Let’s talk about John the Baptist’s beheading and why it’s such a big deal, as it was technically the assigned gospel we were “supposed” to use today. John was this fearless prophet, calling out corruption wherever he saw it. He even told Herod, the king, that his marriage to Herodias, his brother’s wife, was wrong. Herodias didn’t like that one bit, so she had John imprisoned and eventually got Herod to have him beheaded. Now, why does this matter? John’s death shows the danger of speaking truth to power. It also sets the stage for Jesus’ story. In the Gospel of Mark, John’s gruesome end foreshadows the increasing danger Jesus faces. It’s like a big flashing sign that says, “Warning: Following God’s plan can get you into serious trouble.” John’s martyrdom points to Jesus’ own path of suffering and sacrifice and makes it clear that despite human treachery, God’s purpose will prevail. So, it’s not just a grim tale—it’s a crucial part of the gospel narrative. All that said, it’s hardly easy to pick comforting, inspiring meaning out of this account without doing a lot of clever interpretation that may or may not be faithful to Mark’s original intent. So today, we’re focusing elsewhere, in a completely different gospel, in fact, the gospel of Luke. But that history is important, and would make for fantastic Bible study someday down the road.
Let us pray. May only God’s Word be spoken and may only God’s Word be heard; in the name of Jesus. Amen.
Niles was an energetic kid, always on some kind of adventure. One afternoon, traipsing around the woods, he spotted an enormous sycamore tree. its branches reached high into the sky. Niles decided that he had to climb it. It would be the greatest climb he’d ever attempted—and after all, it was there just waiting for it.
The tree’s trunk was wide. Its gray and white bark was rough and unforgiving. His hands got scratched. His muscles were on fire. Every branch he grabbed seemed just barely within reach. Every step upwards was just a tad harder than the last. He thought about giving up, but he was determined. He wanted to see the world from the top of that tree, to experience the thrill of accomplishment.
Slowly but surely, Niles made his way up. At last, after what felt like forever and a day, Niles reached the top. He looked out. He saw the forest, the stream a few miles away, and the mountains beyond. It was a view he’d never imagined. He was satisfied. No—he was proud. He’d done it. He had worked hard, climbed the tree, and yet that’s all there was to it. He’d reached the top, but what more was there to it? The exhilaration of climbing gave way to letdown. Now what?
Climbing is a popular, common way to think about our hopes and dreams. It’s like when we talk about “climbing the corporate ladder,” which is a way of saying we’re working hard to succeed in our jobs. Or when we say we’re “climbing out of debt,” it means we’re doing our best to overcome financial struggles. Athletes talk about “climbing to the top” of their sport to say how they strive for excellence through dedication and effort. In a literal sense, climbing a tree embodies curiosity and a desire for a new perspective, reminding us of the youthful urge to see the world from a higher vantage point, or perhaps to grow up. These expressions highlight the struggles and successes inherent in any upward journey. But then what? We often find ourselves at various stages of these metaphorical climbs, continually seeking higher ground, chasing yet another goal.
Consider Zacchaeus. He was more than just curious when he climbed that tree. Maybe he did wish he could literally grow up, wee little man was he, so he could see in the crowd, but Zacchaeus, who was a wealthy tax collector, might have felt small in other ways, not just because he was short. He climbed the sycamore tree in Jericho because he wanted to see Jesus, who he heard was passing by. Why did he do that? Well, Zacchaeus, because he was a tax collector, was despised as a traitor because he worked for the Romans, not for his Jewish kinsfolk, and add to that the reputation tax collectors had for being corrupt in general, by Jews and gentiles alike. He knew his standing, and his own true faults, and he had likely heard about Jesus’ teachings and miracles. He was eager to see the one who many rumored was the Messiah, the savior of Israel. Could a glimpse of this Jesus change his life? Climbing that tree belies Zacchaeus’ deep desire, his longing, his yearning to find hope and redemption. And then, he saw Jesus. And so he climbed that tree. He put in the work. He literally climbed up there to achieve his salvation.
Zacchaeus climbing a sycamore tree to see Jesus shows how much effort we humans will make to reach God—to please him, to satisfy him, to curb his anger or gain his blessing. If only we could attain to heaven ourselves…How many times have people likened climbing a tree to feeling somehow closer to God? Perhaps it’s not closer to God that they feel, but rather their sense of accomplishment deceives them into feeling like God. Let’s not forget that trees often symbolize death. “Cursed,” St. Paul reminds the Galatians and us, “is everyone who is hung on a tree.” The tree, in this context, is a place of execution, a curse. Historically, trees have been places of terrible death for those considered undesirable, inferior, or even subhuman, like the lynching tree in American history. Hanging out or hanging up in a tree? These aren’t good things; they’re images of death—reminders not only of metaphoric but of very real death.
Remember the cross? It’s often called a tree too. That’s what Paul was speaking about to the Galatians of a tree. But here’s the strange thing: even with its express purpose of death, we Christians, who believe in God’s upside-down, backward way of doing things, call the cross the tree of life. People mocked Jesus on the cross, telling him to come down to prove his divinity. But his choice to stay on the cross proves that our salvation comes through his acceptance of death. Only after he died on the tree and was taken down did Jesus rise to newness of life. The tree, the cross, represents death, and coming down from it salvation.
Yet all this is God’s doing, not ours. And so now what? This challenges us, shakes the very notion that salvation is achieved by human effort, that we have to do something to be saved.
Salvation isn’t something we earn or obtain or achieve or get through our own striving. Salvation is a gift from God for us. Climbing the tree was Zacchaeus’ way to work out his salvation, which, yes, he knew came through Jesus somehow, but Jesus’ call to come down was his true saving moment, the moment Jesus saw him and opened up a direct, named relationship with God. The shift from what Zaccheaus does to what Jesus does is the shift, the change that brings about Zaccheaus’ true salvation.
How so?
Look at Jesus’ invitation to dine at Zacchaeus’ house. Jesus declares that salvation has come to his home. This vividly evokes none other than the sacrament of communion, where Jesus is truly present among us, in true body and blood. In communion, Jesus dines with us and brings God’s grace into our lives. Sharing a meal breaks down social and spiritual barriers, and sharing a meal with Jesus mends divisions and showcases the inclusive nature of God’s salvation. Like Jesus’ death on the cross, communion is a gift from God for us.
But now what?
We are saved, not by what we do but by what God does, what Jesus does. So now what? Salvation isn’t just about our own individual relationship with God; it’s about fostering unity among believers, among ourselves. When we participate in communion, we dine with Jesus and everyone he has come to seek and save. This communal aspect of salvation reminds us that Jesus’ presence among us transforms us. Communion with God is our salvation, and that same communion necessarily, by its inherent nature, draws us into a deeper, more inclusive relationship with each other and everyone God loves.
The prophet Jeremiah reminds us that God promises not only to forgive but to forget our sins. This forgiveness forges a new relationship between God and humanity—between God and us, between God and you. Salvation is not based on our deeds, but on God’s grace and mercy. We need not strive to please God to earn our salvation, for it is freely given to us out of God’s overflowing love. We have no ladders to climb, no debts to climb out of, no top to climb to. God, through the eyes of Jesus, embraces us in communion, uniting himself with us and all who see Jesus as Lord.
But now what?
Now, we, like our Lord, must come down from our pride, come down from our entitlement, come down from our anxieties, worries, and insecurities. We must embrace the salvation freely offered to us in Jesus, who for our sake came down from heaven, who for our sake came down from the cross, who for our sake came down from the tree. At the foot of that tree, at the foot of the cross, Jesus exchanges his death for life, and so our death is likewise exchanged for life. But still—now what? Now we, like our Lord, must see the world and its people for what and who they truly are—creations beloved beyond our own shortcomings, failures, successes, and achievements. At the foot of the cross, at the foot of the tree of life, we see things differently. Come down from the tree and see—see as God sees.
In the name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
The Rev'd Daniel W. Spigelmyer, Jr. 