ministry, he called Levi, a Galilean tax collector, to follow him. Levi hosted
a great banquet for Jesus with a bunch of other tax associates. Jesus happily
attended, announcing: “I’ve come not to call the righteous but sinners to
repentance.” That’s why I’m here—to help the misguided get on the right
course—to challenge takers to become givers, the greedy to become generous. And
tax collectors were at the top of that list—many of them at least, perhaps most
. . . .
BUT NOT ALL. In this critical
matter of seeing others, we must take care to see others as distinctive
individuals, rather than lumping them into a demographic category. Yes, tax
collectors could be money-grubbing extortionists, and as head honcho, Zacchaeus
was in a prime position to grub more than most. And perhaps he had run that
course earlier in his career.
BUT NO MORE. We’re told he “stood”
in Jesus’ presence. He may be short but that doesn’t stop him from standing
tall and declaring: “Lord, I give half of my possessions to the poor, and anyone
I cheated in the past I’ve restored their losses four times over.” Most modern
translations read, “I will give . . . I will pay back”—as if
Zacchaeus is making a future pledge. But in fact the Greek verbs are present
tense and better rendered, in my judgment, as a statement of what Zacchaeus
is and has been doing.
This is more of a confirmation
than conversion story. When Jesus says, “Today salvation has come to
this house, because he too is a son of Abraham,” I believe Jesus is
confirming Zacchaeus’ model conduct. Jesus is seeing him as a good
and honorable person rather than assuming (with the crowd) that he’s just
another fraudulent tax gouger.
Interestingly, the name
“Zacchaeus” means “innocent” or “clean.” An “innocent tax collector?” A
“clean government agent?” Yeah, it’s possible. Don’t overlook or
prejudge this man because of his shortness or profession.
Jesus sees Zacchaeus—and
us—with a clear, pure eye full of light. Does he see our imperfections? Oh
yes, every inch of them—and loves us all the same and shows us great kindness
and salvation.
But he also sees the good parts.
He sees the real us, not some image or stereotype foisted on us. He sees us
mercifully and honestly, as we want to be seen and as we should see others. “If
your eye is healthy—your whole being will be full of light.”
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