A friend told me of the hours he spent as a child in a large cherry tree in his grandmother's backyard. The tree was very large and high, at least as he remembered it. He remembered the very first time he climbed it. He had to jump to catch hold of the lowest branch, and then pull himself by sheer muscle power up onto it. Then he could work his way up the tree. The tree seemed so high, that he got dizzy looking down, and yet, scary as it was, he couldn't resist climbing higher and higher. Finally he got very close to the top where the branches were thinner, and he could climb no higher. He stayed there, straddling a limb and holding tightly to one above it, swaying in the breeze with the leaves fluttering around him. It was an exhilarating moment for a seven-year-old. He was on top of the world.

But when the time came to climb back down, he was terrified. As long as he was on his way up, his vision and his focus was on the branch above him. But on the way down, all he could see was how far below the ground was and how many protruding limbs there were between him and the ground. Very gingerly, he made his way down, branch by branch, and when he finally got on the ground, he discovered his knees were trembling with the excitement and fear of the whole experience. Like a typical small boy, however, once he knew he could conquer the tree, he couldn't stay out of it, and before long, he went up and down it like a monkey. Somehow, the risk of being out on a limb high in the tree became as routine as brushing one's teeth.

Years later, long after he had grown out of his tree-climbing days, he was visiting his grandparents and happened to notice the old cherry tree. The lower limb that had been his first step up into the tree, the limb that he had had to leap to catch hold of, now was at shoulder height. The whole tree seemed somehow shrunken and unprepossessing. It wasn't nearly as large as he remembered it. The thin branches near the top, where he had spent many a summer hour swaying in the breezes and feeling himself to be on top of the world, were no more than 20 feet from the ground. He laughed as he saw the tree through the adult eyes, but he remembered and relived for a few moments, his feelings as that seven-year-old boy with trembling knees taking a daring risk to climb up among the clouds.

The gospel lesson for today is about another tree-climber whose name was Zacchaeus. He too experienced the risk and exhilaration of being "out on a limb." Zacchaeus' life was transformed as he sat on his tree limb, and at the time, it must have been a thoroughly scary experience, though perhaps later, as a mature disciple, he may have wondered why it ever seemed risky or frightening at all.

Luke, alone, tells us this story. He places it in the context of his account of Jesus' journey to Jerusalem. Following Mark's gospel, one of his main sources, he relates the story of Jesus' healing of a blind man near the city of Jericho. But then he adds this story about Jesus' encounter with a man named Zacchaeus.

Jesus is just passing through Jericho, Luke tells us. He apparently didn't have any pressing engagements there. He wasn't contemplating a preaching mission or healings. He was just passing through. He was going to Jerusalem. Jerusalem was the focus of his vision at this point. He had a rendezvous with destiny, and nothing would deter him from keeping it. So Jericho is just a way station, a place one had to go through to get to Jerusalem. Yet, it becomes the place of a significant encounter.

This is often the case, isn't it? The places and situations that we consider temporary or simply way stations turn out to be the places or situations that hold the most significance for us. Henri Nouwen once said something to the effect that in his ministry he found himself becoming frustrated and resentful that his work was constantly being interrupted by people who wanted or needed something from him, until one day the Lord spoke to him and revealed that his real work was in those interruptions. So I think we have to pay attention to the transit points on our journey. It just may be that we'll discover someone, perhaps even ourselves, who is out on a limb and needs some attention.

If Jericho did not figure prominently in Jesus' plans, however, Jesus' transit through Jericho certainly loomed large in Zacchaeus' mind, as well as in the mind of other citizens of the town. We're only told two facts about Zacchaeus: he was the chief tax collector, and he was short. Whether there was any relationship between those two facts, we don't know. Luke has not delved into Zacchaeus' psychological makeup, so we don't have any basis for addressing that question. But those two facts do figure prominently in the story.

As chief tax collector, Zacchaeus was a traitor to his people and nation. He was a collaborator and agent of the imperialist Romans who had imposed their rule on Palestine by military conquest and occupation. At a time when zealot movements were springing up to oppose Roman rule through guerilla warfare, tax collectors were the pariahs of society. Zacchaeus may have seen himself as a practitioner of "real-politik," but his countrymen saw him as a thief and a traitor. I say thief, because though Rome required a certain amount in taxes from its colonial subjects, it also turned a blind eye to how much the tax collector was able to gouge for his own pockets above and beyond the required sum. So long as he was not so greedy that he incited actual revolt, he was free to fleece his fellow-citizens for as much as he could get them to tough up. So Zacchaeus was not exactly the most popular fellow in Jericho, though undoubtedly he was one of the best-known. And certainly, he would never need fear that people were indifferent to him.

The other fact also is important -- that he was short. For it is this fact that moves the action in the story. His shortness of stature prevents him from seeing over the people lining the street to catch a glimpse of Jesus and his company as they pass through Jericho. Everybody loves a parade, and no excuse is too trivial. So the townspeople are out to see this man whose reputation has preceded him from Galilee where he has spent most of his life and ministry. They're not about to make way for this shrimp of a tax collector.

So Zacchaeus is forced to do something he probably hasn't done since he was a boy. He climbs a tree. Apparently he hasn't lost his tree-climbing skills from when he was a small boy. Actually, climbing a tree is like riding a bike; once you learn you never really forget how to do it. Your joints may be less flexible and more creaky, but you still know how to do it. So Zacchaeus gets up into the tree, and eases his way out onto a limb so he will have a good view of Jesus when he passes by. (I can imagine the remarks that others are making when they see this, and the crude attempts at humor that compare Zacchaeus to his ancestors the apes.)

When Jesus comes along, he stops beneath the tree and says, "Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today." And Luke says, "So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him." Wait a minute. Hasn't Luke left out a lot here? He hasn't told us how Jesus knew Zacchaeus' name, nor even intimated that Zacchaeus must have nearly fallen out of his tree when he heard himself being addressed by this Galilean rabbi he's heard about, but never laid eyes on before. We're left to wonder about the details. Did Zacchaeus flatter himself by thinking that his own reputation had spread to Galilee, so that his name was a household word? Was he stricken with a sense of awe and dread that a total stranger should come right to where he was hanging out on a limb and stop and call him by name? Had somebody ratted on him to Jesus to cause trouble for him? We don't know. All this is left to our imaginations. The story itself is laconic and spare. Jesus calls; Zacchaeus responds. Just like that.

We're not left to imagine the reaction of the other people standing around, however. They are clearly unhappy. Here they are, all good, law-abiding, patriotic citizens who know whom to despise and whom to approve. Jesus' attentions to Zacchaeus are not appreciated at all by the other onlookers. Why should he single out Zacchaeus to provide the honor of hospitality rather than some of them who remain steadfast in their hatred of the Romans and in their support of nationalistic aspirations? Why go stay in the home of a sinner? It's one thing to love sinners in the abstract; it's another to sleep in their houses. In the Middle East, even today, providing hospitality to others is considered a great honor and solemn duty. It's hard for us to grasp the real import of what is happening here. For us, playing the host is sometimes seen as a duty that has to be performed, but we're always glad when our guests go away and we get the house back to ourselves. But Jesus, by inviting Zacchaeus to provide him with hospitality is paying Zacchaeus honor and respect. He is, quite literally, gracing Zacchaeus with his presence.

But if Zacchaeus was "out on a limb" in the literal sense, he's even more "out on a limb" when he stands before Jesus. Jesus' invitation to come down out of his tree, and his unexpected and gracious offer to come stay in his house calls forth from Zacchaeus a similarly unexpected and grace-filled response. It's a response that is far more risky and scary than his climb up into the branches of the tree ever was. "Lord, half of my possessions I will give to the poor, and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much." Now that's what I call conversion!

Jesus has not demanded anything of Zacchaeus. Rather he has offered him the opportunity to play the magnanimous host, giving Zacchaeus stature far beyond his natural height. Yet this offer of grace, for that's what it is, calls forth a willingness on Zacchaeus' part to respond in kind. Jesus hasn't censured him for being a tax collector. He hasn't said a word about his sinful gouging of his fellow citizens to enrich his own coffers. He hasn't breathed the word "traitor." He's just announced his intention to stay with Zacchaeus. And yet that offer presents Zacchaeus with a demand that is far more fraught with risk than anything he has ever done or dreamed of doing. Or perhaps, he has dreamed of doing it. Perhaps that's where this blurted out promise of generosity comes from -- from Zacchaeus' dreams of being a better person than he is. As he stands before Jesus, perhaps he sees himself, not as he is, a morally-stunted and hated tax collector, but as the benefactor of the poor and the righter of wrongs that he may become.

That's really being "out on a limb," isn't it -- to see ourselves as we might become, and to commit ourselves to begin living by that vision rather than by what we think of ourselves or what others think of us? It's a scary risk to catch a vision of what we might become with the help of grace. It's risky to let go of our comfort zones, our status quo, our familiar sins, our cherished self-images, and stand before Jesus exposed for what we are, and exposed to what we may become.

I suggest to you that the encounter with the living Christ produces just that effect in us. We see ourselves in a light we never saw ourselves in before. We see that we are as unworthy and sinful as we admit in the privacy of our own hearts, and that we may become better and more useful than we hardly dared to dream. I am not offering a psychologizing version of personal transformation here. This encounter with the living Christ which calls forth from us qualities of character and behavior we never knew or allowed, but perhaps always hoped, we had, is nothing less than a miracle of grace. It is, in fact, what salvation is all about. When Jesus says, "Today salvation has come to this house," he is responding to this "blurted out" new self that Zacchaeus has just discovered -- this self that is concerned about justice and restitution. Salvation is becoming who we really are in Christ, and then living that new self out in concrete ways that manifest God's redeeming work in the world.

The crowd of good people who grumbled at grace that day don't seem to have profited by their encounter with Jesus. It is they who hear Jesus' reminder that the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost. For those who grumble at grace never experience it. Those who risk accepting it discover that their lives are changed forever. So salvation came to Zacchaeus because he was willing to go out on a limb to see Jesus. And salvation comes to us when we are willing to go out on a limb and risk becoming all that we can be through the grace of that same Jesus Christ.