I Am Zacchaeus
Drama
Hoof 'N Mouth Disease
Biblical Monologues and How to Do Them
Object:
THEME:
Zacchaeus was a man who loved power, wealth, and status. As a tax collector, however, he was shunned by polite society. Inwardly, he had not found satisfaction in his accumulation of wealth. Whatever it was that made him climb a tree to see Jesus, he found what his inward man longed for.
SETTING FOR THE SERMON MONOLOGUE:
Zacchaeus is in the lectionary readings. He is a fascinating little man about whom children sing. He can tell his own story better than I can preach about him.
* * *
Hello?
Surprised to see me?
Yes, I am Zacchaeus.
You don't look happy to see me.
Please don't close the door!
You're right.
I was here just last month --
and collected a tidy sum then, didn't I?
No --
No!
I'm not here to bleed more money out of you.
In fact, I bring this gift of bread,
dates,
and goat milk.
Wait!
Wait!
Don't refuse my gift --
Don't close the door --
Haven't you noticed I didn't bring the Roman guard with me?
Ah yes --
you have noticed,
and that's why you had the nerve to close the door on me.
You don't want my gift?
You don't think of me as a friend?
You don't want to have anything to do with me?
I can't say that I blame you.
You have every right to feel that way.
What's the trick?
No trick.
See --
nothing up my sleeve.
I've come to offer an apology.
No! No! --
Now hear me out.
You are right;
something more is due you than an apology --
That's why I brought the dates,
the goat milk,
and the bread.
Oh, you misunderstand.
No, I realize that's not adequate compensation for what I've done to you.
I offer you your money back.
What's the catch?
None.
Fat chance?
Chance of a snowball in hell?
Please --
please don't make epithets about my ancestors.
They weren't curs.
In fact, they were good orthodox people.
It's my fault --
not theirs.
I forgive you for those remarks,
and again I say, I don't blame you.
Here take this --
count it.
Ah yes --
Do you believe me to be sincere now?
Ah, you have noticed that there is a little extra in there, have you? --
As a matter of fact, four times as much as I took from you.
You're astounded?
So am I!
I cannot believe I am doing this.
And you --
you are just one of many.
I hope not all people will doubt me as much as you --
but then, who knows --
maybe some will even spit in my face.
Actually, you are gracious considering --
Did I get religion, you ask?
Well, yes --
in a manner of speaking, I did --
but it isn't quite that simple.
Sure --
yes --
I'll come in and sit.
Let me tell you my story.
I'm not quite sure where to begin.
You know my value system.
You know the kind of person I am --
that is, I was.
I guess I was always greedy.
I saw, even as a child, the power that belongs to the wealthy.
I was determined to get my share of it --
and maybe a little more.
I grew up in this city of Jericho --
a city with a rich history, as you know --
the city miraculously conquered by our ancestors under the leadership of Joshua,
after they completed their desert wanderings.
This beautiful garden of paradise was later given to Cleopatra by Anthony.
I suppose you know that, too.
When I was growing up,
I used to pass the palace of Archalaus,
Herod's son.
His rose gardens perfumed the air.
That was in marked contrast with the stench of the squatters'
huts, where I grew up.
I made a vow.
Someday --
someday, I would work for Caesar --
the one who made it all possible for Herod and Archalaus.
I, too, would be rich and powerful.
That's all I dreamed of.
I was prepared to pay the cost --
but --
I can't say I enjoyed being in a crowd
and hearing people mumble curses under their breath about me.
Sometimes, when my back was turned,
they even spit on me.
When I would turn around to see who did it,
all faces were blank with innocence --
as though they neither saw nor did anything.
They treated me like a common criminal --
an outcast;
like a robber,
a cutthroat,
a brothel-keeper.
The more they did so,
the heavier I made their taxes.
I got even --
after a fashion --
I did feel lonely at times,
but, I loved the power.
I started out as a small-time tax collector.
I outbid everyone else,
particularly those with a conscience.
I got the job.
Others said I bid too much in that auction,
that I couldn't possibly make any money.
They just didn't know how ruthless I could be.
I made sure that I always had a good contingent of the Roman army with me when I went out to collect taxes.
I stopped at nothing.
What did I care if some widow had nothing left to buy
groceries --
scourge of the earth, anyway.
Right?
If she was a widow,
there was probably a curse on her.
I could have gone on living like this forever,
but something caught my attention recently.
When going into some few houses,
they invited me in and treated me with respect --
like an ordinary, real person.
Finally, I asked one of these families why they did this --
They said it was because of some carpenter turned rabbi --
Jesus of Nazareth.
They shared with me how He turned their lives around.
His teachings, they said, were unusual --
"He taught us to love," they said.
"But, it was more than His teachings.
He seemed to exude the aura of the God of Abraham,
whose son I am.
He forgave sin.
He healed the sick and the broken-hearted.
He could bring peace --
shalom -- to His people."
I began to wonder.
What good is all my ill-gotten wealth, if everyone hates me,
if I at last find myself in Hades?
Here I was at this point.
I had risen to the position of chief tax collector.
I had it all.
I became one of the richest men in all Jericho.
I was going up the ladder,
yet inside, I felt empty.
One day, I heard that Jesus was coming here to Jericho.
I determined to see Him.
Alas, when I got there, the streets were crowded.
Unfortunately, I am short of stature, obviously,
and I couldn't see him --
I spied a sycamore tree, however --
Without thinking, I shinnied up that tree.
Can you believe that --
fat, little old man that I am?
Almost before I saw Him, He saw me --
He called me by name --
How He knew me, I do not know --
"Zach," He said,
"Come down, I'm going to lunch with you today at your
house."
I couldn't believe it.
Apparently, others couldn't either;
they kept murmuring, "He's a friend of tax collectors
and sinners."
Thank God He is.
His acceptance of me has made a difference, not only for me,
but for those very murmurers.
My values have been reversed.
Whereas I coveted the outward things,
I now crave the inward.
I wanted the material --
now, I want the spiritual.
I treated people like things for my own gratification --
now, I see them as persons.
Formerly, I felt disconnected from everyone.
Now I feel connected,
even to my Maker.
Just yesterday, I heard the Mrs. talking to a neighbor about what happened --
how, at first, she was annoyed because I brought guests home for dinner
without warning her in advance --
how, in the midst of the meal,
I turned to the Savior and again repeated my vow,
"Half of all I have, I give to the poor.
If I have defrauded any person,
I'll restore it four-fold."
"Then, Jesus said to him the sweetest words I ever heard --
'Today, salvation is come to this house.' "
And the little woman said,
"You know, I don't think we'll be eating so high on the hog anymore,
but, I believe things are going to be better around this house.
Why, this morning, he even took the garbage out!"
I laughed right out loud.
If I had followed the orthodox teachings of my family,
we wouldn't be eating hog anyway.
But, she's right.
I may even have to give up my vocation.
I'll probably be a lousy tax collector.
I'm not into control anymore.
I've surrendered the control over my life, and its circumstances, to the Master.
I found myself,
wonder of wonders,
entering this relationship without even negotiating a contract.
My old self would have bargained with Jesus.
You know how I am.
I use pressure.
I'm like a used-car salesman --
uhh, I mean used-camel merchant --
My new self simply surrendered.
What's that you say?
You'd like to know Jesus, too?
He's nearby --
still at my house --
teaching other sinners.
Come over for supper,
I'll introduce you to Him.
Shalom, y'all.
A Postscript: According to one tradition that cannot be verified, Zacchaeus became a bishop of Caesarea.
Zacchaeus was a man who loved power, wealth, and status. As a tax collector, however, he was shunned by polite society. Inwardly, he had not found satisfaction in his accumulation of wealth. Whatever it was that made him climb a tree to see Jesus, he found what his inward man longed for.
SETTING FOR THE SERMON MONOLOGUE:
Zacchaeus is in the lectionary readings. He is a fascinating little man about whom children sing. He can tell his own story better than I can preach about him.
* * *
Hello?
Surprised to see me?
Yes, I am Zacchaeus.
You don't look happy to see me.
Please don't close the door!
You're right.
I was here just last month --
and collected a tidy sum then, didn't I?
No --
No!
I'm not here to bleed more money out of you.
In fact, I bring this gift of bread,
dates,
and goat milk.
Wait!
Wait!
Don't refuse my gift --
Don't close the door --
Haven't you noticed I didn't bring the Roman guard with me?
Ah yes --
you have noticed,
and that's why you had the nerve to close the door on me.
You don't want my gift?
You don't think of me as a friend?
You don't want to have anything to do with me?
I can't say that I blame you.
You have every right to feel that way.
What's the trick?
No trick.
See --
nothing up my sleeve.
I've come to offer an apology.
No! No! --
Now hear me out.
You are right;
something more is due you than an apology --
That's why I brought the dates,
the goat milk,
and the bread.
Oh, you misunderstand.
No, I realize that's not adequate compensation for what I've done to you.
I offer you your money back.
What's the catch?
None.
Fat chance?
Chance of a snowball in hell?
Please --
please don't make epithets about my ancestors.
They weren't curs.
In fact, they were good orthodox people.
It's my fault --
not theirs.
I forgive you for those remarks,
and again I say, I don't blame you.
Here take this --
count it.
Ah yes --
Do you believe me to be sincere now?
Ah, you have noticed that there is a little extra in there, have you? --
As a matter of fact, four times as much as I took from you.
You're astounded?
So am I!
I cannot believe I am doing this.
And you --
you are just one of many.
I hope not all people will doubt me as much as you --
but then, who knows --
maybe some will even spit in my face.
Actually, you are gracious considering --
Did I get religion, you ask?
Well, yes --
in a manner of speaking, I did --
but it isn't quite that simple.
Sure --
yes --
I'll come in and sit.
Let me tell you my story.
I'm not quite sure where to begin.
You know my value system.
You know the kind of person I am --
that is, I was.
I guess I was always greedy.
I saw, even as a child, the power that belongs to the wealthy.
I was determined to get my share of it --
and maybe a little more.
I grew up in this city of Jericho --
a city with a rich history, as you know --
the city miraculously conquered by our ancestors under the leadership of Joshua,
after they completed their desert wanderings.
This beautiful garden of paradise was later given to Cleopatra by Anthony.
I suppose you know that, too.
When I was growing up,
I used to pass the palace of Archalaus,
Herod's son.
His rose gardens perfumed the air.
That was in marked contrast with the stench of the squatters'
huts, where I grew up.
I made a vow.
Someday --
someday, I would work for Caesar --
the one who made it all possible for Herod and Archalaus.
I, too, would be rich and powerful.
That's all I dreamed of.
I was prepared to pay the cost --
but --
I can't say I enjoyed being in a crowd
and hearing people mumble curses under their breath about me.
Sometimes, when my back was turned,
they even spit on me.
When I would turn around to see who did it,
all faces were blank with innocence --
as though they neither saw nor did anything.
They treated me like a common criminal --
an outcast;
like a robber,
a cutthroat,
a brothel-keeper.
The more they did so,
the heavier I made their taxes.
I got even --
after a fashion --
I did feel lonely at times,
but, I loved the power.
I started out as a small-time tax collector.
I outbid everyone else,
particularly those with a conscience.
I got the job.
Others said I bid too much in that auction,
that I couldn't possibly make any money.
They just didn't know how ruthless I could be.
I made sure that I always had a good contingent of the Roman army with me when I went out to collect taxes.
I stopped at nothing.
What did I care if some widow had nothing left to buy
groceries --
scourge of the earth, anyway.
Right?
If she was a widow,
there was probably a curse on her.
I could have gone on living like this forever,
but something caught my attention recently.
When going into some few houses,
they invited me in and treated me with respect --
like an ordinary, real person.
Finally, I asked one of these families why they did this --
They said it was because of some carpenter turned rabbi --
Jesus of Nazareth.
They shared with me how He turned their lives around.
His teachings, they said, were unusual --
"He taught us to love," they said.
"But, it was more than His teachings.
He seemed to exude the aura of the God of Abraham,
whose son I am.
He forgave sin.
He healed the sick and the broken-hearted.
He could bring peace --
shalom -- to His people."
I began to wonder.
What good is all my ill-gotten wealth, if everyone hates me,
if I at last find myself in Hades?
Here I was at this point.
I had risen to the position of chief tax collector.
I had it all.
I became one of the richest men in all Jericho.
I was going up the ladder,
yet inside, I felt empty.
One day, I heard that Jesus was coming here to Jericho.
I determined to see Him.
Alas, when I got there, the streets were crowded.
Unfortunately, I am short of stature, obviously,
and I couldn't see him --
I spied a sycamore tree, however --
Without thinking, I shinnied up that tree.
Can you believe that --
fat, little old man that I am?
Almost before I saw Him, He saw me --
He called me by name --
How He knew me, I do not know --
"Zach," He said,
"Come down, I'm going to lunch with you today at your
house."
I couldn't believe it.
Apparently, others couldn't either;
they kept murmuring, "He's a friend of tax collectors
and sinners."
Thank God He is.
His acceptance of me has made a difference, not only for me,
but for those very murmurers.
My values have been reversed.
Whereas I coveted the outward things,
I now crave the inward.
I wanted the material --
now, I want the spiritual.
I treated people like things for my own gratification --
now, I see them as persons.
Formerly, I felt disconnected from everyone.
Now I feel connected,
even to my Maker.
Just yesterday, I heard the Mrs. talking to a neighbor about what happened --
how, at first, she was annoyed because I brought guests home for dinner
without warning her in advance --
how, in the midst of the meal,
I turned to the Savior and again repeated my vow,
"Half of all I have, I give to the poor.
If I have defrauded any person,
I'll restore it four-fold."
"Then, Jesus said to him the sweetest words I ever heard --
'Today, salvation is come to this house.' "
And the little woman said,
"You know, I don't think we'll be eating so high on the hog anymore,
but, I believe things are going to be better around this house.
Why, this morning, he even took the garbage out!"
I laughed right out loud.
If I had followed the orthodox teachings of my family,
we wouldn't be eating hog anyway.
But, she's right.
I may even have to give up my vocation.
I'll probably be a lousy tax collector.
I'm not into control anymore.
I've surrendered the control over my life, and its circumstances, to the Master.
I found myself,
wonder of wonders,
entering this relationship without even negotiating a contract.
My old self would have bargained with Jesus.
You know how I am.
I use pressure.
I'm like a used-car salesman --
uhh, I mean used-camel merchant --
My new self simply surrendered.
What's that you say?
You'd like to know Jesus, too?
He's nearby --
still at my house --
teaching other sinners.
Come over for supper,
I'll introduce you to Him.
Shalom, y'all.
A Postscript: According to one tradition that cannot be verified, Zacchaeus became a bishop of Caesarea.
