On Zacchaeus

1Nothing rouses the soul to gladness like the fear of God, turning away from evil, the course of repentance, and the way of confession. That is why David today blessed those who had received forgiveness of sins, showing at once Christ's love for humanity and preparing sinners to run to repentance. “Blessed are those whose lawless deeds are forgiven,” he says, “and whose sins are covered” (Psalm 31:1 LXX; Psalm 32:1 in the Hebrew numbering). So let every prostitute and tax collector run to the inexhaustible springs of Christ's salvation. Without it there is no release from evils and no attaining the blessing, whether you speak of prophets, apostles, or evangelists. For all drew from the same spring. Among the prophets, David himself, even after adultery, is still a prophet now through the grace of the One who forgave him. Among the apostles, Peter and Paul: the one, after his denial, holds the keys of the kingdom; the other, after his persecution, was appointed apostle to the Gentiles, turning his Jewish zeal into an evangelical way of life. In the Gospels I know not only Matthew being saved from among the tax collectors, but two others with him. One of them, by praying, by beating his breast—the treasury of evils—by not daring to raise his hands to the holy things, by bowing down, was not only justified but crowned above the Pharisee. Zacchaeus, for his part, climbed the tree where he had often stood watching to see whether some merchant might slip past unnoticed so that he would not go without profit; he was keeping watch so that the Merchant of heaven and earth, the One carrying the inviolable treasure of the kingdom, might not run past him unnoticed.

But so that we do not entirely confuse the stories of the tax collectors, let us, if you agree, take Zacchaeus alone today as the subject of our treatment and expand our discourse. “Jesus went out,” it says, “and was passing through Jericho, and behold, a man named Zacchaeus, and he was a chief tax collector” (Luke 19:1). The evangelist does not mention Jericho without purpose, but because he is speaking of a tax collector who welcomed God into his home. The matter was hard to believe. He sets his homeland before us, so that when we remember Rahab the prostitute we may not be shocked at the strange turning back of Zacchaeus. This is why he mentioned Jericho: so that, calling to mind Rahab the prostitute, we may compare the manner of salvation of both. For just as Rahab the prostitute received Joshua son of Nun as a spy and hid him, so Zacchaeus the tax collector received the true Jesus, who spies out our minds, into his home and nourished him. She received Joshua son of Nun, who led the people into the land of promise; this man receives the true Jesus, who leads into the kingdom of heaven. She received Joshua, who razed the temple of the Jews; this man received the true Jesus, who foretold that razing. For he says, “Not one stone will be left here upon another that will not be thrown down” (Matthew 24:2). She received Joshua, who led the people through the Jordan into a land flowing with milk and honey; this man received the true Jesus, who through baptism leads the faithful to what no eye has seen and no ear has heard and what has not entered the human heart (1 Corinthians 2:9). She received Joshua, who brought the cluster of grapes out of the land on a tree; this man welcomed the true Jesus, [The text is damaged here.] this man welcomed the true Jesus, who brought the thief into paradise.

The spring of Jericho was formerly a mother of barrenness, a nurse of unfruitfulness, its water incomplete. Its stream flowed silently, like oil flowing without a sound, but the sight of its waters left those who looked on thirsting. Drinking was not without danger for those in need, for its current was deadly. The beauty of the spring stirred passersby to run toward it, but the fear of harm cut short their eagerness.

2So the water at the spring ran to no purpose. The neighbors often stood by and groaned, not because they had no water, but because the sight of those useless waters dragged them into thirst. They could not cure the suffering of their thirst, and in their misery they cried out to the spring: “Why do you flow to no purpose, O spring? It would be better for you not to appear at all, but to flow among mountains and sands and deserts, where you would not have so many witnesses to your evil.”

Why was the water undrinkable? Because it killed the bodies of those who drank it. If a man drank from it, he did not become a father; nor did a woman become a mother, for she lost the grace of motherhood. And not only this: the earth that received the stream refused its usual yield of grain, and the shady graces of the palm trees stripped off their garment of leaves. To say it all at once, everything became desolate, as if it had unjustly fallen in with that stream.

Such was the spring that encircled Jericho in ancient times, until the prophet Elisha came, took salt, threw it into the spring, and made the waters alive. For this is what the Lord says: “I heal these waters” (2 Kings 2:21). This is what he says who always speaks and brings his word to deed: “Let there no longer be from you one barren and sterile.” He spoke, and the water was changed: wombs were in labor, the earth put forth grain, the grape clusters bloomed again, and the olive tree displayed its own grace. And the neighbors were reconciled to the spring they knew. Once they had warred against it and been warred against by it; later they longed for it and lived near it.

What does the riddle of the spring mean? It is necessary to say. This spring, flowing abundantly but pouring out a useless and barren stream in ancient times, preserves the account of the church. For before Christ, it was so impious that a man drinking from the spring of that stream lost the very fact of being human, denying the nature of his rational soul through entanglement with idols. And a woman did not become a mother of virtues, nor did she give birth to shoots of self-control or gush the white milk of piety. But while she was in this condition, the Lord came, threw in the apostles as salt, seasoned her, and made her drinkable. And that the apostles were salt, hear Christ saying to them: “You are the salt of the earth” (Matthew 5:13). And that the sterile and barren one became fruitful by receiving the apostolic salt, the prophet says: “Rejoice, O barren one who does not bear; break forth and shout, you who are not in labor; for the children of the desolate one are more than those of her who has a husband” (Isaiah 54:1).

So Jesus came to Jericho. The spring came to those nourished by the spring; the mighty grace came to the much-wooded and well-watered city. And behold, a man named Zacchaeus, and he was a chief tax collector. The evil was double: he pursued an unjust trade and ruled over those who pursued it badly. He not only sinned himself but also received the evils of others. He cut a strange road of injustice, fortifying the highways against travelers. He did not imitate robbers by ambushing those passing by, nor did he wait for travelers out of zeal for hospitality. Instead, holding injustice as a law, he taxed the labors of foreigners, imitating the merciless gluttony of drones. For just as drones harvest the labor of bees without taking part in the toil, so tax collectors plunder the labors of strangers, the travelers, idling in leisure and sitting at the crossroads. A man sailed the sea, fought the waves, battled the winds, cut through the long and ungovernable deep, and Zacchaeus took away his profit with a tax.

3A shepherd lived with drought and burning heat, with rain and snow and frost. His shelter was the ledges of the rocks, his food cheese and milk, his clothing the unworked skins of his sheep. Yet this rustic, this poor man, this companion of the mountains, fell into Zacchaeus's hands, being tithed of his flocks, being robbed lawfully, being destroyed without a sword. For a man struck by iron receives a wound that flows easily and departs, escaping the harshness of his suffering through numbness. But a man unwillingly shot by poverty's arrow has pain as his death, and he has died, not consumed all at once, but dying always, little by little. And to put it briefly: as fortresses hard to capture are dreaded by soldiers, and underwater rocks by pilots, and hidden ambushes by those at war, so Zacchaeus was to be fled by merchants and travelers, by cowherds and shepherds.

But this man, so maddened over the irrational collection of money, was seeking to see Jesus and could not. For both the smallness of his stature and the heaviness of his injustice held him back. So now, healing the lowliness of his stature by the device of his understanding, he ran ahead and climbed up into a sycamore, and he hides himself under the dense cover of the leaves, thinking he sees and is not seen, supposing he can escape the notice of the one who knows all things. This is exactly what the woman with the flow of blood also ventured, thinking she could steal from Jesus, the one who gladly lets such things be stolen from him. But she at least came near and touched the hem of his garment; this man, being far off, took hold of Christ by faith. So he goes up onto the tree, healing the evils of Adam. For Adam was led astray by the tree while fleeing God, but this man is saved from the tree while longing to see God.

For hearing that Jesus works many astonishing wonders, that he heals souls as well as bodies, taking away the sins of souls and granting freedom from suffering to bodies, Zacchaeus longed to see the one who pardons all things to all people. He reasoned within himself:

"Who then is this Jesus, who cleanses lepers, who heals the blind, who forgives sins to those who ask? What is his appearance, what is his form? Does he know all things? Does he test the minds even of those who are absent? Or does he examine only the thoughts of those who are present? Does he, as God, trace out the thoughts of each person's heart? How then can I learn these things? What teacher shall I take for them? What teacher? Experience, the teacher of all things. I have climbed the tree and hide myself under the dense cover of the leaves. I escape notice and I learn whether I can be saved. If he knows the movement of my soul, I know that he wipes away the sin of my soul. This one thing then I will learn: that he knows the hidden things of my thoughts. If, pressed by the crowd, he sees me hiding, and not only sees me but also uncovers the longing of my soul, I choose to throw away everything and find the one. I want to imitate Matthew. For he too was a tax collector, as I am. But Matthew did not run to him of his own accord; rather, he was called and obeyed. Perhaps, seeing him and thinking him one of the travelers, he hollowed his hands and spread wide his deep pocket, carried along by habit toward the taking, and wanting to collect taxes from Christ, he was collected from in return by him, not in appearance only, but giving his whole self over. For as soon as he heard, 'Come, follow me,' he outran the call with his eagerness, outrunning with swifter speed the one who drew him. If then he calls tax collectors, and not only calls them but also makes them righteous, the swarm of my previous evils does not harm me. For if Elisha threw salt into the nourishing spring and made its barrenness fruitful, surely this man also, seasoning my soul with grace as with salt, stirs up in me the fruit-bearing of virtue."

While he was pondering these things, Jesus came to the place. Looking up, he says to him: "Zacchaeus, hurry and come down. You climbed the tree as a tax collector; come down from the tree as a lover of God. Come down from the tree to the earth, so that through the cross you may go up to heaven. You went up a tree hiding from human beings; you are going up through the cross, granting a gift to angels."

4"Hurry, then, and come down, for today I must stay in your house" (Luke 19:5). O grace beyond telling! O love for humanity beyond speech! The house that receives Jesus is cleansed. For wherever Jesus is received as guest, everything changes for the better. "Zacchaeus," he says, "hurry and come down, for today I must stay in your house." What can I say? The tax collector's house has become paradise. For what I see in the thief, I see also in Zacchaeus. He said to the thief, "Today you will be with me in paradise" (Luke 23:43), and taking him from the tree he brought him into paradise. He said to Zacchaeus, "Today I must stay in your house," and taking him he entered, making his house a paradise before paradise. And Zacchaeus hurried down and ran ahead [the text is damaged here; perhaps: and received him joyfully], and he called him a son of Abraham.

But the murmurers [the text is damaged here; perhaps: always ready to murmur] said among themselves, "He has gone in to lodge with a man who is a sinner." But I say to these murmurers: O idle troublemakers! What are you—righteous or sinners? Are you not more wicked than all people? How then did Jesus dwell among you? How was he born among you, raised among you, grown to manhood among you, drinking and eating among you? Why do you overlook your own wounds and track down your neighbor's stumblings? And besides, why do you call Christ a sinner at one moment and a righteous man at another? For when he healed the man born blind, you called him a sinner, saying, "Give glory to God; we know that this man is a sinner, because he breaks the Sabbath" (John 9:24; cf. John 5:16). Now, when he has gone under the roof of a tax collector, you disparage him as a righteous man, yet fault him for eating with sinners unworthily. As Christ said, "We played the flute for you and you did not dance; we sang a dirge for you and you did not beat your breasts" (Matthew 11:17). If he heals a blind man, you call him a sinner; if he eats with sinners, you disparage him as one who eats with sinners unworthily. What then? Should he not heal a blind man on the Sabbath, so that he is not thought a sinner? Should he not eat with tax collectors, so that he is suspected of being righteous? Why do you accuse him for going in to lodge with a man who is a sinner? Where should the light be placed except in the darkness? For the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it (John 1:5). Where should the physician go? Should he not run to the sick? For those who are strong have no need of a physician, but those who are ill (Matthew 9:12). Where should the Lamb of God appear? Should he not go to the tax collectors and sinners, so that, taking up their burden, he might [The text is damaged here.]? You revile him in vain. For what was spoken has been fulfilled in you: "Prostitutes and tax collectors are going before you into the kingdom of heaven" (Matthew 21:31).

And Zacchaeus stood and said to the Lord: "Look, I give half of my possessions to the poor, and if I have extorted anything from anyone, I repay it fourfold" (Luke 19:8). For I no longer endure wronging the poor, having received you, the shelter of the poor, into my house. I no longer tremble over the gathering of money; wealth. The text breaks off. No longer do I lie in wait at the gates of travelers, scheming in human form... [The text is damaged here.]

Being rich, he remained in poverty. "Foxes have holes and the birds of the air have nests, but you have nowhere to lay your head" (Matthew 8:20). Let courtyards and forecourts go, the grand works of builders, the shining and magnificent houses. In place of all these I seek your inexhaustible wealth of poverty. But since I cannot describe at greater length the wealth of Zacchaeus's soul, let us leave the word to the father who is rich in virtues. For it is fitting that the hospitable one should describe the virtues of the hospitable one—for his praise, for your strengthening, for the crown of the church, and for the honor of Christ, to whom be glory and power forever and ever. Amen.