Fun Sized

 

Today we observe All Saints’ Day. It’s a day of remembrance: for the folks from this congregation who passed away in the last year, for our loved ones who passed recently, for our loved ones who passed years or even decades ago, and for the billions of souls in the history of the world who went on to life eternal. We didn’t know them, but God did. All those folks in heaven, and us here on earth, are connected through the Communion of Saints.

This is one of my favorite holidays in the entire church year, but it’s not the easiest one to present to you guys. We have some absolutely epic All Saints hymns, but they can be hard to sing, especially today’s closing hymn. I’m asking you to indulge me, and I don’t have something cute and simple like “Jingle Bells” to put in the order of service as a peace offering. We don’t carve pumpkins or turkeys or decorate a tree or make baskets for All Saints, we don’t give or receive presents, and I have no particular reason to give anyone chocolate on this holiday except that I still have leftovers from Halloween. Although, it’s worth noting, for those as nerdy as me: Halloween is a contraction for All Hallows Even, and the ancient Church recognized it as a lead in to All Saints Day. Our Latinx friends who celebrate Dia De Los Muertos have kept the holy connection for us all.

This is also a day where we talk a lot about death, and that makes folks uncomfortable. We don’t like death talk. It’s sad, it’s scary, it’s macabre, it’s a downer, let’s not. But death is a part of life, and we can’t talk about the gift of eternal life, and the majesty of our human connection in the Communion of Saints, if we don’t talk about death just a little. Put simply: if there’s no death, there’s no heaven. So how do we cross the divide? How do we make this palatable?

Luckily, and infamously, God has a sense of humor to get us through such a spot as this. We’ll see it in spades in this morning’s Gospel passage, about our friend Zacchaeus, but we also see it in our own observations of death, for those brave enough to look at it and laugh. I didn’t know that was possible in my younger years, but, I assure you, having officiated a ton of funerals, I’ve smiled and laughed at many of them. And if you need further proof that God welcomes us into open arms while laughing, do yourself a huge favor and Google “funny obituaries”. Yes, they exist, and they’re amazing. I found my favorite and I’m sharing it this morning to lift up but one member of the Communion of Saints, a real person who died in Mississippi in 2016.

“William Ziegler escaped this mortal realm on Friday, July 29, 2016 at the age of 69.  We think he did it on purpose to avoid having to make a decision in the pending presidential election.

He leaves behind four children, five grand-children, and the potted meat industry, for which he was an unofficial spokesman until dietary restrictions forced him to eat real food.

William volunteered for service in the United States Navy at the ripe old age of 17 and immediately realized he didn’t much enjoy being bossed around.  He only stuck it out for one war.  Before his discharge, however, the government exchanged numerous ribbons and medals for various honorable acts.

Upon his return to the City of New Orleans in 1971, thinking it best to keep an eye on him, government officials hired William as a fireman.  After twenty-five years, he suddenly realized that running away from burning buildings made more sense than running toward them.  He promptly retired.

Looking back, William stated that there was no better group of morons and mental patients than those he had the privilege of serving with (except Bob, he never liked you, Bob).

Following his wishes, there will not be a service, but well-wishers are encouraged to write a note of farewell on a Schaefer Light beer can and drink it in his honor.

He was never one for sentiment or religiosity, but he wanted you to know that if he owes you a beer, and if you can find him in Heaven, he will gladly allow you to buy him another.  He can likely be found forwarding tasteless internet jokes (check your spam folder, but don’t open these at work).

Expect to find an alcoholic dog named Judge passed out at his feet.  Unlike previous times, this is not a ploy to avoid creditors or old girlfriends.  He assures us that he is gone. He will be greatly missed.”

Published in The Times-Picayune on Aug. 12, 2016.

He lived. He died. He is remembered. By family, by us, and by God. His life made an impact on the world we know now, and the world to come. And it sounds like he was a hoot.

We receive little in the way of assurances in this life. It probably won’t be easy, and if your life is easy that’s likely to be because of undeserved privileges. Which brings us to the next point: life won’t be fair. Not anywhere near as much of life is under our control as we’d like. We may have big, loving families, or we might be lone wolves. We might have very successful, impactful careers, or we might be chronically unemployed. We might have one great love story, or several great love stories, or a few just ok love stories, or a string of relationships so fraught with tension their stories sound like Taylor Swift break up lyrics. We might have lots of superficial friends, or a few very beloved companions, or we might be dreadfully unpopular.

All the Divine promises us is also all we need: no matter what, we are known and loved by God.

Today’s Gospel story is of Jesus meeting someone who needed to hear that, on a day when Jesus was feeling exceptionally spunky. The man’s name was Zacchaeus, and he had a life that would have made for a rather boring obituary had he died before meeting Jesus: Zaccahaeus, day of birth unknown, parents unknown, no friends, no education, no hobbies. He was chief tax collector, so he was really good at shaking poor people down for money to give the rich Empire. Not exactly something to brag about. Died alone.

We’re beloved of God, no matter what. And yet, we care what kind of legacy we’d leave behind, and that’s not a bad thing. Zacchaeus didn’t seem confident he could change anything else about his life, but he wanted to catch a passing glimpse of Jesus, who was expected to pass through town.

And then the fun begins. Luke tells us that Zacchaeus was “short in stature”. We’ve feasted on this one detail in retelling this story, and taken it literally. Sunday school kids sing that Zacchaeus was a “wee little man”. We draw him in art as a short king. We nickname him the patron saint of the vertically challenged. I get it, if the story of Zacchaeus was adapted to film, he’d be played by Danny Devito.

But hold on, because it’s possible Luke intended a double meaning. Maybe Zacchaeus didn’t have a future in the NBA, but he was also short in status. He was shrunk down in the eyes of others. Weighed down and stooped over by his regret. Crunched.

But Jesus is the Savior who calls the little candy bar the fun sized one. And he has lots of fun with Zacchaeus. Zacchaeus wants to see Jesus, but refuses to commit to that. He decides to climb a tree to get a good look, blaming his height. But the truth is that Zacchaeus could have met Jesus down on the ground, and either maneuvered his way to the front, or asked for a boost. Instead, he hides. He wants the benefits of a glimpse of Jesus without paying the social cost of facing his neighbors, who hate him. Jesus is very socially intelligent, and figures all this out fast.

So, as Jesus passes by, he notices the grown man who suddenly decided to take up tree climbing as a hobby. Pretty conspicuous. Jessu could have ignored that, but he doesn’t ignore anything. Especially people. So rather than walk on by, Jesus decides to be conspicuous right back. He stops, gets everyone looking at him, and then looks up and says “Wow, would you look at that weird bird? Hey, Zacchaeus, get down here! Let’s have a sleepover!”

This ruffles all the feathers: Jesus is that guy who invites himself over to your house, and he’s staying with a man of ill repute, which doesn’t make him look good. But in making a big show of all this, Jesus forces Zacchaeus to do the right, responsible thing: to come down and look his neighbors in the eye, apologize, and make reparations.

No matter what, we’re loved, treasured, and remembered by God. No matter what, God closes the separations we make between ourselves in this life so that in the next, no one is up in a sycamore tree alone. We’re one. But we don’t need to be intimidated, ashamed, or depressed by this day, by death talk, or by the Communion of Saints that we’re already a part of. Jesus doesn’t. He laughs, because the big stuff is little to him, and the folks who might come off as small and irrelevant still have time to change that, with Jesus’ help, as long as they’re still here. To every person obscuring their face behind a tree branch, Jesus says: come down, say hi, and join your human family.

Thanks be to God. 

Amen.