Daily life journal entry: Zacchaeus.
My parents gave me the Israelite name Zacchaeus, meaning pure, a name I did not live up to until Jesus, the Messiah, invited me to a meal at my house. I grew up an outsider in a Jewish society. They called me “impure brood”, “heathen blood”, “traitor”, and “short root”. No one wanted to be my friend. I was an outcast in the poor neighborhood of my youth.
I determined that religion is full of bigots and hypocrites. I abandoned the pure life my parents wanted for me and pursued wealth so I could gain influence over the people who humiliated and alienated me in my youth. Through ruthless hard work, I rose through the tax collector ranks, became the chief tax collector in the second most prosperous territory in Palestine, and lived in Herod the Great’s newly constructed palace garden oasis estates. However, no matter how hard and ruthlessly I worked for Rome, the satisfaction I sought always seemed a hand-grip away.
One winter after the Feast of Dedication (Hanukkah in December), I began hearing reports (part of my job) of a Jewish rabbi who routinely performs miracles and draws large crowds to hear his teachings. Reports came to my attention that this rabbi caused a man named Lazarus, who was in the grave for four days, to rise from the dead. Normally, I would reject such reports as fantasy. However, I also heard that this rabbi has a former tax collector, a former zealot or two, and fishermen as important disciples. I wondered what kind of Jewish rabbi would have such ridiculous disciples. One of seventy-seven disciples this rabbi sent out before he arrived in my city, I interviewed and confirmed these reports and more (Luke 10:1).
When this unusual rabbi Jesus finally approached Jericho, I ran east down the Roman road the fastest my short legs could move me, to the old city gates to see him. Since I am slower and smaller than most, and a large crowd was traveling with him, I could not see him when I finally arrived at the gate (3). It was very noisy; some blind men cried out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me,” and were being rebuked (18:38-39). I needed to get higher to see him. So, I ran west down the Roman road to the sycamore-fig tree grove and climbed one. The spring fruit was ripening, and wasps were swarming. Climbing was difficult, and I was wearing one of my best suits. I did not care. I was so determined to see this unusual rabbi.
Part #2 in the next BDBD.
