When I was in college, every Thursday night my friends and I would go to this country line dance club called Roper’s. We usually met up to leave around 10 PM and would dance pretty much nonstop from about 11 PM to 2 AM. But you know, we were young and dumb with endless energy. Occasionally, we would leave there and go do something ELSE. Waffle House, Krispy Kreme, the Purple Onion (an 24-hour Greek restaurant near campus).
Every week they played the same songs and every week we did the same dances. There were specific line dances for specific songs and, if you went every week, they were pretty easy to pick up. Of course they would mix in some regular party music where we could do our own thing and some slow songs so we could slow dance with our current significant other (or take a water break). But for the most part, the intro to the song would play, we would recognize it and get ready, the DJ would count us off and we would all start dancing.
There’s a warm sense of belonging and camaraderie when you look around the dance floor and see your dearest friends and even perfect strangers doing the same dance you’re doing. It’s like a big wonderful private joke that we were all in on. I never noticed anyone not dancing. I was too busy getting my groove on with my people.
Fast forward about 15 years. Some friends decided we were going line dancing one Saturday night. I was all over it. No matter that my normal bedtime was when the party really started. I could do it for one night. I was remembering Roper’s and how much fun we had. I tried to tell myself that it wouldn’t be the same for a million reasons, but I pretty much knew what to expect. Or so I thought.
We all got there and watched. And watched. And watched. I recognized most of the songs (country and pop) but I had never seen any of the dances before. And maybe my brain just wasn’t what it was in college, but I couldn’t pick these dances up. They were complicated.
So after and hour or so of just watching, some of my friends and I just got out on the dance floor and started doing our own thing. I mean, what else were we to do? We came there to dance. And dance we did. Freestyle. And it was pretty fun. But I still got the nagging sense that we didn’t belong, that we weren’t doing what we were supposed to be doing.
I watched the regulars with jealousy and wanted to know the dances so badly. They moved effortlessly together as a unit and looked like they were having so much fun! This time I was on the outside of the private joke. And it sucked. (The only redeeming factor was that this time, I was old enough to drink, so that helped a little.)
During my stint as a youth worker I heard a wonderful talk one Wednesday night on the story of Zacchaeus. You know, the wee little man? He was a tax collector (hated by his own people as a traitor) and he was short. Bad combination. He heard Jesus was coming through town and wanted to go check it out. But when he got to the parade, he couldn’t see over the other people lining the streets, so he climbed a tree. Jesus saw him, called him by name and informed him that they would be lunching at his house that day. And from that day on Zacchaeus was a changed man. (Jesus tends to have that effect on people.)
I had heard that story many times and the teacher always focused on Zacchaeus and Jesus and they all lived happily ever after. But the crazy youth pastor I worked for took it in a brand new direction. His focus on the story was the people lining the streets, the people that kept Zacchaeus out, the people that blocked him from seeing Jesus. The youth group at the time had a bit of an exclusivity problem. Some kids, definitely new kids, were on the outside and the cool kids, the regulars, were on the inside. Some kids came to church and couldn’t see Jesus because of the insiders who lined the streets. Ouch.
It was a sermon I’ll never forget and concept I experienced in full that night at the dance club. And I began to wonder, do I do that? As a Christian, do I get in the way of people seeing Jesus?
How do I treat the Zacchaeuses that come to my church? Do I even notice them? Or am I too wrapped up in my own worship experience and what we’re doing for lunch afterward?
Jesus commands us to love the rejected, the marginalized, the Zacchaeuses, and He did it all the time when He was here. Hung out with prostitutes, tax collectors, sick people, foreigners. His disciples were regularly uncomfortable and embarrassed by His lunch dates. How were these lowest of the low going help make Him King? Shouldn’t He be brushing shoulders with the big dogs at the temple, spending time with people of influence and means who could get Him into power?
What they didn’t realize was that Jesus was already King and He had nothing to prove to anyone. So He spent His ministry years showing us how it’s done.
Who are our Zacchaeuses today? Addicts, gays, homeless people. And it can’t be easy for a black person to walk into a mostly-white church. I would venture to say that most of our present-day Zacchaeuses know better than to show up on Sunday mornings. And on the off chance that any of them work up the guts to darken the church door uninvited, what do they get? A warm welcome? An invitation to come sit with a regular attender? Help finding the book, chapter and verse that the pastor is preaching on? An invitation to lunch and to come next week? Maybe.
But if that has happened, it sure hasn’t come from me.
I mean, I’ve got my people, you know? My husband is on staff, I used to be on staff. We’re plugged in. I know when to stand, when to sit. I know most of the songs. I know how to navigate the Bible. I know the Lord’s Prayer and to say “thanks be to God” after the scripture is read. And before the service starts, well, I’m just happy if we GET there before it starts. After it’s over, I’m busy talking to friends and gathering children, doing my thing.
My eyes never scan the crowd for someone who looks different and might need some encouragement.
May God begin to train my eyes and my heart to look for Zacchaeuses at church and in my life. They’re hungry. They want to see Jesus. I know Him. I can introduce them. And Lord, help me to INVITE others to church and into my life and just love them with no agenda, no expectation.
And for heaven’s sake, when the parade is passing through, may I take my eyes off Jesus just long enough to look behind me for those who may need Him even more. And may I step aside and pull them toward Him, and we can gaze at Him together.
I think that’s how it’s supposed to go.
