I remember vividly the day my parents drove me to Dickinson College for my freshman year. The station wagon was packed, not only with fall clothing to last until Christmas, but also with the various items my mother thought I might need, like an iron, which, truth be told, I wasn’t sure I knew how to operate. We arrived in Carlisle, Pennsylvania for lunch, after which my parents helped me to move my stuff into my room, where my roommate was already firmly ensconced. When everything was unpacked, and parental instructions given three or four times, it was time for them to leave. We walked out to the car, and, tears flowing quite freely, said our goodbyes and expressed our love for one another. But the last thing I remember my mother saying, as my father was pulling the car out onto the road, and she was waving a final goodbye out the window, was: “It’s been real!” And it was at that point that I knew some basic transition had happened. A threshold had been crossed, and I was now beginning a new chapter of my life.

There are two ways of reading Luke’s story of Zacchaeus, the chief tax collector. Usually we hear that this is a story of repentance, in which a rich man promises that, from here on out, he will give away half his wealth, make restitution for his frauds, and live a good life. But if you read the story in the Greek—and I don’t mean to imply that everyone does this, maybe we could just say that’s the preacher’s job!—when you get to Verse 8, you realize that the verbs are actually in present tense! So, Verse 8 should read, “Look, Lord, I (already) give half of my possessions to the poor, and if I have cheated anyone of anything (without knowing it), I pay it back four times over.”

When we read the story with the verbs in the present tense, it becomes a story not of repentance and restitution, but of Jesus’ vindication of a righteous rich man, a ‘son of Abraham’, a Jew who in spite of his despised occupation, was a keeper of the Law. The story of Zacchaeus becomes part of the larger picture of Luke’s Gospel and Jesus’ call for an entire community to change the way it looks at things and, more especially, people. We are, in a sense, meant to identify with the crowd, or the disciples. Jesus is calling people to change the way they look at Zacchaeus. And this call to change the way we look at things and people is a transition.

Transition. A crossing over. Moving from one stage or state of being to another. In music, when a musician changes keys, it’s called a modulation – a word that sounds infinitely subtler and softer. But there are many transitions in life that are anything but subtle or simple. There are physical transitions that happen to the body, like puberty and menopause, which are accompanied by definite physical signs and experiences. There are benchmarks in life, such as graduation and retirement, that we might mark with a party or some other kind of celebration. There are the changes in season with accompanying changes in weather. There are transitions in nature, like a caterpillar becoming a butterfly. Marriage, moving, career change, serious illness, having children; all of these and many others are transitions – moving from one state or stage in life to another. Some of them we have a certain degree of control over. Others happen whether we want them to or not. God’s people experience transitions in life. How do we respond? What tools or guidance can we benefit from in looking to our forebears in Scripture? What can we learn? First of all, transitions involve recognizing the past, honoring the past, and letting go of the past. The past cannot be lived in. Past attitudes will not, of themselves, serve the present. The past is useful but only as an inspirer and energizer of the present and, therefore, of the future. In the Zacchaeus story, Jesus breaks with a past “tradition” and models accepting behavior by intentionally seeking out Zacchaeus and staying in his home. Tax collectors were , stereotypically, categorically excluded from the community. How many people do we know who live upright, law-abiding, and godly lives but are ostracized because of their ethnicity or some aspect of their life-style that church or society has pronounced unacceptable? Are they more sinful for being who they are than we are for withholding acknowledgment of them as fellow children of Abraham, sisters and brothers of Jesus, children of God? In the past, tax collectors were to be excluded. Now, Jesus models acceptance by saying, “He, too, is a son of Abraham.”

Transitions usually entail a struggle in or with the present. Transitions mean changes, and changes can be difficult. There is a kind of natural human resistance to change. The familiar ways are always easier, whether they be good habits or bad, healthy or unhealthy. But the gospel is always calling on us to change and grow. Jesus preached a message of conversion: turn away from evil; turn toward God. Conversion is the everyday experience of choosing or refusing to grow. And change brings with it loss and grief over what we’re leaving behind, as well as the newness and freshness of the future.

It is said that as a caterpillar goes through the vigorous process of freeing itself from its cocoon, its body becomes healthier and its wings stronger. The struggle, by nature’s design, is absolutely necessary for it to experience successfully its transformation into a beautiful butterfly. An interruption in its struggle would virtually assure its death. And so it is, spiritually, with us in transition: the very act of our putting forth effort to grow, of struggling in the present, in partnership with God, helps bring about transforming change in our lives.

But transitions are also adventures. We can never forget that life is God’s gift to us and that Jesus came so that we might have life and have it abundantly. Life with God, life with Jesus, is always an adventure! “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head” is a statement of the risky and itinerant character of what it is like to follow Jesus. For me, there is no stronger voice calling us into the future than that of the angel announcing the Risen Christ: “Indeed, he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.” (Matthew 28:7) We can never be totally sure about what the future holds. But we can be assured that Christ goes before us when we respond to his call.

This past week, at a meeting of the Program Group on Ecumenical and Interreligious Concerns, Kay Lindahl gave a stirring report on a conference she had attended earlier this month in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. The Conference was entitled Faith, Shared Wisdom and International Law, and it brought together sixty religious scholars, legal experts and leading thinkers and policy makers from around the world to consider, in short, how to make our world a better place for all. They came up with a Global Action Plan and a series of very concrete “next steps.” But the most striking thing that Kay reported was that the number one priority agreed upon by this impressive consultation was that a transformation of consciousness is needed. World religious leaders understand that we need to get people to think differently – not only in terms of international human rights but also in terms of international human responsibilities. Without stretching it too much, I believe that this is the kind of transition Jesus is demonstrating in his interaction with Zacchaeus. We need to think differently about ourselves, our fellow human beings, and about the world in which we live.

For me, the best part of the Zacchaeus story comes to light when we remember the other rich men the Gospel writer Luke has introduced us to in his Gospel. Zacchaeus is at least the third rich person in Luke’s Gospel – the first being the rich man who ignored poor Lazarus at his gate while living a life of extreme luxury, and the second, the rich magistrate, for whom the good news brought sorrow, not joy, because of his great wealth. Zacchaeus, by contrast, receives Jesus with great joy. He receives Jesus joyfully. He does not boast, as the Pharisee in last week’s parable did by drawing invidious comparisons between himself and others. He does not deny being a sinner. He does not appeal to his rights as a child of Abraham (as did the rich man in the Lazarus story). What he says about his way of dealing with wealth is simply a defense of his conduct in the face of an accusation hurled at him by all, an “all” that includes the whole crowd as well as Jesus’ own disciples. He gives an account of his stewardship and of his possessions. But most of all, he receives Jesus joyfully, and the witnessing crowd is invited to change the way they view this man, as Jesus proclaims: “Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham.”

So, transitions. Moving from one stage to another along life’s pilgrimage. Transitions require that we recognize the past, honor the past, and then let go of the past. Transitions can involve struggle in the present. They may require a transformation of consciousness – a new way of thinking about things. And transitions are also adventures, holding the promise of new life as we journey toward God. For that much is sure: “Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” (Matthew 28:20)

In the Name of God – Amen.

by The Rt. Rev. Mary D. Glasspool
The Rt. Rev. Mary Glasspool, former rector of St. Margaret’s Episcopal Church in Annapolis and Canon to the Bishops of the Diocese of Maryland, is now the Bishop Suffragan of the Diocese of Los Angeles.