The immediate forgiveness of Zacchaeus shows Yahweh, not our way

The immediate and scandalous forgiveness of Zacchaeus flips the table on man-made ‘justice’.

Luke’s choice of words is revealing: this chief tax collector “ran ahead and climbed a sycamore-fig tree” to “see who Jesus was”. His short stature may have driven his haste ahead of the ‘Palm Sunday’ procession.

Zacchaeus may have run for cover because of his reputation: a traitor who betrayed the children of Abraham by collecting taxes for their enemy – the Roman occupiers. It is easy to satirise this chief tax collector as someone who is metaphorically familiar with climbing tall trees. But among the swelling crowd, he may have been trampled on. Zacchaeus was a despised man whose heart sought to see Jesus “passing through”, but not be seen by anyone.

Imagine the scandal when Jesus stops the crowd, looks up and publicly calls this notorious ‘cheat’ by his name: ‘Come down immediately. I must stay at your house today.’

Among all the Jericho followers who would have been honoured if Jesus would ‘pick me!’, why would Jesus choose Zacchaeus to host his last stopover pre-Jerusalem?

The mutterers in the crowd could only see Zacchaeus as a ‘sinner’ – a permanent noun, not a temporary verb. But Jesus may have ‘seen’ the broken heart of a broken man who sought to ‘see’ Jesus.

Rather than hiding deeper within the tree to remain unseen, Zacchaeus felt safe enough to come down ‘at once.’

The supernatural act of grace by Jesus unleashed an act of restitution, with Zacchaeus addressing Jesus “Look, Lord”, rather than Master, Rabbi or Teacher. Now the invisible short man ‘stood up’, seeking to be seen and heard.

Zacchaeus makes amends ‘here and now’, rather than a future pledge.

He could have embarrassed Jesus and vindicated the muttering crowd by stopping short of any repentance. But he vindicated Jesus for this graceful gesture.

When Zacchaeus pledges to ‘pay back four times the amount’ that he had cheated anyone, this is 20 times more than Mosaic law requires: ‘They must make full restitution for the wrong they have done, add a fifth of the value to it and give it all to the person they have wronged’ (Numbers 5:7; Leviticus 5:16).

In response, Jesus continues the theme of immediacy and urgency: “Today salvation has come to this house.” This is prescient of what Jesus later tells the penitent Dismas on the cross: “today you will be with me in paradise” (Luke 23:43).

Next, Jesus promptly redeems and regrafts Zacchaeus to the Jewish family tree as a “son of Abraham”.

Finally, Jesus responds to the muttering about dining with sinners: “For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.” Just as Zacchaeus was seeking Jesus, perhaps the reverse was also true. How can Jesus save the lost if they are not both going out of their way to find each other?

This muttering is nothing new. The Pharisees asked the same question when Jesus first dined at Matthew’s house alongside other “tax collectors and sinners” (Matthew 9:11). On both occasions, Jesus reiterates his misunderstood mission: “I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners” (Matthew 9:13).

So why does Luke’s narrative on Zacchaeus highlight the theme of “immediately…at once…here and now…today…”?

This heavenly grace flies in the face of our earthly notions of justice and restitution. As a contemporary barometer, ‘The Five Languages of Forgiveness’ maps out the five sequential stages that ultimately lead to forgiveness: say sorry, accept responsibility, make restitution, from now on, seek forgiveness. It is a slow, protracted process of healing that sometimes escalates into litigation, compensation, investigation, adjournment, appeals, public shame, psychological assessments and victim impact statements.

This secular ‘solution’ may have been what was sought by the disgruntled brother in The Prodigal Son parable, whose graceful father ran to his disgraceful son with a familiar urgency: ‘Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him’ (Luke 15:22).

Yet the Zacchaeus narrative virtually works in reverse: Jesus immediately shows grace and forgiveness that may not have been earned or requested. The restitution and ‘from now on’ happen later.

Perhaps this Zacchaeus narrative exemplifies the Lord’s prayer, “Your will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven” (Matthew 6:10). Instead of publicly persecuting and prosecuting Zacchaeus, perhaps Jesus could see what we cannot see: this tormented soul persecuting himself, imprisoned in self-hatred. Instead of muttering about his past sins and baying for justice our way, Jesus may have been showing us a new way to the heart of Yahweh, as it is in heaven!

This was foreshadowed in the Old Testament: “as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways” (Isaiah 55:9). Do we still question and mutter about God’s grace?

The ‘Rich Man and Lazarus’, and its connections with a famous song

The ‘Rich Man and Lazarus’, and its connections with a famous song

First published in Sight Magazine, 18 July 2025

Open Book: The ‘Rich Man and Lazarus’, and its connections with a famous song

Read Luke 16:19-31 (NIV)

In my childhood, Rock My Soul in the Bosom of Abraham was a contagious chorus with an elusive verse: “so high you can’t get over it, so low you can’t get under it, so wide you can’t get around it, oh rocka ma soul.” What was ‘it’?

Why would a 175-year-old dead man (Genesis 25:7) be swaying my soul in his bosom?

This African-American ‘slave song’ describes the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus.

Jesus named the beggar at the rich man’s gate Lazarus, a Hellenised translation of the Hebrew Ele-azar (‘he whom God has helped’). This is an apt name given the preceding theme of eyes and hearts: Lazarus was invisible and insignificant to the rich man.”

For cultural context, this parable follows the parable of the shrewd manager, where Jesus responds to the “sneering” Pharisees: “You are the ones who justify yourselves in the eyes of others, but God knows your hearts” (Luke 16:15).

From his opening sentence of the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus, Jesus directs his coded language at the Pharisees who “loved money”.

If the rich man “lived in luxury every day”, then he ordered his servants to prepare food that “fell from his table”, even on the Sabbath. This is the Sabbath law that the Pharisees accused Jesus of breaking (Mark 2:23-24).

Jesus named the beggar at the rich man’s gate Lazarus, a Hellenised translation of the Hebrew Ele-azar (‘he whom God has helped’). This is an apt name given the preceding theme of eyes and hearts: Lazarus was invisible and insignificant to the rich man.

When the two characters died simultaneously, the rich man “looked up and saw Abraham far away, with Lazarus by his side”.

First, the rich man ‘in torment’ plays the race card and calls “Father Abraham”. In the Levant, this is called waasta – expecting favour due to connection, implying that this Jewish Patriarch should pity his own children before looking after some non-descript beggar. Whatever he wills should be done in heaven, as it was in his lifetime. This is the ironic antithesis of the Lord’s prayer: “on Earth as it is in heaven” (Matthew 6:10)

Second, the rich man treats Lazarus like one of his servants: “send Lazarus to dip his finger in water and cool my tongue”. The entitled eyes and unrepentant heart of the rich man persisted in the afterlife: he knew the beggar’s name but still refused to speak to him directly.

Father Abraham addresses the rich man as “son”, which surely renders “Lazarus by his side” as an invisible brother.

Abraham turns the tables, reminding the rich man “in your lifetime you received good things, while Lazarus received bad things, but now…”. The parable drives a wedge between the Pharisees and Sadducees as the latter do not believe in resurrection (Acts 23:8).

“But now…” highlights the ironic role reversal: Now the rich man is begging “have mercy on me”. Now the rich man is “in agony”. Now the rich man wishes to be seen as Ele-azar.

Abraham responds: “a great chasm has been set in place, so that those who want to go from here to you cannot”. Perhaps this is the origin of the Rock my Soul verse “so wide, you can’t get around it…”

Third, the rich man desperately begs for a miracle: “send Lazarus to my family, for I have five brothers. Let him warn them…”. Again, he speaks about Lazarus in the third person. Again, he relegates Lazarus: from waiter to messenger.

When Abraham declines this last request, the rich man pleads “if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent”.

The ironies are falling off his table!

Why has the rich man refused to repent or apologise directly to Lazarus?

If the black-and-white writings of ‘Moses and the Prophets’ cannot incite repentance, why would the rich man’s five brothers be convinced by the apparition of the familiar beggar whom they probably stepped over at their brother’s gate?

Is it coincidental that the Sadducee high priest Caiaphas had exactly five brothers-in-law and were all priests?

When Jesus later raised the ‘real’ Lazarus from the dead, the chief priests plotted to kill both of them (John 12:9-10), rather than repent.

The parable provides a salient warning that despite how you “justify yourselves in the eyes of others, God knows your hearts”. While wealth, reputation, waasta, sickness and poverty are all left behind, only the colour of the heart persists. The rich man remained ‘dressed in purple’, refusing to see beggar as a brother. Lazarus remained silent throughout the parable, never cursing the rich man.

Circling back to the Rock my Soul ditty, there is an inescapable coincidence: Abraham was born around 2000 BC in the ancient Sumerian city of Ur, now in Southern Iraq. All three monotheistic faiths revere Abraham. While Ab-raham means ‘father of many nations’ in Hebrew, raham/racham also means womb and mercy in local Semitic languages, especially around Ur.

How apt that Lazarus is shown mercy as he is welcomed home to the womb/bosom of Father Abraham.