Hobnobbing and Eating with Sinners
November 4, 2007, 31st Sunday of Ordinary Time
Wisdom 11:22-12:2 II Thessalonians 1:11-2:2 Luke 19:1-10
To the church in the diaspora[1]
& to the church of the unchurched[2]
Alleluia, alleluia.
A reading from the holy Gospel according to Luke.
Glory to you, Lord.
At that time, Jesus came to Jericho and intended to pass through the town. Now a man there named Zacchaeus, who was the chief tax collector in Jericho and a very wealthy man, was trying to get a glimpse of Jesus, but he couldn’t because of the crowds, for he was short in stature. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree in order to see Jesus passing by. Drawing near, Jesus called up to him, saying, "Zacchaeus, come down quickly, for I would like to eat supper with you tonight.” He came down quickly and received Jesus into his house with great joy. When the crowds saw this, they were displeased and began to grumble, saying, "He has gone to be a guest at the house of a notorious sinner." But Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, “Sir, from now on I will give half my wealth to the poor, and if I have overcharged anyone on his taxes, I will penalize myself by giving him back four times as much.” And Jesus said to him, "Today salvation has come to this house. This man was one of the lost sons of Abraham, and I, the Son of Man, have come to search for and save such souls as his."
The Gospel of the Lord.
Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.
Introduction
The secular and liturgical calendar
On the secular calendar the first Sunday of November directs us to put an end to saving time and to switch back to God’s time. Though it’s November already, an honest-to-God frost hasn’t hit us yet in Wisconsin. The cool evenings are splashing the geraniums (fall’s last hold-outs) with deep hues, in a kind of swan song to summer 2007. Soon the first dusting of snow will evoke the emotions of the great feasts ahead. Soon it will be over the river and through the woods to grandmother's house we go for Thanksgiving. After that we'll be dreaming of a white Christmas.
On our liturgical calendar November 1 is always the feast of all the saints who are hobnobbing and eating with each other in the Banquet of Eternal Life. Some scholars think the feast was originally an old Irish observance which spread to England and finally to Rome in the late 11th century. On All Saints we “rejoice in all the holy men and women of every time and place” (opening prayer of the day). That’s a multitude which no one can count (Rev 7:9). That’s a multitude which not even the church can adequately count with her official list of canonized saints, for the best of the saints have not and never will be canonized.
Jesus hobnobbing with sinners
Last week Jesus told a parable about a tax collector who with a Pharisee went up to the temple to pray. Tax collectors were Jews who extracted taxes from fellow Jews for Romans occupying their land. They were not only traitors but often also extortionists and cheats. That’s why the New Testament always mentions tax collectors in the same breath with sinners. They were all bunched together and considered to be bad guys. But the tax collector in Jesus’ parable last Sunday was a nice fellow. When he got up to pray he bent low to the ground where humility gets its humus and beseeched God to be merciful to him a sinner. He went home that night set right with God (Lk 18:9-14).
Last Sunday’s story about a tax collector was a parable. Today’s story is about a tax collector whom Jesus personally encountered. He, too, was a nice fellow. His name was Zacchaeus. He was not just a tax collector, he was the chief tax collector (chief sinner) in Jericho.” But he was short in stature, and small guys don’t do well in big crowds. So he climbed a sycamore tree to get a glimpse of Jesus passing by. When the Lord saw him, he called up to him, “Hurry down, Zacchaeus, for I’d like to eat supper with you in your house tonight.” The tax collector (overcome either with guilt or gratitude or both) found himself promising the Lord to give half his belongings to the poor, and if he had cheated anyone on his taxes, he promised to pay him back four times as much. But some in the crowds became indignant and grumbled saying, “Look at this fellow Jesus! He hobnobs and eats with a notorious sinner.”
On another occasion Jesus saw another tax collector (sinner, that is) named Matthew, not up in a sycamore tree but sitting at a tax collector’s booth. Though he was a tax collector, he, too, was a nice fellow. Jesus invited Matthew to follow Him, and Matthew in turn invited Jesus to dine at his house. There many other tax collectors and sinners joined Jesus and his disciples at table. Some of the Pharisees saw this and became indignant and grumbled. They asked the disciples how is it that their master hobnobs and eats with tax collectors and sinners. Jesus silenced them saying, “People who are healthy don’t need a doctor, but sick people do. Go and learn the meaning of the scripture which says, `It’s compassion that I want from you people, not your animal sacrifices’” (Mt 9: 9-13).
A church hobnobbing with saints only
Many of us are old enough to remember the days when the church declined to hobnob and eat with sinners. It’s hard to imagine now but before Vatican II all sinners were excluded from the Eucharistic Banquet. And that meant almost everyone was excluded. When Communion time came, only a handful out of a packed congregation would rise to Communicate. Only those who had gone to sacramental confession and had themselves absolved into a state of Sanctifying Grace rose to take Communion. They were, indeed, a mere handful. The bulk of the Sunday congregation, who considered themselves sinners (i.e. in the state of mortal sin), were excluded from the Communion rail.
All that suddenly changed! Now, after Vatican II, at Communion time the whole congregation (almost none of whom has gone to sacramental confession) rises to Communicate. Now, after Vatican II, the Eucharist is seen more as food for sinners than a reward for saints. What has changed? A perspective has changed. If Jesus can eat with Zacchaeus, chief tax collector and sinner, and with Matthew, another tax collector and sinner, then we sinners can eat with Jesus! We wonder why it took so long to lay hold of that perspective, for it’s a thread woven into the whole fabric of the New Testament.
A pope hobnobbing with sinners
On Oct 27, 1986 Pope John Paul II invited the world’s religious leaders to assembly with him in Assisi (the hometown of St. Francis, a great man of peace) to summit and pray with the pope for peace in the world. Muslims, Buddhists, Shintoists, Jews, Sikhs, Zoroastrians and American Indians came from the four corners of the earth and descended upon the little town nestled on the western slope of an Umbrian hill. Time Magazine (Nov. 10, 1986) called it "super!" Carl McIntire, a religious fundamentalist and gadfly, labeled the meeting "the greatest single abomination in church history." He accused the Pope of hobnobbing and praying with sinners![i]
A priest hobnobbing with sinners
Franciscan priest, Fr. Mycal Judge, was one of four chaplains for the New York Fire Department. The story of his death in the line of duty was one of the first to come out of the tragedy of September 11th. Almost immediately legend sprung up around his death. He had taken his helmet off to give the last rites to a dying fireman when suddenly debris came crashing down upon him. He died there on the spot, and his body was carried off to a nearby church, and there was laid upon the altar.
During his lifetime some people grumbled about Mychal Judge. Like Zacchaeus and Matthew, both tax collectors and sinners, Judge had a reputation. He was a recovering alcoholic. He was a gay man. He was a controversial and unconventional character who held mass in the most unlikely places. A Monsignor in the Chancery frequently had to admonish him for one thing or the other. He was more a friend to Bill Clinton than to Cardinal O’Connor, and on one occasion he actually told Clinton that he believed that the founders of AA had done more for humanity than Mother Theresa.
He lined up well with the characters and chaos of New York City. He was streetwise and earthy. He had no compunction when it came to language. He would use the “f” word at times. He’d tell an alcoholic, for example, “Oh look, you’re not a bad person; you have a disease that makes you think you’re bad, and that’s going to `f…’ you up.” Mychal opened the doors of St. Francis of Assisi Church on 3lst Street in Manhattan to Dignity, an organization for gay Catholics. Then to top it off he marched in the first gay-inclusive St. Patrick’s Day parade.
But this man, tax collector and sinner, also had a deep Irish faith that made him irreverently protest, “If I’ve ever done anything to embarrass or hurt the church I love so much, you can burn me at the stake in front of St. Patrick’s.” This man, tax collector and sinner, also had an encyclopedic memory for people’s names, birthdays and passions. He knew everyone from the homeless to Mayor Giuliani. Though he was a true New Yorker, born and raised in the city, he lived on an entirely different plain of priorities than most New Yorkers. He was non-acquisitive. He was non-grabby. He was utterly unselfish and uncomplaining.
A city hobnobbing with a sinner
The church, which is always very politically correct and takes care not to be seen hobnobbing with sinners, will perhaps never canonize Mychal Judge. But that’s OK, for the people of God have already canonized him. They canonized him by means of acclamation.[3] They televised his entire funeral from start to end. And when they held a memorial service for him, an endless flow of priests, nuns, lawyers, cops, firefighters, homeless people, rock-and-rollers, recovering alcoholics, local politicians and middle age couples from the suburbs streamed into Good Shepherd Chapel on Ninth Ave in Manhattan, an Anglican church, to do a memorial for a Roman Catholic priest.
In his lifetime Mychal Judge hobnobbed and feasted with sinners. Now a great city hobnobbed and feasted with him in his death and burial. And Jesus, who invited Himself to dinner in the house of Zacchaeus, a tax collector and notorious sinner, on 9/11 invited Mychal to dine with Him in the Banquet of Eternal Life.
Conclusion
Go and hobnob like Jesus
There is a dismissal to every Mass. Ite Missa est. Go, the Mass is ended. Go and like Jesus hobnob with sinners. To our surprise we’ll meet up with the nicest people. We’ll meet a humble tax collector in the temple who goes home at night set right with God. We’ll meet a funny tax collector in a tree who promises to give half his wealth to the poor and make fourfold restitution to whom he has cheated. Above all we’ll meet Fr. Mychal Judge, a sinner who hobnobbed with sinners all his life, and with whom the whole City of New York turned out to hobnob in his death and burial.
1] Diaspora is a Greek word meaning dispersion. Originally it referred to the settling of scattered colonies of Jews outside Palestine after the Babylonian exile. It’s now come to mean the migration or scattering of a people away from an established or ancestral homeland or parish!
[2]] By the “the unchurched” is especially meant not those who have left the church but those whom the church has left!
[3] The very early church canonized by acclamation -- by loud shouts of God’s people.
[i] Our need for tax collectors and sinners
There’s something in all of us that needs tax collectors, sinners, outcasts and infidels to look down upon. The Pharisee who went up to the temple to pray needed a tax collector and sinner to look down upon. That made him feel good about himself. He rejoiced and thanked God he wasn’t like the rest of men –- dishonest and adulterous. That’s a typical reaction of one who doesn’t feel good about himself in the first place. The late Jerry Falwell also needed his tax collectors and sinners to look down upon. He found them in gays, lesbians, feminists, the ACLU, the People for the American Way, etc. From the constant smile on his face it appeared that those notorious sinners made Falwell feel good about himself. That’s a typical reaction of one who doesn’t feel good about himself in the first place.
There’s something in the great religions that needs tax collectors, sinners, outcasts and infidels to look down upon. This is true especially of Christianity and Islam which seem to have an enduring need to look down upon others. That need begets a strange dynamic. By having someone to look down upon we create a mission for ourselves. It’s a mission of conversion whereby we get rid of our sinners and outcasts and infidels by making them look and act and think just like we do. Or, worse yet, it’s a mission of annihilation whereby we drive two 747s as weapons of mass destruction into the Twin Towers in the World Trade Center in Lower Manhattan, and rid ourselves of three thousand infidels with one neat blow.
