The Kingdom and the Crown

by Gerald N. Lund

  The two men had been at the synagogue several months before when Jesus had gone through Jericho the first time. Their curiosity had been piqued. Jesus’ fame had preceded him—he was the subject of every conversation; his name was on everyone’s lips. They had both watched in absolute astonishment as old crippled Huldah had come shuffling into the courtyard of the synagogue, and Jesus had healed her. Zacchaeus and Chronicus were at the edge of the large crowd and too far away to see Jesus clearly or to hear what was said, but that didn’t matter. What Zacchaeus did see that day had stayed in his mind as vividly as if it had just happened.

  Since then there had been many other reports of healings, most notable of which was that a man born blind had been given sight in Jerusalem. But Jesus had not been seen again. He passed by Jericho several months earlier, going into Perea, but by the time Zacchaeus had learned of it, Jesus was gone again.

  Now at last he was back. Had it not been for a major banquet Zacchaeus had been hosting for three distinguished guests from Jerusalem, he would have gone out to the camp last evening.

  He sighed. Well, if Jesus didn’t come to the city in the next hour or two, Zacchaeus would go to him.

  V

  “Do you see him?” Zacchaeus jumped up and down, trying to see over the heads of the crowd in front of him. “Where is he?”

  Chronicus, who was a full two hands taller than his master, went up on tiptoes, craning his neck. “It looks like there is a crowd of people just coming around the corner, down by the weaver’s shop. But there are a lot of people. I can’t tell yet.”

  Highly frustrated, Zacchaeus moved forward. “Excuse me,” he called. “Excuse me, please.” When no one moved, he shifted to his left, searching for any opening at all. “Please! May I come through?”

  He may as well have put his hand out to open a passage through a wall of stone. No one budged. It was as though they hadn’t even heard him. And more people were pressing in all around. He lowered his shoulders and began to make his way slowly southward, hoping he could find a place. Chronicus, who was still on his toes peering forward, didn’t turn until it was too late. When he went to speak to his master, Zacchaeus was gone.

  The little publican didn’t make it far. Soon he was wedged into the crowd and could barely move. He turned his head. Chronicus was no longer in sight and therefore couldn’t help him. Ready to scream in exasperation, Zacchaeus felt a sense of despair. After all of his planning, he was going to miss Jesus.

  But Zacchaeus had not become one of the richest men in Jericho and the chief of the publicans by simply giving in when things became difficult. As he elbowed his way back from the street to a place where there was a little breathing room, his eyes were caught by something above him. The main road of Jericho was lined with dozens of massive old sycamore trees. They provided dense, badly needed shade in a climate where the summer heat could become deadly. Fifty or sixty feet high, with thick, outspreading branches, the nearest one loomed over Zacchaeus like the bottom of a great house built on stilts.

  He started. An elevated house! A house well above the heads of this crushing mass of people.

  He didn’t excuse himself this time. He just lowered his head and plowed forward. He ignored the grumbling and muttering he created and only frowned at a man who swore at him. In moments, he was at the base of the tree. Eyeing the branches, he saw that they were low enough for him to touch, but he didn’t have sufficient strength to pull himself up without help. He looked around. Set back from the road, just steps from him, was a small stone house. A three-legged stool sat near the front door. In three steps he reached it, then darted back to the tree. It was enough. Zacchaeus climbed onto it, then scrambled upwards, unmindful that the skirts of his robe were hiked up past his knees.

  In a moment, he settled himself in a crotch where one of the main branches divided. He looked down, deeply pleased with himself. He was a good five or six feet above the heads of the crowd and was nearly over the street itself. Perfect!

  Now he could see what Chronicus had seen. To his left, still almost a hundred paces away, a crowd of people was slowly making its way toward his perch, moving down the center of the street. At first it was difficult to make out anything. People crammed the streets, trying to see better. But they began to give way as the oncoming group reached them.

  The noise was deafening. People who couldn’t see what was happening shouted at others to tell them what was going on, just as Zacchaeus had done with Chronicus. Near the center of the oncoming throng, people were clapping their hands and shouting out comments to a man who had to be Jesus.

  Finally, Zacchaeus saw that man. Though people were all around on every side, basically one person led them, and the crowd flowed in behind him. The publican noted that several men were on both sides of him, helping to hold back the people from rushing in and crushing him.

  By the time the distance to his perch had been cut in half, Zacchaeus could see Jesus clearly. Amazingly, he did not seem to be bothered by the press. He smiled as he reached out and touched people’s hands or spoke to individuals. Once he stopped, bending down to talk to a young boy. After a moment, he took the lad’s face in his hands and shook him gently. They both laughed together. The boy was clearly thrilled, and as Jesus stood again, the lad turned to his mother and apparently began to tell her what had just happened, as though she hadn’t been watching the whole thing proudly.

  As the day began, Zacchaeus had entertained hopes that he might even have a chance to speak to Jesus, but as Jesus drew near, Zacchaeus knew that wasn’t going to be possible. There were too many people. Not that he knew what he would say if he had the chance, but he felt a strange sense of sadness. He had truly hoped for a chance to speak to this man.

  Now Jesus was just ten or fifteen paces from his position. Zacchaeus studied him closely. So this was the man everyone was talking about. There was nothing particularly unusual about him. If he weren’t in the front of the entourage that strung out behind him, you would have never picked him out of a crowd. And yet . . .

  Zacchaeus couldn’t take his eyes from the man’s face. The hair, shoulder length, was pulled back, revealing clear, wide eyes, a pleasant mouth, a full but neatly trimmed beard. But there was something compelling about his gaze. Zacchaeus grabbed onto the branch and leaned forward to see better.

  As he did so, his eyes suddenly widened. A familiar face had jumped out of the crowd. He leaned forward even farther, peering. It was true. He recognized the face of Matthew the Publican, a colleague from Capernaum. He was one of those men nearest to Jesus, trying to control the crowd so Jesus could keep moving. So it was true. Jesus had actually chosen a publican as one of his leaders. When Zacchaeus had first heard that, he had scoffed openly. Publicans were detested by their own people. What religious leader would dare become affiliated with anyone of that class?

  Zacchaeus drew back a little when Jesus stopped directly below him. Maybe he would be able to hear what Jesus was saying. He was no more than two or three arm lengths away. Then, to the little man’s utter surprise, Jesus looked up. Zacchaeus was surprised when Jesus’ eyes fell squarely upon him.

  A broad smile slowly stole across the face looking at him. “Zacchaeus?”

  Zacchaeus nearly lost his balance. You know my name?

  The entourage in the street had ground to a stop around Jesus, and every head tipped back, looking up into the tree. The waiting crowd also turned to see what Jesus was looking at. Zacchaeus’s face flushed. Here he was, one of Jericho’s wealthiest citizens, a man in his early fifties, a man of influence, sitting in a tree like a little boy who had sneaked away from his mother.

  “Zacchaeus?” Jesus said again, more insistent this time.

  Half dazed, Zacchaeus bobbed his head. “Yes, Lord?”

  “Make haste and come down now, friend, for this day I shall abide at your house.”

  People on every hand gasped. They knew who he was. They knew what he was. Was Jesus aware that he was speaking to a publican?
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  His ears ringing, his heart pounding with the unexpected joy of that declaration, Zacchaeus scrambled down, sure that once he reached the ground, Jesus would take one look at his expensive robes and change his mind.

  “Lord,” he said, ignoring the angry mutters breaking out all around him, “you do me a great honor this day.”

  Jesus laughed softly and clapped him on the back. “Come,” he said. “This day my disciples and I shall sup at your table.”

  The muttering exploded into an ugly rumble. “This man is a sinner!” someone shouted.

  “Do you not know he is a publican?”

  “Take care, Jesus! To even be seen with such a man is a defilement.”

  Zacchaeus’s head flitted back and forth, seeing the twisted faces, the sneering lips, the smoldering eyes. His chin dropped to his chest. What would surely follow was censure and rejection. But Jesus didn’t remove his hand from his shoulder.

  For years Zacchaeus had been inured to the contempt of his fellow citizens. He had grown so accustomed to their hatred and rejection that he thought he had reached the point where he was impervious to it. He looked up, and in that instant, when he saw neither contempt nor censure nor rejection, but a warm, open acceptance in the eyes of the man who stood before him, something happened to Zacchaeus. Something deep down inside of him broke wide open.

  He bowed his head. “Master,” he said, speaking softly so the crowd would not hear, “behold, I shall give half of all my goods to the poor.”

  There were gasps of astonishment from those closest around. Zacchaeus barely heard them. It was as though his heart had suddenly swelled to many times its original size, like it was going to crack his ribs as it broke out of its confinement. He was filled with such a burst of gratitude and purest joy that he wanted to throw back his head and shout to the heavens. Instead, with trembling voice, he added, “And if I have taken anything from any man by false accusation, I shall restore it unto him fourfold.”

  Those who heard responded with more gasps, more soft cries of astonishment. But Jesus said nothing. Finally, Zacchaeus looked up, dreading what he might see. But he had to know.

  To his amazement, there were tears in the eyes of Jesus. He reached out and put both hands on Zacchaeus’s shoulders. “Zacchaeus, my friend, this day is salvation come unto your house.”

  Before the people could react to that, Jesus turned to them, his gaze instantly cutting off their protests. “This man, too, is a son of Abraham,” he said, challenging any to disagree with him. “Know you not that the Son of man is come to seek out and to save those which are lost?”

  Chapter Notes

  The story of the rich young ruler and the Savior’s commentary on riches is included in three of the four Gospels (Matthew 19:16–30; Mark 10:17–31; Luke 18:18–30). It is Mark who adds two details, used here, that enrich our understanding of what was said. Mark states that “Jesus beholding him loved him” (10:21). He also adds the clarification, “How hard is it for them that trust in riches to enter into the kingdom of God” (10:24; emphasis added).

  There have been several attempts to explain the phrase about a camel going through the eye of a needle. Some have speculated that there was in some cities a small, side gate through which a camel might squeeze with utmost difficulty. This gate was supposedly called “the eye of the needle.” While this is a possibility, there is no confirmatory evidence that such was the case (see Farrar, p. 476).

  In Greek, camel is kamelon and “cable” or “rope” is kamilon, a difference of only one letter. Some New Testament manuscripts read kamilon, making it a rope going through the eye of a needle, but since the best manuscripts have kamelon, it is more likely that kamilon came through transcribers changing the original, thinking it made more sense metaphorically (Clarke, 3:193).

  In addition, the expression of a camel going through a needle is found in the Talmud and other sources, so most agree it was a common proverb of the day, expressing the idea that something was virtually impossible, like our own phrase of “shooting for the moon” (see Edersheim, Life and Times, p. 710; see also Clarke, 3:193). When one remembers that the Savior earlier taught, “Enter ye in at the strait gate” (Matthew 7:13), strait meaning narrow, as in the Straits of Gibraltar, not straight, the meaning seems clear and the metaphor is a powerful one. The camel anciently was a pack animal. Trying to enter the strait and narrow gate of eternal life while burdened down with an accumulation of worldly things is no more possible than a camel squeezing through the eye of a needle. We express the same idea today in a far less colorful way when we say, “You can’t take it with you.”

  We have no record that Mary traveled with Jesus during his ministry, though we know that on at least some occasions he went up to Jerusalem for feast days with his family (see John 7:2–9). We also know that Mary was in Jerusalem when Jesus was crucified (see, for example, John 19:25), so it seemed reasonable that she may have been with him as he went up to the Passover festival. It is Luke who tells us of the aged Simeon’s prophecy in the temple (Luke 2:25–35). Though typically the author has used the King James Version in this series, the wording of Simeon’s prophecy is more obscure in that version, so the Phillips translation was used in this instance (The New Testament in Four Versions, p. 169).

  Luke is the only Gospel writer who records the story of Zacchaeus, the man in Jericho who was “chief among the publicans” and “was little of stature” (Luke 19:2–3).

  Chapter 19

  The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge: but fools despise wisdom and instruction.

  —Proverbs 1:7

  I

  Jericho 18 March, a.d. 33

  David and Deborah walked slowly down Jericho’s main street, which was mostly empty as evening came on. They were alone. Most of their party was still at the house of Zacchaeus with Jesus and would return to camp once they finished there. David and Deborah, when they had a moment alone with Zacchaeus, had asked if he knew the woman named Huldah. Filled with excitement, he told them what he witnessed at the synagogue when Huldah was cured of her infirmity. Though he didn’t know the exact house where she lived, he gave them directions on how to find her.

  “I just had a strange thought,” Deborah said.

  David turned his head. “What is that?” he asked.

  “I was thinking about that young man at the camp last night and Zacchaeus today. It’s an interesting contrast. The one who should be most likely to accept Jesus, being a leader in our religion, turns away in sorrow because the Master asked too much of him. The hated, contemptible publican accepts in a matter of moments even though Jesus asked nothing of him.”

  David had been thinking about that too. “The rich young ruler came to Jesus wanting salvation, and went away, as you say, sorrowing. Zacchaeus came only wanting to see Jesus and, because he was willing to offer so much, came away with salvation for him and his house.” He slipped an arm through his wife’s. “Every day is a rich learning experience with Jesus, isn’t it.”

  Just then they saw a man and woman coming up the street in the opposite direction. David stepped forward. “Shalom, excuse me. We are looking for the street where Huldah lives, the woman who was once called ‘Huldah the crippled one.’”

  “Ah,” said the man, a bit put out, “everyone wants to meet Huldah these days.”

  His wife shot him a critical look, then smiled at David. “Huldah lives with her daughter, Ruth, and her husband, Joash. It’s the third street down on your right. She lives in the second house from the end.”

  “Todah rabah.”

  “You are welcome.”

  This was certainly not the section of town where the wealthy lived, but the houses were made of stone and were definitely more than mere hovels. Each looked as if it had two, three, or four rooms, and a few had small enclosed courtyards. The streets were clean, and here and there small plots of flowers and vegetables were visible. For some reason, Deborah had just assumed that Huldah would be poor. She was a widow, living wi
th her daughter and her husband, and Aaron had talked about sending them money. They were not well off, but neither were they living in abject poverty. Perhaps the money Aaron was sending them was more generous than Deborah had supposed. Perhaps Hava’s brother did better as an overseer for one of the big date plantations than she had assumed.

  They turned down the correct street, and David pointed as they approached the second house from the end of the street. To Deborah’s further surprise, the house was one of the nicest on the street. The golden glow of lamplight shone behind the shuttered windows. “This must be it.” He raised a hand and knocked.

  A moment later the door opened, and a man stood before them.

  “Erev tov,” David said. “Good evening. We are looking for the house of Joash and Ruth.”

  “I am Joash,” the man said.

  Suddenly there was a cry from behind the man. “David?” Another figure appeared, rushing toward the door. “Deborah!”

  “Aaron?” Deborah said, completely dumbfounded. “Is that you?”

  Joash moved back, and Aaron stepped outside and opened his arms. In a moment he held his sister in a tight embrace. “This is a welcome surprise,” he said. “I was going to come out to the camp to try to find you tonight.”

  “You were?” she said, still completely taken aback by this unexpected turn of events.

  “Yes. Come in. Hava’s here. Let me introduce you to her family.”

  II

  “How did you know we’d be with Jesus?” Deborah asked. They were settled on benches, chairs, and stools, all facing each other.

  “I didn’t, not for sure,” Aaron answered. “But I thought you might join up with him, coming with him to Passover as you did for Sukkot. Only when Hava and I arrived in Jericho yesterday afternoon did we learn that Jesus was coming to Jericho.”

  “The family would love to see you. Perhaps you and Hava can still come out with us and see them. You could even stay with us for a time, if you’d like. Jesus hasn’t said how soon we’ll be going up to Jerusalem, but I’m sure it’s soon.”