Discourse on Zacchaeus
By St. Amphilochios of Iconium
Nothing moves the soul so much toward joy as the fear of God and abstinence from evil, the path of repentance and the manner of confession. Therefore today David calls blessed those whose sins have been forgiven, revealing the philanthropy of Christ and at the same time preparing sinners to hasten to repentance. “Blessed,” he says, “are they whose iniquities are forgiven and whose sins are covered.” Whoever, then, can feel like the harlot and the tax collector, let him run to the inexhaustible springs of Christ’s salvation. Without repentance it is impossible for anyone to receive release from evils or to attain blessedness, even if he be a Prophet or an Apostle or even an Evangelist. For in truth all have drawn from the same source. Among the Prophets is David himself, who even after adultery remained a Prophet, by the grace of Him who forgave him.
Among the Apostles are Peter and Paul: the one received “the keys of the kingdom” after his denial, and the other became the Apostle of the nations after his persecution, transforming Jewish zeal into an evangelical way. And within the Gospels I have known a tax collector who was saved — not only Matthew, but together with him two others. One of these, praying and striking his breast where the treasure of evils lay, and not daring to stand in the temple with uplifted hands and eyes, was not only justified but also crowned, in contrast to the Pharisee. And today’s Zacchaeus, after climbing the tree — where many times he had stood to spy lest some merchant escape him and remain untaxed — now took care lest the Merchant of heaven and earth pass by unnoticed, He who bore within Himself the inviolable treasure of the Kingdom of Heaven.
So that we may not confuse the stories of the tax collectors with one another, let us today, if you wish, take up and examine more closely only the case of Zacchaeus. “Then Jesus entered,” says the Evangelist, “and passed through Jericho. Now behold, there was a man named Zacchaeus who was a chief tax collector.” The Evangelist does not mention Jericho without reason, but because he is about to say that a tax collector hosted God in his house. It was an incredible thing. Therefore he first mentions the city, to remind us of Rahab the harlot, and thus to make the conversion of Zacchaeus appear wondrous. This is why he mentioned Jericho: that we might recall Rahab the harlot and compare the manner of salvation of these two. For just as Rahab the harlot received Joshua the son of Nun as a spy and hid him, so also Zacchaeus the tax collector received and nourished in his house the true Jesus, the Scout of our minds. She received Joshua son of Nun, who led the people into the land of promise; this man received the true Jesus, who came to lead us into the Kingdom of Heaven. She received the former Jesus,* who tore down the walls of Jericho; this man received the true Jesus, who tore down the temple of the Jews, for He Himself said, “There shall not be left here one stone upon another that shall not be thrown down.” The harlot received that Jesus who led the people through the Jordan into “a land flowing with milk and honey”; the tax collector received the true Jesus, who through Baptism leads the faithful where “eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor has it entered into the heart of man.” Rahab received that Jesus who brought forth the cluster of grapes from the land of promise; Zacchaeus received the true Jesus, who led the thief into Paradise.
Yet the city also has another hidden, mystical meaning contained in its spring. The spring of Jericho was once a mother of barrenness and a nurse of sterility, because its water was defective. Though its stream was vast and flowed silently like oil, those who came near were content only to look at it and departed thirsty, for it was not safe for them to drink. Indeed it was destructive water. The beauty of the spring urged passersby to hasten to drink, but fear of harm checked their eagerness. Thus, because the spring flowed in vain, the inhabitants, who often went there, complained from the thirst caused not by drought but by the sight of the waters. And since they were unable to satisfy this passion of thirst, they complained bitterly and addressed it, saying: “Why do you flow in vain, O spring? You would be better if you did not appear, if you were hidden among mountains and sands and deserts, where you would not have so many witnesses of your evil.” And why was the water undrinkable? Because it killed the bodies of those who drank it. If a man drank, he did not become a father; nor did a woman become a mother, for she lost the grace of motherhood. Not only this, but even the land that received this water refused its customary growth: the shady palms shed the adornment of their leaves; in a word, whatever had the misfortune to come into contact with that water became desolate. Such was the spring that once encircled Jericho, until the Prophet Elisha came, took salt, and cast it into the spring, and thus made the waters life-giving. “Thus says the Lord,” Scripture reports, “I have healed these waters.” This is said by Him who always, when He speaks, makes His word a deed: “There shall no longer come from you anything barren or sterile,” He said, and the water was changed; wombs began to labor, the land to sprout, the vines to flourish, and the olive tree to display its own grace. Thus the inhabitants were reconciled with their spring, and whereas before they fought and were at war with it, now they desired it and visited it.
But the riddle of the spring wishes to say something great. This spring, which flowed abundantly yet formerly gave useless and barren water, was a type of the Church. For indeed, before Christ, every religion was so impious that if a man drank from the water of its spring he lost even the quality of being human, and through his entanglement with idols denied the rational nature of the soul. And the woman did not become a mother of virtues, did not give birth to shoots of chastity, nor did the white milk of piety flow forth. But while this was the state of the spring, the Lord came, and after placing within it as salt the Apostles, He made its waters pleasant and drinkable. And that the Apostles were salt, hear Christ saying to them: “You are the salt of the earth.” The barren and sterile, when it partook of the salts of the Apostles, became exceedingly fruitful, as the Prophet says: "Rejoice, O barren, You who do not bear! Break forth and shout, You who are not in labor! For the desolate has many more children."
Thus Jesus came to Jericho — the spring near those who are watered by the spring, the all-powerful grace to the richly wooded and well-watered city. “And behold, a man called Zacchaeus, and he was a chief tax collector.” Double was the evil: that he practiced an unjust trade and that he was the leader of those who practiced it unjustly. He not only sinned, but bore responsibility for the evils committed by others. He blocked the highways for travelers and forced them to pass along the byway of his injustice. He did not imitate robbers by lying in wait for passersby, nor did he await travelers from zeal for hospitality; but, having injustice as his law, he taxed the labors of strangers, imitating the merciless greed of the drones. For just as drones reap the toil of the bees without sharing in their labors, so tax collectors sit idly at crossroads and plunder the labors of foreign travelers.
One man sailed the sea, battled storms, fought the winds, crossed a great and untamed expanse, and Zacchaeus hurried to strip him of his profit through taxation. Another was a shepherd, afflicted by drought and heat, living with rains, snows, and frost; his shelter the overhangs of rocks, his food cheese and milk, his clothing the rough skins of sheep. Yet this poor rustic, whose dwelling was the mountains, fell into the hands of Zacchaeus, who tithed his animals, robbed him lawfully, slaughtered him without a sword. The perpetrator takes his knife, the blood-stained severed limb, and departs callously, to avoid the discomfort of compassion, leaving him wounded by senseless poverty to die, suffering unto death. His soul does not depart at once, but dies slowly and continually. In short, Zacchaeus was as unwelcome to merchants, travelers, herdsmen, and shepherds as impregnable fortresses are to soldiers, reefs to captains, and suspicious movements to warriors.
Yet this man, who showed such madness for the irrational gathering of money, now sought to see Jesus, and could not. His short stature and the weight of injustice hindered him. But at last he heals the defect of stature with prudent inspiration: he runs ahead and climbs a sycamore tree, hiding within its rich foliage, believing that he sees without being seen, thinking he would escape the attention of the All-Knowing. The woman with the issue of blood did the same, thinking she would steal healing from Jesus, who delights in such thefts. But she at least drew near and touched His garments, whereas this man reached Christ from afar through faith. He climbs the tree, healing the evils that came from Adam: the one is deceived by a tree and is separated from God, while the other is saved by a tree because he desires to see God. For when he heard that Jesus worked many wondrous miracles, healing not only bodies but also souls, removing sins from souls and granting dispassion to bodies, he desired to see Him who forgives all to all. And he reasoned within himself: “Who is this Jesus who cleanses lepers, heals the blind, and forgives the sins of those who ask Him? What does He look like? Does He know everything? Does He consider even the thoughts of those who are absent, or only examine the thoughts of those near Him? Does He, as God, search the intentions of every heart? How shall I learn all this? Who will teach me? Who else but personal experience — the teacher of all things. I will climb the tree and hide under its rich foliage. Hiding thus, I shall learn whether I can be saved. If He perceives this movement of my soul, then I shall know that He also wipes away the sin of my soul. Thus I shall understand that He knows the secrets of thoughts. If He sees me in this crowd — not only sees me, but discovers the love of my soul — I will prefer to cast away all to find the One. I wish to imitate Matthew. He too was a tax collector like me, yet he did not run presumptuously; he was called by Jesus and obeyed. Matthew, I imagine, when he saw Jesus, took Him for one of the travelers; he hollowed his palms and opened his arms as usual, ready to seize. But instead of taxing Christ as he wished, he was taxed by Him — not merely outwardly, but by offering his whole self. Indeed, when he heard ‘Follow Me,’ he surpassed inclination by eagerness, running as fast as he could after the One who drew him. If, then, He calls tax collectors — and not only calls but justifies them — the heap of my past evils does not harm me. For if Elisha, by casting salt into our spring, made its barren water fruitful, surely this One also, if He salts my soul with grace, will stir it to bear the fruit of virtue.”
As he pondered these things, “Jesus came to the place, and looking up He saw him and said to him, ‘Zacchaeus, hurry and come down.’” You have climbed the tree as a tax collector; come down from the tree as a lover of God. Come down from this wood to the earth, that you may ascend through the Cross to heaven. You ascended a tree, hiding from men; you ascend through the Cross, becoming a delight to angels. “Hurry and come down, for today I must stay at your house.” O ineffable grace! O indescribable philanthropy! The house of the tax collector will no longer be unclean. Every evil will flee from it, for where Jesus is hosted, all things are changed for the better. “Zacchaeus,” He says, “hurry and come down; for today I must stay in your house.” What shall I say? The house of the tax collector became Paradise. What I see in the case of the thief, I see now also in Zacchaeus. He said to the thief, “Today you will be with Me in Paradise,” and at the same time took him from the wood and placed him in Paradise. He said to Zacchaeus, “Today I must stay in your house,” and at the same time took him with Himself and entered, making his house Paradise before Paradise…
But as these things were happening, the descendants of those who long ago murmured and complained about the spring — the tasteless to divine power and goodness — murmured within themselves, as though grieving over the salvation of the chief tax collector, saying that “He has gone in to lodge with a sinful man.” O workers of contempt and farmers of sloth! What are you, righteous or sinners? Are you not more wicked than all men? How then did Jesus come and dwell among you? How was He born among you, nourished, grown to manhood? How did He drink and eat? Why then do you overlook your own wounds and scrutinize the faults of your neighbor? And besides, why do you sometimes call Christ a sinner and at other times righteous? When He healed the man born blind, you called Him a sinner, saying, “Give glory to God; we know that this man is a sinner,” because He breaks the Sabbath. Now that He has come under the roof of a tax collector, you slander Him publicly as unrighteous because He eats with sinners. If He heals a blind man, you call Him a sinner; if He eats with sinners, you slander Him for eating unworthily with sinners. What then, should He not heal the blind on the Sabbath lest He be thought a sinner? Should He not eat with tax collectors lest He be deemed righteous? Why do you accuse Him? And where else should the light be placed but in a dark place? Where should the physician go — should he not hasten to those who suffer? “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick.” Where should the Lamb of God appear, if not among tax collectors and sinners, to take their burden upon Himself, lighten them, and thus make them fit for higher things? You malign Him in vain. What was spoken has been fulfilled in you: “The tax collectors and the harlots go before you into the Kingdom of Heaven.”
“Then Zacchaeus stood and said to the Lord, ‘Behold, Lord, half of my goods I give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I restore fourfold.’” For I no longer tolerate wronging the poor, having received into my house You, the protector of the poor. I am no longer anxious about the gathering of money, having hosted the inexhaustible wealth. I no longer lie in wait at the gates for travelers, having encountered on the road of life the One who, in the form of man, granted amnesty to those before me and tore up the record of debts as His own.
Though rich, He remained poor. “The foxes have holes and the birds of the air have nests, but You have nowhere to lay Your head.” Let courts and courtyards pass away, the grandeur of buildings, the splendid and illustrious houses. For instead of all these things, I seek the inexhaustible wealth of Your poverty. But since I am unable to recount at greater length the wealth of Zacchaeus’s soul, let us leave the discourse to the Father who is rich in virtues; for it is fitting that one who loves hospitality should recount the virtues of the hospitable — both for his praise, for your strengthening, as a crown of the Church, and as an honor to Christ, to whom belong the glory and the dominion unto the ages of ages. Amen.
Source: Translated by John Sanidopoulos.
* Jesus in Hebrew is the name Joshua.
