30 Oct SUNDAY, OCTOBER 30, 2022

You just heard words of hope in today’s gospel text. And you know that what I’m going to say not only applies to Jesus and Zacchaeus. It applies to us. I’ll include a personal story to illustrate the point of Luke telling the story. And keep in mind, the analogy points to church life, as well.

Jesus completely transforms the life of one individual. As a result, all lives tangentially connected are changed. Through one brief encounter, witnesses experience the way God works firsthand. The parties involved realize they’re part of a larger plan conceived well in advance. The day’s original goals were just God’s way of getting folks dressed and out of the house.

Nothing fortuitous would ever have happened had not each made the effort to show up. We have to be present if we’re ever going to have opportunities to act for the sake of another. If we don’t show up in person, no one can make a request of us and we won’t be able to respond in kind.

Options only increase when people present themselves. As wonderful as it is to see material goods and offerings appear by mail or be dropped off, it’s not the same as seeing people materialize in person. It’s the same as ordering things online. They come and we get what we want but lack interaction with real people.

Without real people, circumstances become routine, even dire.

With

real people, things get interesting, even critically lifesaving. In many cases, one person can’t take the place of another. So unless you must be there for someone at home, might you aim to leave where you are and travel? Like Zacchaeus, might you aim to rise above the crowd? Doing so might not only change your field of vision, but your entire perspective on life.

Victory happens by degrees. Temporary situations open people up. All God needs is one opportunity.

Knowing that a direct brief encounter can be transformative is encouraging news when all we hear is how things will get worse unless major change happens, unless this person is replaced, unless control is regained or territory reclaimed. Jesus says, “Victory happens by degrees. Temporary situations open people up. All God needs is one opportunity. Let me help you gain attention. If you’re willing to show up, I’ll make it worth your while. The future can be better than the past.

What happens in Jericho contrasts with the way humans usually think. That people won’t act unless motivated by fear, unless candidates or products are labeled dangerous. In contrast to fear being the greatest motivating force, the story of today’s gospel text deems curiosity a good thing. See for yourself how people with a certain reputation look or act. Hear what they say directly. That’ll help sort out who they are and what motivates their heart.

Division is prevalent, conversations are negative, and people seem entrenched in their beliefs based on personal conviction and a desire for certainty. How much do you really know based on firsthand knowledge vs. what others choose to show you? Zacchaeus proved he was ready for his way of being to be challenged and his perspective changed by encountering Jesus. Can we prove ready?

See Jesus with your own eyes, not through the eyes of anyone else. Aim for a personal encounter. Like Zacchaeus, we cannot see for ourselves so must determine to change our vantage point, not rely on what others see or their descriptions.

Like Zacchaeus and Jesus, be willing to do some legwork. Don’t take the word of others or form opinions based on what others say. See for yourselves how others appear. See where and how they live, and who their companions are in real life.

Jesus passes by everyday. When’s the last time you ran ahead and climbed to see him hoping for a  1:1 encounter like Zacchaeus? The Holy Spirit was at work in both he and Jesus, inspiring both of their efforts, conversations and actions.

Transformation began the moment Zacchaeus left home. It continued as he persisted though his efforts were frustrated and thwarted. There was nothing wrong with adopting a perch that allowed a view from above. Recognizing his own limitations was part of the process and motivation in itself.

Steve and I attempted to go the distance of Lakeside Trail at

Gifford Pinchot State Park last Saturday. When we started out, a yellow sign labeled the trail EASY. We met a scout troop. Their leaders said the loop was about 10 miles long and took them roughly four hours, not counting time to eat and fish a while.

The Scoutmaster appeared to assess our capability. After glancing at our walking sticks, hats and packs, he advised, “Just keep the lake to your left.” The scouts looked tired, but not near as tired as the mom towing the line at the rear, lol.

The sun was shining; the time, about one. We’d just eaten PB&J sandwiches; I’d packed juice boxes and bags of pretzels for each of us. Even Sophie, the dog, had a water bottle. “Shall we do it,” I asked Steve.

The only things to consider were the lengths of time and distance. Though both were three times longer than usual, we seized the opportunity with the same spirit of adventure that Jesus and Zacchaeus.

This opportunity was limited by time, time usually consumed traveling  elsewhere or doing a job. Why not seize the day and put in effort to experience firsthand what others had? Steve and I said that because everyone we met approached us coming the other way. Guess we started at the opposite end. As the day grew longer, we traveled alone more, unless you count the handheld free All Trails app.

After hours of hiking and all our snacks eaten, we seemed to be in the home stretch. Not too long ago, we’d exited the woods to see lots, pavilions and playgrounds similar to those where we parked and ran into a few more folks going the opposite way.

The next time we exited woods we faced a road across from a boat launch. I approached a young woman with two dachshunds who told us the “lake” was 45 minutes back where we just came. How could that be? For hours, we heard people laughing, occasional music and could catch glimpses of glimmering water.

True, sometimes, the trail markers alternated from yellow to blue, and the names changed from Lakeside to Quail Race. Alas, now we were seeing new signs, the start of Beaver Trail. The lake was nowhere in sight.

It was after 5. Steve’s phone was almost dead. Even Sophie quit charging ahead and asked to be carried. All I wanted was to return to my car, to be safe and literally out of the woods. I saw a man with a modest pickup begin to pull up a modest fishing boat onto his trailer.

He began to lift or tie down equipment and other gear as needed, not realizing he was about to be knighted. I asked if he’d consider giving us a ride. He asked, “Where’d you park,” and I couldn’t tell him right away. I was so flustered. After pulling out my phone to check, I discovered we were 4.3 miles from there, a distance insurmountable whether darkness approached or not.

He said, “I don’t have a lot of room, you’re going to have to squeeze in.” That was understandable. You could tell this was his fishing truck, not a passenger vehicle. I explained my willingness to ride on the bumper if he’d just get us back to our car.

In the truck bed, I noticed lots of five gallon buckets with lids. His fishing boat was the same length and shape as the one my dad owned, perfect for going out on shallow water in creeks. The man wore jeans and a sweatshirt with a construction logo. By fishermen’s standards, he was especially clean and clean cut with graying hair.

I slid across the bench seat to sit next to the man with Sophie on my lap knowing I would appear less threatening than another man. He told Steve, “You’re going to have to pull that door shut with some force ‘cause it sticks,” as the metal and hinge creaked in an old familiar way. We exchanged conversation as the GPS gave directions. Finally, we arrived at the entrance of the Conewago Day Use Area.

I said, “I’ll feel better if you let me offer you something once I get to my car.” He said, “It doesn’t matter,” but it did. He could have refused my request or made some excuse. Instead he told us that he had been right where he dropped us off hours earlier but left to try fishing where we ended up. He told us that normally he would have been home by now, but his wife had said, “Stay out as long as you like.” When he got home, he could tell her that he hadn’t caught any fish, but had rescued a couple hikers in their sixties and their dog named Sophie.

You see, God has foreknowledge of where people end up. He knows our favorite spots and our vantage spots. He’s aware of what citizens across the globe deal with, knowing better than anyone the lay of the land, the levels of difficulty and perspective. He understands the demographic profiles and mindsets held by companions, onlookers, even foes.

His strategy is not to badmouth anyone, though it is what the crowd does as they grumble and label each other according to occupation, looks, previous behavior, property owned or general stereotypes.

Two days before, I witnessed a shameful display of racism by one youth directed toward two others walking alone. The plight of Steve and I seemed like a perfect opportunity to see whether race would color how we and the gentleman viewed each other. It was encouraging to break through a social barrier. It was enlightening to be in a place of need rather than place of privilege. It felt good for all parties to trust and be received at face value, at their word without misgivings.

Like Zacchaeus, the man did not delay to welcome us. In fact, he immediately moved a lure full of hooks stuck in an open ashtray upon noticing that’s where Sophie’s tail would go. It seemed unusual that the man thanked us as he drove away. But I understood his gratitude to entail more than compensation for gas/inconvenience. I believe it was gratitude we shared, for the Holy Spirit working in all of us, inspiring our words and actions, creating willingness and generosity.

Only moments before 5 PM, we were all disappointed. Though the day had been filled with joyous moments, it had not produced desired outcomes. God knew what was needed for our journeys and the time to not seem wasted. Let us pray.

Lord, make us want to see for ourselves, to know what it’s like to encounter the other, to overcome our tendency to stick with the familiar. Help us trust the unknown without being foolish. Open us to both give and receive by the inspiration of your Holy Spirit. Thank you for always coming to seek and save the lost. In your holy name we pray. Amen.