Advent 1 30 /11/25
Who’s In The Pub? Zacchaeus?
“And Mary gave birth to her firstborn son, wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.”
While the focus is rightly on the Blessed Virgin Mary and her newborn son, I can’t help but wonder who else might have been at the inn that night. Who else got in ahead of them and actually remembered to book, as clearly Joseph did not or could not, have emailed ahead.
During this Advent, we’ll be having a bit of play with some of these forward-thinking characters and what they might have to teach us. The theme for this Advent is ‘Who’s in the pub?’
Today I’d like to speculate that a tax collector called Zacchaeus might have been one of those at the inn. My thinking is that the Nazareth Hotel at census time would have been exactly where our friend Zacchaeus would have placed himself. On this night and in this place, there is lashings of money to make.
Luke is the only gospel to record the story of the short-statured gentleman, and he only occurs in the story of the sycamore tree and the crowds. But it is this story that we get a glimpse of the sorts of people that the Master came to love, redeem and take pleasure in.
In the story of Zacchaeus up a tree, we see someone eager to see the master, but he can’t see because of the crowds. We sense not only his eagerness but also his frustration and see his inventiveness to get a glimpse of what has been invisible to him. And I wonder what it is that sometimes crowds out the Master that we know we need. The one we long for and the only one who can actually begin to put things right.
Where did Zacchaeus’ drive come from, and when did the sense of wanting to put things right begin? Perhaps what we see in this story of Zacchaeus really began one night in Nazareth.
Being short of stature, he has to sit on a tall barstool. There he is swilling the good quality cabernet, nibbling on some nuts and olives, all charm and palaver, making oodles of money, but all the time he has a sinking feeling that this is not all there is. It is all so hollow. He never really knows who truly likes him, or not, but he has a fair idea that most don’t and out of fear, they will never tell him. Zacchaeus has the power after all.
His conversations this chilly night are courteous and thin. Manners and business are all there is. Deep down, at that level where the dollars do not count, but faith, trust and sacrifice do, Zacchaeus is actually bankrupt. He knows all this but chooses to wash it away with another glass of house red.
Perhaps it is in that seedy establishment with its dim lighting and the swirling sticky pub carpet, that the imperative to actually seek out that something more, that deeper something that Zacchaeus knows he needs and which we know we need as well.
But there is a mirror quirk in the story of the crowds and the sycamore tree. Not only is Zacchaeus urgent in his endeavours, but it seems that the Master is just as emphatic that something needs to happen. Like now.
“Zacchaeus, come down immediately. I must stay at your house today.”
In our quest for the divine, we can easily forget that the Master is far more urgent in his endeavours to seek us out than we are in our attempts to find him.
Whilst Zacchaeus swirls the dark red wine in his cup, perhaps these postulations are beginning to swirl in his soul. He is lost in his thoughts, the wine and the banter of the crowded bar. When all of a sudden there is a loud, urgent knock on the door, and there stands a rough-hewn, grubby carpenter and a teenage girl in labour.
“Jesus, Master carpenter, when you knock upon the woodenness of our indifference and sloth, give us the will to open the door and greet your arrival with joy. Grant us the strength to open our souls, our lives and our hearts to you. Step across the threshold of our complacency and lodge within us. Weep, dance and laugh with us. Make us uncomfortable, surprise us, disturb us, disquiet us and challenge us. Replenish us when our cup has run dry, and when we are famished, nourish us with the bread of life. And finally, when our earthly temple collapses in death, bring us to the home you have prepared for us, where your eternal banquet goes on forever and ever, Amen.”