9-8-25 - The Company You Keep

You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.

Jesus was often under scrutiny by the religious leaders of his day – all the more because they didn’t approve of many whom he welcomed into his company: Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.”

Why are “tax collectors” and “sinners” so often lumped together in the Gospels? Tax collectors of Jesus’ time were no mild-mannered IRS accountants. They were Jews who made a living by “collecting” taxes for the Romans from their fellow Jews. As such, they were collaborators with a hated regime and enforcers of cruel and often capricious extortion. And the Romans didn’t pay them for this – they allowed them to tack on a “fee” or surcharge. The meaner the tax collector, the higher the “fee” they commanded. Tax collectors were easy to loathe.

Yet Jesus invited one of these, Matthew, to be a disciple. He ate at the home of another, Zaccheus. He seemed to be a magnet for them – and he didn’t just dine with them. He invited them to repent and be renewed. Many saw their lives transformed, as did other “sinners” who spent time with Jesus. Who better to hang around with than someone who talks about forgiveness and the love of the heavenly Father? Who sees you as a human being despite the despicable way you’ve treated others?

And what about these Pharisees and scribes? They weren’t bad people. Pharisees deeply loved the Law of Moses and strove for lives of great holiness. In the process, they often became self-righteous, judgmental, and tipped into a compassionless legalism that – Jesus felt – caused them to focus on picayune laws at the expense of God’s greater command to care for the poor and defenseless. The scribes were temple leaders, and regulated the apparatus of worship and sacrifice. They had limited power under Roman authority, and like many such people, excelled in exerting that power over people with even less.

So we have, on the one hand, notorious sinners and low-lifes, and on the other, hypocritical and arrogant “holy” people. If all the low-lifes were in one room, and all the religious people in another, and you HAD to pick one, which room would you go in? Why? What would you say to those gathered in each room?

What kind of people do you find yourself judging, even condemning? (We all do it… let’s just bring it to the surface so we can look at it…). Think of some examples of individuals or groups. My social media feed is full of videos of ICE and DHS agents snatching people off the streets, even out of cars in Washington, DC. Hard not to think of them and their task masters when I ask this question…
Who comes up for you? Bring them to mind.
Now bring Jesus into that picture. What does he do? Say? How do you feel?

What kind of people do you feel are hypocritical? How do you suppose they got that way? Think of some examples of individuals or groups. Bring them to mind.

Now bring Jesus into that picture. What does he do? Say? How do you feel?

Those who flout the rules and those who cling rigidly to them are both living outside the sweet spot of God's grace. Jesus invites us all into the center.

© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.

11-9-23 - Jesus, the Bouncer?

You can listen to this reflection here.

I like happy endings. Yet a happy ending for one is often not for another. Victory in a game, or a war - or an election – means defeat for someone else. Not all happy endings have a sad flipside, but many do. So I’m not crazy about the way Jesus’ story of the bridesmaids ends. When the foolish bridesmaids discover their lamps are going out due to insufficient oil, they ask the ones who thought to bring extra to share, and are told:

“No! there will not be enough for you and for us; you had better go to the dealers and buy some for yourselves.” And while they went to buy it, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went with him into the wedding banquet; and the door was shut. Later the other bridesmaids came also, saying, “Lord, lord, open to us.” But he replied, “Truly I tell you, I do not know you.”

I envision a crowd outside a popular nightspot, with a bouncer letting in the “cool ones” and keeping out those who are not on the list. But these bridesmaids thought they were connected. “Check it again,” they cry, “I’m sure we’re on there. We’re bridesmaids! We just had to run and get more oil.” But the reply is cold as ice: “I do not know you.”

Is this how Jesus will respond to us if we’re unprepared or late? His “punchline” to the story is: “Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.” Is there no room for complacency? No missing the boat? And what about those who never knew about the club in the first place?

We encounter this harsh teaching at the end of a few parables. It seems counter to the message of acceptance and grace Jesus so often extended to people. He seemed most harsh with those who should know better – the religious leaders and his own disciples. These “foolish” bridesmaids represent people who’ve already made a commitment to the realm of God. There’s no excuse for them not being ready to fulfill their mission. Is there?

How do you feel as a disciple of Jesus Christ? Prepared? Equipped? Your lamp lit and oil reservoir full? If not, what do you feel you are lacking? Can you come into conversation with Jesus about that today? Ask him where the resources are, and as you wait for response, think about your circumstances and the people around you. What else do you need, and who else do you need, to more fully engage in God’s mission of reclaiming, restoring, renewing?

And if you feel the foolish bridesmaids got a raw deal, and fear you’d be in the same boat, that is definitely something to talk over with Jesus in prayer. Relationships require honest communication.

At the end of The Story, I hope and pray that door stays open to all who come, at whatever hour, as another of Jesus’ stories teaches us. In the meantime, we are invited to trust in God’s mercy and live into the mission which Jesus has entrusted to us – always ready to carry the light.

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3-8-23 - Miss Communication

You can listen to this reflection here.

One of my favorite things about this week’s gospel story – and it is one of my favorites – is the subtle way the characters reveal themselves by what they say and don’t say. For instance, the narrator does not tell us that our heroine has had a complicated romantic life… there is a hint in her coming to draw water at noon, when the sun is hottest but she’s more likely to avoid the stares and murmurs of her community, but we only learn about her when Jesus shares this information he had no way of knowing.

Jesus and the woman exchange many words, but they seem to keep talking past each other. He asks her for water; she wonders why he’s willing to ask her. He says if she knew who was asking, she’d be asking him – and that the water he gives never runs out. Then she goes literal – and sarcastic: “Okay, so give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.”

Then Jesus changes the subject. Abruptly. "Go, call your husband, and come back." The woman answered him, "I have no husband." Jesus said to her, "You are right in saying, 'I have no husband' for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband. What you have said is true!” If this is meant to shut her up, it doesn’t work: The woman said to him, "Sir, I see that you are a prophet,” and swiftly changes the subject again.

We aren’t told how she felt when Jesus spoke her past to her. He had no earthly way of knowing this about her, unless she sported tattoos with different men’s names on them. But she doesn’t deny it – and even more significantly, she doesn’t break off the conversation. She changes the subject, sure, launching into a discussion of proper locations for worship… but she doesn’t leave. There must have been something about the way Jesus spoke and looked at her that invited her to be real, not hidden.

That is how the Holy Spirit works in us. In some ways, we are to God as wild animals are to humans – skittish, afraid to get too close. And God comes into our lives, sits down, invites us into conversation. We might try to obscure it or stay on a surface level of needs and thank yous, so that we can avoid really being known… but eventually we learn that we are in the presence of the One who already knows us, knows everything thing about us, the good, the bad, the ugly – and isn’t walking away.

Have you had that kind of conversation with God lately? Ever? What would you rather Jesus didn’t know about you? Can you bring it up first? Just lay it out there… see how he reacts, what he says?

Chances are, you will come away feeling more accepted and loved than blamed or shamed. We can see how this works on a human level in 12-step meetings – people are accepted as they tell the worst about themselves, and are loved into sobriety. If this can happen with people, imagine how thoroughly God can love us into wholeness as we make ourselves available.

We learn later that this moment with Jesus had an impact, for the woman runs back to her townspeople – the ones whose judgment she was presumably avoiding – and tells them, “Come and see a man who told me everything I ever did!” She has not been shamed. She has been liberated by discovering that the Lord of heaven and earth can know everything about her and still offer love and forgiveness. I hope you have discovered that freedom, more than once. As we receive it, so are we able to give it.

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10-25-22 - Guess Who's Coming To Dinner?

You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here. 

“Jane, can we bring the bishop to your house for lunch?” It was a Sunday, the day after a freak March windstorm had left much of the town without power, and our bishop was making an annual Visitation. We held worship in a dimly lit church, and shivered through a coffee-less coffee hour, but the only place with electricity where the Vestry might have lunch with the Bishop was Jane’s house. Jane is of the generation that views a bishop’s visit as a Big Deal, worthy of weeks of cleaning and polishing – but she said yes, tidied as best she could, got out the fine china, and hosted us. Ready or not.

It must have been a shock for Zacchaeus, sitting in that tree. When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, "Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today."

A shock, and a challenge – Jesus, such a celebrity, he gathers crowds as he moves through town, is coming to Zach’s house. It would be like being told the President or a Nobel laureate was coming over. It’s exciting, and a social coup – and ratchets up the pressure. What am I going to cook? When did I last clean the bathroom? What will we talk about?

Besides, Zach was safely hidden up that tree. Now he’s going to have to meet this guy he wanted so badly to see. He responds with grace: “So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him.”

How would you respond, if you got an text from Jesus today: “I’m coming to your house this evening.” Would you want to see him? Would you try to put if off? Would you invite anyone else, or just enjoy the chance to talk to him by yourself?

We might imagine it in prayer today – envision that scenario: the note, your response, the preparation, the greeting at the door… What happens? What do you talk about? See how fully you can place yourself into that scene and see where it goes. It’s another way of connecting with Jesus in our imagination.

I suspect Jesus does send us that message, every day. It goes something like this: “I want to come to your house. I want to spend some time with you. I want you to get off the sidelines, out of the bleachers and into the game with me. I’m not just some guy in a book or a stained glass window. I’m the one who made you, who became like you so you could become like me. I love you more than you can ever imagine, and I can transform your life if you let me in. I can transform the world through you if you let me. Can I come to your house, to your heart, today?”

Maybe we always say “yes.” Maybe we say “later,” or “maybe.” We don’t have to clean the house or cook a fancy meal. Jesus knows how messy our lives are, how full, and how beautiful. What he wants is our time and attention.
He's the most life-changing dinner guest we could ever host. Every time.

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5-13-22 - We're Going To Need a Bigger Box

You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.

“Even to the Gentiles.” That is what the Jewish Christian believers in Jerusalem concluded when Peter finished his story about why he was keeping company with the “uncircumcised.” God has given “even to the Gentiles the repentance that leads to life.” This was shocking, unprecedented (though not really...), outside their categories. And what convinced Peter and, through him, the other leaders, was evidence of the Holy Spirit.

“And as I began to speak, the Holy Spirit fell upon them just as it had upon us at the beginning. And I remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said, ‘John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.’ If then God gave them the same gift that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?” When they heard this, they were silenced. And they praised God, saying, “Then God has given even to the Gentiles the repentance that leads to life.”

We see that scene in Cornelius’ house in greater detail in the previous chapter. Peter has arrived, noted that it would not ordinarily be lawful for a Jew to enter the home of a Gentile, described the supernatural occurrences that led him there, and then begins to preach to them. His opener is startling: “I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him.” Wow. Is God really that accepting? Even Peter had trouble holding on to this truth, and Christ’s church has ever struggled with it.

As Peter winds into his sermon, something even more extraordinary happens: the Holy Spirit comes upon those listening, though they are not Jews nor, as yet, Christians. They begin to speak in tongues and praise God, just as the disciples did at Pentecost. Peter and his companions are astounded. Then Peter said, “Can anyone withhold the water for baptizing these people who have received the Holy Spirit just as we have?” So he ordered them to be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ.

Jesus had told Nicodemus that the Spirit blows where it will. But we’re still surprised when that wind of God carries seeds into ground we did not think prepared to receive it. Where else have we been thinking too small or limiting the way or to whom we share the Good News of Jesus Christ? One excuse people give for not sharing their faith is “people have perfectly good religions of their own.” Some do, some don't - and maybe all might receive the Holy Spirit if we go where God sends us and bring our faith and our love.

It’s not our job to persuade, only to witness to our own experience. New grandparents will tell anyone they meet their good news, but they’re not trying to make other people into grandparents. They’re just sharing their joy. That's our call too.

I wrote yesterday that it is human nature to sort and categorize people. It is also human nature to try to define God and God’s activity. So we read our texts and repeat our stories and make our definitions and pronouncements and try to put God in a box that is manageable and vaguely comprehensible. And the history of God in humankind tells us this: We will always need a bigger box. Make more space for the Holy Spirit, and maybe we’ll also need bigger baptismal fonts.

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5-12-22 - No Distinction

You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's New Testament reading is here. 

One of my favorite things about the book of Acts is the timing – more than once, people in different places are given instructions by the Holy Spirit more or less simultaneously, or in such a way that the timing dovetails perfectly. Each has to act on the instructions, exercising more than a little faith, and then finds confirmation when the other party is revealed. This happens with Saul after his Damascus road experience, and Ananias, whom God sends to heal Saul's blindness. And it happens with the centurion Cornelius, when he is visited by an angel who instructs him, “Send to Joppa and bring Simon, who is called Peter…” Then we learn that his messengers arrive at Peter’s lodging at the very moment Peter’s vision of unclean foods ends. As Peter tells it,

“At that very moment three men, sent to me from Caesarea, arrived at the house where we were. The Spirit told me to go with them and not to make a distinction between them and us. These six brothers also accompanied me, and we entered the man’s house. He told us how he had seen the angel standing in his house and saying, ‘Send to Joppa and bring Simon, who is called Peter; he will give you a message by which you and your entire household will be saved.’”

There are so many remarkable details in that paragraph – angels, messengers, divine timing, salvation. But perhaps the most startling is what Peter reports the Spirit saying to him: to go with these Gentile strangers and “not to make a distinction between them and us.” So much of Jewish law and identity lay in making distinctions between Jew and non-Jew, sacred and secular, clean and unclean. In times of persecution, allegiance to these identity markers became even more pronounced. The early Christians were already struggling with whether and how to integrate "uncircumcised" – non-Jewish – believers in Christ. Now God is telling Peter to make no distinctions between Gentiles and Jews. How could this be?

It’s not only Judaism which excels in making distinctions; it is human nature to define oneself and one’s tribe in ways that include some and rule out others. I would go so far as to say it is human nature not only to make distinctions but to rank people based upon them. Could we function with no distinctions at all, just seeing every person as equally worthy of our love and attention and provision? What a wonderful world that would be! Or would it be total chaos?

And what about Christians? We’ve made a fine art of distinctions with our multiple denominations and their variations and permutations. Are we not to distinguish ourselves from those who do not follow Christ? Jesus said his followers were to be known by their love for each other; that assumes they should be recognizable as Christ-followers.

Once again, love is the answer. It’s not that we shouldn’t note, even celebrate, differences. We are just not to judge one more worthy than another, and we certainly are not to decide that we can consort with some and not others. Every person is worthy of our company and attention, no matter their beliefs, background – or even behavior. Peter’s experience tells us that the Spirit may indeed lead us to people who do not know Jesus as Lord. And often that is because he wants us to make the introduction.

Cornelius had to take a step of faith to believe that angel and send for Peter. Peter had to take a step of faith to believe that the Spirit had urged him forward, and then to go with the messengers and enter the home of a Gentile. Both men responded in faith – and created space for God to show up. And boy, did God show up! Stay tuned…

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3-24-22 - Home Comes To Us

You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here. 

As a teenager, I was enthralled with the movie Love Story, with its famous tagline, “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” That kind of statement can pretty much only be made after someone’s just said, “I’m sorry…” A more accurate statement would be, “Love means always having to say you’re sorry.” We need always be aware of the ways in which we hurt or fail to notice our loved ones’ feelings. Learning to say you’re sorry quickly and naturally is one of the building blocks of a healthy relationship.

Yet working up to “I’m sorry” is often a struggle. Once we’ve wrestled through our self-justifications and acknowledged the need, we often find ourselves rehearsing, trying to find the right words. That’s exactly what the young man in Jesus’ story does: writes his speech ahead of time. “I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.’” So he set off and went to his father. 

When we head off to ask forgiveness of another person, we can never be sure of the reception we’ll get. This young man, who’d in effect disowned his father, probably caused him to liquidate assets at a loss, may have assumed his father had disowned him. When we offer repentance, we have to simply offer it, and be willing to lay it down and walk away. We can’t compel forgiveness or even a hearing.

Ah, but Jesus tells us that it’s different with God. If this story is a picture of what the realm of God is like, we should take notice of what happens next: forgiveness doesn’t wait for this young man to express his sorrow. Forgiveness is out in the road, waiting for him: But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him.

The son tries to make his speech, but his father is way ahead of him: But the father said to his servants, “Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!”

Was the father peering down that road every day, hoping against hope to see his son return? Did he even care if the boy was sorry, or did he only want to be reunited with his beloved? Does God really love us that much?

Jesus said “yes.” Jesus showed us “yes,” just how much God loves us. Jesus left Home and came into our road to wait for us. We don’t even have to get home – Home comes to us, with royal robes and sandals for our tired feet. This is one “I’m sorry” for which we don’t have to doubt the reception. We only need to turn ourselves toward home.

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9-14-21 - Jockeying For Position

You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.

Squabbling in the car on an endless road trip; that’s what I think of when I read this week’s gospel passage, and Jesus’ questioning of his disciples:  

Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, “What were you arguing about on the way?” But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest.

There is something about traveling that increases tension – and when your leader has just announced that soon he will be arrested, tried and executed, that tension can go through the roof. Afraid to ask Jesus what he was talking about, his disciples instead turned on each other, talking about who was greater than the next. They appear to have been jockeying for position, little realizing that the more visible they were as leaders in Jesus’ community, the higher the risk.

Jockeying for position is something humans tend to do when we are insecure about where we are. Oh, there are some ruthlessly ambitious people who are always looking for an angle to get ahead, but most of us stay pretty content unless the ground starts to shift. Then it suddenly matters how we’re perceived and where we’re received.

As Christ-followers, we don’t have to do that. One of the huge gifts that come with membership in the household of God is freedom from having to position ourselves. In a community in which no one has more value than anyone else, no matter their level of accomplishment or productivity, we don’t have to compete with one another for attention or reward. If God already loves us the most, and is already as delighted with us as God could possibly be, why worry about being seen as worthy or getting ahead of other people?

Of course, many of us still do, because we’re human and it takes a long time for the knowledge of God’s unmerited and limitless grace to replace the messages of competition and progress we ingest from family, school and workplace. It doesn’t hurt to remind ourselves daily of our infinite worth in the eyes of the Infinite Being. Or to remind each other.

If Jesus’ disciples had grasped that sooner, they would have had a different experience of being with him. They got it eventually - and so, God willing, will we.

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10-7-20 - The B List

You can listen to this reflection here.

I find it hard to read this parable of the wedding banquet and not think of our half-empty churches. In the story, the King has prepared a beautiful wedding feast for his son and invited all the people who used to come to his house… and now none of them will. Enraged, he says to his servants,

“The wedding is ready, but those invited were not worthy. Go therefore into the main streets, and invite everyone you find to the wedding banquet.” Those servants went out into the streets and gathered all whom they found, both good and bad; so the wedding hall was filled with guests.

Given how Jesus has been talking to the religious leaders, and how he’s been known to interact with the not-good-enough of his society – the lame, lepers, extortioners and “loose women” – it seems obvious that that’s who he means by the people on the main streets. As he tells it, these people are found, herded onto the king’s buses and brought back to populate his banquet hall. The servants aren’t choosy – they just bring everybody in.

What would it look like if we sent buses around shelters and homeless encampments and parks on Sunday mornings and invited people to come to our feasts? Are we prepared to deal with strangers, people’s disappointment and addictions, traumatic wounds and chips on their shoulders? Are we prepared to see them not as wounded strangers but as gifts, with assets and strengths we need in our congregations? We did, for a few months, see two homeless gentlemen become regulars at our 11 o’clock service, drawn initially by the lunch that followed it (ah, pre-Covid coffee hours!). They became crucifers and participated in worship for a time, until they got jobs that required them to work on Sundays. It gave me such joy to see them vested and invested, not defined or sidelined by housing status.

What would it look like if we took church out to folks living rough instead of asking them into our buildings? For a time, my congregation in Stamford did this in a “tougher” section of town. We went from bringing sandwiches and healing prayer to my telling Jesus stories (aka, preaching) on the curb as people lounged in their lawn chairs with their bottles. It was amazing - until gentrification struck and the people who hung out there were dispersed, and it faded away. But I saw what could be.

The poor and the lame are not the only people God wants at the feast. God also wants the stressed over-achievers, the multi-tasking moms, the doubters and questioners. This parable suggests that God wants everybody at God’s table. Who are we not inviting?

That is a spiritual task for today: make a list of everyone your congregation does not seem to be extending an invitation to. The ones who are being invited are by and large not coming. Who else are we to invite?

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9-23-20 - Religious, Not Spiritual

You can listen to this reflection here.

Jesus often told simple stories to make complex points. The parable we are considering this week, about a man and his two sons, is no exception. This one is bare bones. We're told who’s involved and what happened. No characterization, dialogue, insights into motivation; just the facts, ma’am.

They’re easy to tell: a man has two sons. He asks each one to go work in his vineyard. One says, “No way,” but then he goes and does it. The other says, “Sure, Dad,” and doesn’t go. Jesus asks, “Which did his father’s will?” The religious leaders answer, “The first.” Easy A. Seeing the work get done matters more than the intentions of the would-be workers. Isn’t that obvious?

Snap! They walked right into Jesus’ trap. For they had built their reputations and their power base on being the “right people,” and on judging who else was a “right person.” For them, the “who” mattered much more than the “work.” The scruffy, the poor, the sick, the lame, the divorced, the sinful need not apply. These guardians of Israel’s purity kept temple life shut against the unrighteous.

But they couldn’t keep Jesus out – his ideas flowed under the doors and through the walls, empowering all those spiritual “have-nots” to repent and be healed, to call God himself their “Abba.” And these, Jesus goes on to say, like those late-day workers, will enter the Kingdom ahead of the professionally holy. Even tax collectors and prostitutes, he says. Look out!

In real life, though, people are not so easily reduced to one kind or another, are we? We’re both of those sons, ready to commit at one moment, easily distracted and derailed the next. Some people's detours away from God’s vineyard are decades long, through other religious explorations, deep into consumerism, to the worship of other goods and gods - or simply into dells of doubt or despair.

Others of us hew closely to the way of Jesus and his church - and might find our enthusiasm siphoned off to managing buildings and accounts, worrying over empty pews, and lining up cooks for the next church supper. Is one more “right” than another? Church folk often decry the lack of interest in church and faith among so many people they know, rolling their our eyes over those who consider themselves “spiritual, but not religious.” But our churches contain many who are religious but not spiritual – that saps our vitality too.

Is there room in the Life of God for both types – and for us, when we are both types? For, in fact, these two sons Jesus talks about are really two parts of one person, two ends of a continuum. Some of us are closer to one end than another; some hug the middle. If you’re an over-promiser or an over-deliverer, are you able to love those on the other end of the spectrum? Today, might you bring to mind someone who irritates you because they don’t come through, and someone else who refuses to commit, but gets it done anyway… and pray for each one to be fully blessed? Even if that person is you? Especially then?

Jesus leaned toward the under-achievers in his parables – maybe because he knew the over-achievers didn’t need as much encouragement, or because he knew how easy it is for the righteous to judge others and he needed to remind them that it’s up to God, not us, to love whom God chooses. Jesus doesn't suggest that the father in the story loves one son more than the other – one just helps him out more. That’s the one I want to be.

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10-31-13 - Loving Clams

I don’t know much about clams, but I’m told that the only way to get them to open their shells - other than violently, with a knife - is to place them in warm water. After awhile they’ll open of their own accord. That's always seemed a good metaphor for the way God loves us into opening our spirits, and a way we can love really shut-down people into transformation. The hardest heart can be melted by acceptance and mercy, just as the softest heart can be hardened by rejection and judgment.

I think that’s what Jesus did for Zacchaeus. His acceptance, signaled by coming to his house; his willingness to stand with him when no one else would, elicits not only repentance but an astonishing offer of restitution: “Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, ‘Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.’”

It’s easy to say “I’m sorry.” As people in recovery will tell you, it’s a lot harder to make amends, go back to people you’ve hurt and offer them restitution, when possible, for what you’ve taken from them. Restitution is the visible fruit of true repentance. And here, Zacchaeus is a champion.

Those who disapproved of Jesus going to Zacchaeus’ house probably argued, “By going to a ‘sinner’s’ house, Jesus is dignifying all tax collectors. His presence is tacit approval of the guy’s wickedness. Better to isolate him than to suggest approval.” We hear voices like that in all sorts of issues. But if we isolate those who are destructive, where is the hope for transformation?

I'm reminded of the heat Jodie Foster took for hiring Mel Gibson after the many revelations about his anti-Semitic remarks and actions. She did not condone his views, but made a choice to stand with a friend – and so helped foster (sorry...) the possibility of transformation in him. The hardest heart can be melted by acceptance and mercy, as the softest heart can be hardened by rejection and judgment.

Jesus went to Zach’s house, not knowing that he would repent – perhaps inferring some openness from his tree-climbing. And his risk was rewarded, his grace met with not only sorrow but amendment of life and reversal of justice. Where Zach had taken money from the poor to appease the Romans, he was now giving half his fortune to the poor. And if there was fraud, he offered to make a four-fold restitution. Now that’s an “I’m sorry” with teeth.

How do you respond to this story? Do you want to follow Zach or to Jesus today? (Or both…?) If it's Zacchaeus, you might ask whether you feel any debt related to wrongdoing on your part? Is there anyone, the thought of whom makes you wince with guilt? What would restitution look like?

If you were to emulate Jesus, ask: Who do you know who is isolated because of their destructive words or actions? We don’t need to affirm the behavior, just provide an environment where hearts can open, and see what happens.

If you’ve ever been a clam shut tight and found yourself in a bath of warm, accepting love, you know what it meant to you. Is God inviting you to give that gift to someone?