Zacchaeus: The Gift of Smallness

He just couldn’t quite see. Even on tip toe. Those blasted average-height men with watermelon heads kept crowding in front of him. Frustrated, he cursed his small stature for the bazillionth time in his life, and glanced around. Aha! Pushing his way through the dusty swamp of sweaty shoulders, he scaled a tree and clung to the branches, squinting down the road. Yes! There he was! Jesus of Nazareth, the one they called Messiah, coming towards him!

Messiah stopped and looked up. He froze as they made eye-contact. In an instant he felt naked, hanging there on that branch, as the contents of his character was laid bare between them, he and this Jesus, the one who knew everything he had ever done, seeing through his very soul as though it were made of glass.

“Zacchaeus!” Messiah shouted, “Zacchaeus! Come down!”

I was reminded of little Zacchaeus the other day when the kids and I went to the park for a picnic lunch. The weather was perfect and we were desparate for some fresh air and sunshine, a much needed change of scenery. It’s been forever since I’ve purposefully taken pictures of anything, so I took my camera along, hoping to get some good shots of the kids. I got more than that.

I’ve always been captivated by trees. Trees make me feel peaceful and small in the best possible way. I just love the picture: brances reaching for heaven, roots hidden deep below the soil, drinking in water that can’t be seen, but is known by the lush green leaves clinging to it’s limbs, soaking up the sun.

Standing there beneath those towering trees, it occured me to me how often I am like Zacchaeus, resenting my smallness. Like him, I have felt the need to somehow overcome my lacking stature by climbing higher, trying to catch a glimpse of something greater. Trying to see. Trying to be seen.

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We despise being “small.” It’s gross near the ground. We scheme and strive to get ourselves up out of the dirt, away from the sweaty crowd and up into the tree where we think we can see more and breathe deeper. But the truth is, those spindly branches near the top are fine and frail and cannot hold our weight. The higher we get, the more danger we’re in.

And yet, Jesus calls me down from my precarious position, perched up there on those thin, flimsy branches near the top, and meets me low. On solid ground. Where the dust is.

Throughout the gospels, Jesus frequently admonishes adults to become “like little children,” but never once does he tell children to become like adults:

“Truly I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.” Matthew 18:3

This antithetical saviour turns everything upside down and inside out:

• Be gentle to extinguish wrath
• Hold your life tight and you will lose it
• Let go of your life and you will gain it
• The first shall be last
• The last shall be first
• Seek greatness and be brought low
• Seek low and be made great

And Jesus himself showed us how. The spotless lamb broke bread with sinners. The hands that formed Adam from the dirt washed the dirt from his disciples feet. The voice that spoke the earth into existance became a newborn’s cry. The king became servant, from throne of glory to animal trough. Jesus came low, and brought us the gift of small.

• Small does not carry the weight of the world
• Small does not bear the burden of provision
• Small enjoys the peace of a child along for the ride
• Small feels the joy of being carried along, on the strong, broad shoulders on which the government rests.

We need not climb the highest tree to grasp at greatness or to be seen by the living God. His kingdom realm is not high in the sky, just out of reach. It is way down low, at the base of the tree. He is waiting there, with dust on his feet, to keep company with us.

“Zacchaeus! Come down! I am coming to your house today!” (Luke 19:10)

What makes you feel small?