Zacchaeus
Silvester O’Flynn
My name is Zacchaeus. And if it sounds like success I don’t mind, because for years that was how I wanted to be known. Today it doesn’t matter so much, ever since I met Jesus. But if you’ve been born into poverty, the need to succeed can be a tyrant inside you. You have to haul yourself so far out of that gutter to ensure that you, and the generations that carry on your name, will never fall back. You can’t afford to be too choosey about the means nor about working in shady areas. And when you’re small in life you get to be aggressive and make your presence felt. They might criticize you for working for the Romans. But taxes have to be collected. Otherwise there would be no roads, no aqueducts, no armies to maintain law and order. When you’re poor you cannot afford to live in the past. The flags of the past don’t put bread on the table. And if I had not taken the job, somebody else would. So what! I worked hard, very hard. But it’s no skin off your knuckles when you are driven from the inside. I made contacts and made it my business to nurture them. After all, it’s people who make the appointments. You don’t get to be supervisor unless you show that you can manage people and organize them. The Romans are a practical people and that’s to their credit. They respect hard work and they recognize talent.
Our own folk are too stuck in the past and all that business of what’s-your-family-background . I was in a position to make a handsome penny and I availed of it. It wasn’t the money itself that mattered. Money was never the god of my life, strange though that may sound. It was what the money could do. I bought up property, I cultivated the arts, I splashed out lavishly. I had to have the best and show that I was number one. I took enjoyment out of embarrassing people with costly gifts. But all the linen and silk in the world could not cover up a lonely heart. And all the forced friendships and exchange of flattery had not given me anybody I could really trust, anybody I could share the pains of my soul with. I was becoming morose and solitary. I was starting to drink myself into stupidity. It had to stop. And then came Jesus.
I had first heard of him from some of Levi’s friends. Some were very impressed with him: others thought that he was a bit of a harmless idealist. He was said to be uncompromising with the rich. Poets, artists, dreamers – very impractical people. But I knew from experience how quickly they would change their tune for a generous benefactor. It is easy to curse what you haven’t got.
I was surprised to hear of Levi’s move. Admiring the preacher was one thing, but following him was another. Levi was a good tax collector. He was methodical. We liked the way he kept his book. And he could splash out on a party as good as the rest, all good for contacts. He could have gone a long way. But Levi had given us back his book and gone with the preacher. One mighty party and off with him. The thought became an obsession. I simply had to see the preacher at the very least. Looking back now, I have to laugh at myself. A man of my status in town hiding up a tree! And that’s amazing really, because I was always very touchy about what others might be saying about me.
When Jesus stopped and the crowd halted too, my heart missed a beat. I was afraid even to breathe. But when he looked up, and I saw the gentleness in his eyes, I was no longer afraid. I knew immediately that he understood me. Then, what he said … I could hardly believe my ears! ‘Zacchaeus’, only later did I wonder how he knew my name. ‘Zacchaeus, come down. Hurry, because I want to stay at your house today. ’
It was all joy…joy and light…joy and welcome. I had never known anything so deep. That someone should understand you from the inside, could care enough to reach out to you, could love you as if you were the only one there on the face of the earth! That’s how I felt. Everything else now is rubbish. Rubbish to me. Not to those who need it. Sharing out to the poor was a new sort of joy.
People said I was crazy. But love has the right to be a bit crazy. And what they say about me doesn’t matter any more.
Silvester O’Flynn
My name is Zacchaeus. And if it sounds like success I don’t mind, because for years that was how I wanted to be known. Today it doesn’t matter so much, ever since I met Jesus. But if you’ve been born into poverty, the need to succeed can be a tyrant inside you. You have to haul yourself so far out of that gutter to ensure that you, and the generations that carry on your name, will never fall back. You can’t afford to be too choosey about the means nor about working in shady areas. And when you’re small in life you get to be aggressive and make your presence felt. They might criticize you for working for the Romans. But taxes have to be collected. Otherwise there would be no roads, no aqueducts, no armies to maintain law and order. When you’re poor you cannot afford to live in the past. The flags of the past don’t put bread on the table. And if I had not taken the job, somebody else would. So what! I worked hard, very hard. But it’s no skin off your knuckles when you are driven from the inside. I made contacts and made it my business to nurture them. After all, it’s people who make the appointments. You don’t get to be supervisor unless you show that you can manage people and organize them. The Romans are a practical people and that’s to their credit. They respect hard work and they recognize talent.
Our own folk are too stuck in the past and all that business of what’s-your-family-background . I was in a position to make a handsome penny and I availed of it. It wasn’t the money itself that mattered. Money was never the god of my life, strange though that may sound. It was what the money could do. I bought up property, I cultivated the arts, I splashed out lavishly. I had to have the best and show that I was number one. I took enjoyment out of embarrassing people with costly gifts. But all the linen and silk in the world could not cover up a lonely heart. And all the forced friendships and exchange of flattery had not given me anybody I could really trust, anybody I could share the pains of my soul with. I was becoming morose and solitary. I was starting to drink myself into stupidity. It had to stop. And then came Jesus.
I had first heard of him from some of Levi’s friends. Some were very impressed with him: others thought that he was a bit of a harmless idealist. He was said to be uncompromising with the rich. Poets, artists, dreamers – very impractical people. But I knew from experience how quickly they would change their tune for a generous benefactor. It is easy to curse what you haven’t got.
I was surprised to hear of Levi’s move. Admiring the preacher was one thing, but following him was another. Levi was a good tax collector. He was methodical. We liked the way he kept his book. And he could splash out on a party as good as the rest, all good for contacts. He could have gone a long way. But Levi had given us back his book and gone with the preacher. One mighty party and off with him. The thought became an obsession. I simply had to see the preacher at the very least. Looking back now, I have to laugh at myself. A man of my status in town hiding up a tree! And that’s amazing really, because I was always very touchy about what others might be saying about me.
When Jesus stopped and the crowd halted too, my heart missed a beat. I was afraid even to breathe. But when he looked up, and I saw the gentleness in his eyes, I was no longer afraid. I knew immediately that he understood me. Then, what he said … I could hardly believe my ears! ‘Zacchaeus’, only later did I wonder how he knew my name. ‘Zacchaeus, come down. Hurry, because I want to stay at your house today. ’
It was all joy…joy and light…joy and welcome. I had never known anything so deep. That someone should understand you from the inside, could care enough to reach out to you, could love you as if you were the only one there on the face of the earth! That’s how I felt. Everything else now is rubbish. Rubbish to me. Not to those who need it. Sharing out to the poor was a new sort of joy.
People said I was crazy. But love has the right to be a bit crazy. And what they say about me doesn’t matter any more.
