Zaccheus the Conscious-Struck

The name of Zaccheus occupies only a few verses of St. Luke’s Gospel. It does not occur in any other Gospel, and throughout the Scriptures it is never mentioned again. But a man’s place in the Gallery is by no means determined by his prominence in the Record. What decides a man’s place in the Gallery is his uniqueness. Is there anything in his face or figure which separates him from all the surrounding portraits.-’ If there is, then, however seldom he may be alluded to, he is entitled to a prominent position in the Scripture Gallery; if there is not, then, however frequent be the recurrence of his name, he has no right to a distinctive place. The question is. Has Zaccheus anything new to say — anything that has not been said by Peter

or John or Philip or Thomas or Nathanael .-* Is iq6 the phase of Christianity which he expresses different from the phases which have been previously expressed? Does he stand for a class which has not been already accounted for; does he represent a section of mankind who have as yet received no spokesman? Then is he amply entitled to occupy a front ground in that great collection of portraits which has conveyed to all times the separate phases of the Christian life.

And I say that Zaccheus is such a man. He flashes out a new shade of colour in the Great Gallery. He is not exactly like any of his predecessors. The nearest approach to him is Matthew — both were publicans. Yet, unhke Matthew, Zaccheus was not an object of personal recrimination to his countrymen. He was not, as Matthew was, a subordinate who collected the taxes. He was a mas Ur-puhlican — a rich man living in Jericho who simply estimated the revenues and reported them to the government. The fruits of his conversion no doubt resembled those brought forth by Matthew, and this is easily explained by the identity of their professions. But the men originally were very different, Matthew was a man with no interest in life; Zaccheus is essentially the reverse — a man of curiosity. Matthew had slow pulses; the heart of Zaccheus beat rapidly. Matthew needed to be called; Zaccheus took the initiative. Matthew required stirring up; Zaccheus would run a race or climb a tree in the eagerness to secure his object.

If I were asked to state in a sentence what Zaccheus represents, I should say he stands for the average man wakened by conscience. Hitherto in this Gallery we have not seen the average man. We have seen men whose likeness will be found in every age and clime; but that does not make one an average man. Peculiarities may be reproduced in every age and clime; but they will not be reproduced over the whole mass. Peter is not an average man; he is the specimen of a type of mind. John is not an average man; he is the representative of a class. Nathanael and Nicodemus and Thomas and Philip are not average men; they stand for particular phases of human nature. But Zaccheus belongs to the majority. There is nothing peculiar about him, nothing marked, nothing uncommon. His special feature is his want of specialty; it is a feature which we have never met before, and which in the remaining figures we shall not meet again. Everything about his character is middle-sized. Physically, he is of short stature; but mentally, he is neither short nor tall. He is neither a paragon of excellence nor a monster of wickedness. He is not a hero and he is not a demon. He has many good points, but they never blaze; he has many bad points, but they never freeze. He is the average man. He is as virtuous as his neighbours. He never transgresses use and wont. He does nothing wrong in the way of business for which he cannot quote a precedent. He may overleap the laws of rectitude; but he would be miserable to be told that he had violated the mercantile standard of those around him. He lives up to his own measurement; but he measures himself by the mass.

Such is my reading of the original character of Zaccheus. He was a man who was always standing before a judgment -throne to give an account of what he had done; but it was not the judgment-throne of Christ. It was the throne of public opinion before which he stood — the standard of those within his immediate environment. When he transgressed that tribunal, his conscience troubled him; but the tribunal itself was a very inferior one — his conscience ought to have demanded more. What he needed was to have his conscience placed at the bar of a higher throne of judgment. He required to see a loftier ideal, to feel the presence of a more exacting law. Our first impression is that a man of such a comparatively correct life is favourable soil for the planting of Christian seed. It appears easier to convert him than one who is down in the depths. But I think this impression is erroneous. There is none so difficult to move upward as the average man — none whom it is so hard to quicken into a Christian conscience. And the reason is that the man has a conscience already of a very keen though very inferior stamp. The tribunal of public opinion blunts him to every other tribunal. He is lulled into complacency. The judgment-throne is low-set, but it is the highest he has known, and it has been his standard through life. He has always reverenced the average — the golden mean. Christianity makes its appeal to something abnormal — to those who feel as if they were below the average, as if they were the chief of sinners, as if they could only beat upon their breast and cry, ‘Unclean! ‘The man who lives in Jericho and is content with the consciousness that he is up to the average life of Jericho has a natural disqualification for meetmg Christ — the disqualification of those who think they have already attained.

What enabled Zaccheus to surmount this natural barrier? Strange to say, it was the fact that his religious deficiency was counterbalanced by a purely secular impulse — the spirit of curiosity. The picture as delineated in the Gallery is graphic. Jesus is coming to Jericho, and Jericho is on fire with expectation. His fame has gone before Him. Crowds have gathered in the streets to await His arrival — anxious inquirers about the health of body or soul. Zaccheus is anxious neither about body nor soul; but he is eager to see. If he has any concern, it is about his physical limitations. How shall a small man like him be able to procure a sight of Jesus with such a dense phalanx in front of him! An idea strikes him. He feels sure that Jesus will not address the people while they are in the streets — He will advance into the open and let the multitude follow Him. Little Zaccheus will get ahead of them. He will run before into the woodlands and climb up to the branch of a tree, where his small stature will be compensated by artificial height and he will see over the heads of taller men.

Now, I venture to say that in all the Gospel narrative this is a unique approach to the person of Christ. All the others were either answers to His own invitation or advances of the sufferer impelled by human pain. Here is a man who has not been called and who has not been afflicted. He has neither been summoned from the receipt of custom like Matthew nor driven by the burden of sorrow like Jairus.

He has no ailment about him, no depression about him. He is alive with the spirit of youth, and he is brought by an impulse which is the very index of the youthful spirit — curiosity. Unique as it is in the Gospel, it is ever the approach of the average man towards every great and good thing. It is the child’s attraction to school, the boy’s attraction to knowledge, the youth’s attraction to travel, the man’s attraction to nature. Announce a descriptive lecture on Palestine illustrated by the magic-lantern, and the young people will come in crowds. They will not be drawn by the promised description nor even by the promised illustration of it — an interest in Palestine requires mental development. They will be attracted by the magic - lantern itself; the scenes depicted will be interesting not as scenes of Palestine, but as feats of pictorial transformation. Yet, who does not see that in the future the memory of these things will become grapes of Eshcol. What is now a mere source of curiosity will come to the mature mind as a hallowed remembrance clothing in form and colour those spots of sacred story which would otherwise convey nothing but a name.

Zaccheus came to the temple of Christian truth as the average man is led to all truth — on the wings of curiosity. His was apparently the lowest motive in all that crowd. Yet he is singled out as if he were the hero of the crowd. To him, sitting in his sycamore tree, the voice of Jesus cries, * Make haste, Zaccheus, and come down, for to-day I must abide at thy house. ‘The favour is so great, and the privilege so well-nigh unparalleled, that we are tempted to ask if we have not underrated the spirit of curiosity. Surely the Master must have seen in this man’s motive something more than we see — something which placed him on a higher level than those who had come to be cured of bodily maladies! Can it be that there is after all a mental element in curiosity — an element which is indicative of the character and predictive of the life! Let us see.

There is to my mind a great resemblance between the spirit of curiosity and the spirit of prayer. Neither of them is in itself either good or bad; it depends on what you are curious about, it depends on what you are in want of. Prayer may be of three kinds — immoral, non-moral, or moral. If I ask for vengeance on an enemy, that is immoral prayer. If I ask for a chariot and horses, that is non-moral prayer — it is neither saintly not sinful, but purely secular. If I ask to be made holy, harmless, and undefiled, that is moral prayer — it is a sign of incipient purity. So, also, there are three kinds of curiosity — immoral, non-moral, and moral. If I am eager to see a bull-fight, that is immoral curiosity — it is a wish to view pain. If I am eager to see a man who professes to lift heavy weights, that is non-moral curiosity — it is neither good nor bad. If I am eager to hear a great preacher who has for months been attracting crowds around him, then, even though it may be accompanied by no anxiety about my spiritual state, that is moral curiosity — it indicates a listening attitude in the human soul and the presence of an open door.

I do not wonder, then, that Zaccheus was singled out from the multitude. His body was on a sycamore tree and was therefore easily distinguishable. But his soul was also on a sycamore tree — raised above the crowd. His very physical elevation, separating him as it did from outward contact with Jesus, showed that he wanted nothing physical — that his motive was curiosity of mind. I do not wonder that this approach, prayerless as it was, impersonal as it was, unsolicitous as it was, made an impression on Jesus beyond the common cries for bread and sustenance. It was like the impression made on Him by Thomas. But Thomas came with low hope — if he asked nothing it was because he expected nothing. Zaccheus had the spirit of youth; his hopes were high; only, they were mental hopes. He swung up his little body beyond the reach of temporal help; but he bent the eye of his soul upon the vision of Jesus. What he wanted to see was a spiritual glory, and Christ rated the man according to his desire. He picked him out from the mass and said, ‘I must abide at thy house to-day. ’

I wish here to direct attention to a frequent peculiarity in the method of Jesus. When He is about to confer a favour on any one, He often begins by asking a favour from hhn. However dimly Zaccheus is aware of his mental need, Jesus knows it very well and is prepared to remedy it. Yet, instead of telling him that he is a poor creature requiring Divine aid, He asks aid from him. He says, * I require shelter to-night; no house will be so convenient for me as yours; can you give me room .-” We see the same thing in the case of the woman of Samaria, where He begins by asking a drink of water. We see it in the case of Magdalene, where He allows her service to precede His cure. We see it in His acceptance of the invitation to abide at Emmaus. We see it in His receiving of hospitality at many a feast. We see it in His submission to the outpouring on His person of the costliest ointment, and in His willingness to partake of material comforts from the hands of the women of Galilee.

These facts are not accidental. They are a part of the deep moral insight of Jesus. What is the relation which He wishes to establish between Himself and His followers? It is one of communion. Now, communion cannot be on one side. It is not possible that such a relation can exist between any two minds if the one is active and the other passive. There is nothing so paralysing as the perpetual receiving of benefits. Even in a case of forgiveness the delinquent should be allowed to do something for his pardoner. If I have offended you, there is a breach between us; and that breach is not healed by the mere fact that you forgive me. Even after the forgiveness, I am still in the valley and you on the mount. It is not enough that you descend to me; I must be allowed to meet you half-way. Pardon is not reconciliation. In one sense it is the reverse of reconciliation, for it emphasises the difference between your height and my depth. Reconciliation seeks to abolish that difference. It aims to break inequality, to restore communion. It cannot restore communion while the sacrifice is all on one side. I who am pardoned must be suffered to do something for you the pardoner. It is not enough that you bring forth the best robe and put it on me; I must be allowed to give a garment to you. Christ is coming to pardon Zaccheus; but He does not want this pardon to leave Zaccheus in the valley. He desires him to have a memory that he too was the bestower of a gift, that he was able to extend a courtesy in return for favours received. And so, with a fine touch of gracefulness, He makes it appear as if the favour were to Him. He asks hospitality, shelter, companionship for the day. As He had begged the Samaritan for a draught from the well, He begs Zaccheus to make Him a guest for the hour; and in both cases for the same reason — that the mind, before its vision, may have a sense of independent dignity.

Jesus, then, became for one day the guest of Zaccheus; and at the evening-time there dawned for him a great light. It was a light which rose upon his conscience. He stood before a new judgment-seat; and there sat on it ’ one like unto a son of man. ‘Hitherto, the arbiter of his conscience had been public opinion. Suddenly public opinion became valueless. All the 14 social magnates fled from his throne, and in their place there stood one solitary figure wielding the sceptre over his heart and giving the law to his life. In the morning he had said, ‘How will society regard me? ’ in the evening his question is, ‘What will Jesus say? ‘In the morning he was comforted by the low standard of a multitude; in the evening he is ruffled by the lofty standard of One. In the morning he was self-complacent by viewing the numbers on his own road; in the evening he is perturbed by the sight of a single individual on the summit of a commanding hill.

Yet, there is something startling about this revival in the conscience of Zaccheus. It is not exactly what we should expect. We expect to see an awakened man bow his head and cry, ‘Lord, be merciful to me, a sinner! ‘Zaccheus feels himself to be in moral debt; but, strange to say, it is to man. He has two cries of remorse; but they are both for the human. He feels he has done too little good, and he feels he has done too much bad. He wants to remedy both — the one by charity and the other by compensation, ‘The half of my goods I give to the poor, and if I have taken any thing from any man by false accusation, I restore him fourfold. ‘We hear the same double cry from the lips of Matthew; he makes a feast to express his charity, and he writes a Gospel to redeem his want of patriotism. But the strange thing is that these men should not have first wished to put themselves right with God. When David kills Uriah, he takes a theological view of the matter, and cries, in the psalm traditionally attributed to him, * Against Thee, Thee only, have I sinned, and done this evil in TJiy sight.’ Why should Zaccheus take a human view of the matter! Why should he allow the injury to his fellow-creatures to obscure his sense of an offended Lawgiver! Why should he look with dismay on what he has failed to do and what he has done amiss for humanity when there is another and a graver subject which should press upon his thoughts — his violation of the statutes of heaven, his breaking of the commandments of God!

But look deeper. Do you suppose Zaccheus thought this ’ another subject ‘! Do you think that when he lamented his shortcomings towards his fellow-men he regarded himself in any other light than as a transgressor of Divine law! Remember into what he had been baptised that day! He had accepted a new definition of God — had said, ‘God is love. ‘What did that mean? It meant that for him in all time to come the law of God was broken when the rights of man were violated. It meant that to outrage the justice of God was to trample on the heart of his brothers. It meant that to leave poverty unassisted, to pass privation unpitied, to turn aside from the sight of struggle and pain, was to commit sacrilege against the Divine mercy-seat, to stain the steps of the altar of sacrifice. It meant that, if Zaccheus were conscious of an unpaid debt to man, it was really the consciousness of an unpaid debt to God, and that the road to atonement with God was through the rehabilitation of man. That was the new view which burst upon the soul of this man of Jericho. It was a view which embodied the whole doctrine of the coming Calvary. It taught that the way to reconciliation with the Father is to lay down life for the brethren, and that to atone for past sin is to bear the cross of humanity. It was really an annulling of the distinction between the secular and the sacred. To the eye of Zaccheus all duties became church duties. His receipt of custom became a Divine service to be piously performed. The exchange took the sanctity of a temple. The gifts bestowed upon the widow and the orphan were treasures lent to the Lord. The coin laid on the lap of poverty was a holy offering to heaven. The raising of a life from secular want and temporal despair was the building of a new synagogue which one day might be fit for the habitation of the King of kings.

And this union of the secular and the sacred within the heart of Zaccheus explains something which separates his call from most other Gospel calls — which gives it an aspect more consonant with modern than with ancient life. When Christ summoned men to join His standard, the ooedience to the summons commonly involved a change of occupation. ‘We have left all.

and followed Thee’ is the cry of the disciples. The fishermen of Galilee were transformed into fishers of human souls; Peter, Andrew, James, John, Philip, forsook their nets when they became members of the league of pity. Matthew himself, whose case is the most analogous to that of Zaccheus, is called out of his profession; he leaves the business of tax-gathering when he follows Jesus. But Zaccheus gets no such command. The change wrought in him is all within. He is not told to give up his trade, to abandon his daily resorts, to quit the exchange and the market-place. He is not led to think that the employment he has been pursuing is common or unclean. Rather does there flash upon him the knowledge that he has been polluting that which is holy, staining that which is sacred, soiling that which is Divine. There breaks upon him the conviction that to be a good man he needs not the wings of a dove to fly away — that he may stand here and be holy, work here and be pure, toil amid the perishable things of time and yet perform the deeds of a saint of the Most High. I think there is something very fine in the fact that, amid the many Gospel pictures of men leaving the old world to win the new, there is one which depicts a human soul in a different attitude — as impregnating with its own purity the things among which all along it has lived and moved and had its being.

ABIDE in my house one day, O Son of Man! A voice has sung in Thy praise, ‘I triumph still if Thou abide with me. ‘Yet it is not for the triumph I need Thine abiding; it is rather for the overshadowing of my too-triumphant self. I am ever triumphant in myself when Thou art not with me. I am like the artist that has never seen a picture but his own. He is very proud of his own, for he has no artistic conscience to see its blemishes. He will never be great till he sees its blemishes — till one of the master-painters come and ‘abide’ with him. I too am without conscience till Thy coming. I cannot see my spots till the sun rise. It is not my blemishes which drive me to Thy light; it is Thy light which drives me to my blemishes. Never can I learn the poverty of my own painting until Thy portrait is hung upon my wall. Then my true conscience will be born; then shall I realise my own nothingness. From Thy light shall come my loathing; from Thy beauty shall come my burden; from Thy song shall come my sigh. I shall be dissatisfied in the dawn. I shall be humbled on the height. I shall be convicted when I put on the crown. Rise upon my night that I may know my night! Sing in my silence that I may search my silence! Shine in my heart that I may hate my heart! Flood me with Thy love that I may learn my lovelessness! Touch me with Thy peace that I may perceive my pain! Take me up to the mount, O Lord, take me up to the mount! for only in Thy pure air shall I find my foulness, and only in an upper room shall I discover the depth below. I shall cease to triumph in myself if Thou shalt * abide with me. ’