The Short Man and the Tall Tree
On our distinct physicality and the search for God.
We both sat quietly on the white-tiled patio. The cooler-than-normal temperature indicating the time of year: monsoon. Unlike the days past or the days soon to come, this day lacked the blankets of rain and coursing winds that typified this season in the tropics. Today it was quiet day. A day of respite from the jovial spirit of the monsoon where trees dance in the wind, and banners of rain are waved to and fro. Today, the kindness of the season was a gentle whisper; the afternoon breeze flowing from the forest, over us, through the two wicker chairs we sat on, and then further still.
“Did you dye your hair?” she asked me. Looking into the lush rainforest ahead, with my arms outstretched on the arm rests, I felt my body reverberate as I chuckled in response. Of all the people in the world to dye their hair, I knew (or at least believed) that I ranked among the least likely. I turned to my garden companion, surprised she would ask that of me, and also a little curious as to why the question came. Innocently and earnestly she said: “It looks a little red!”
My paternal grandmother is Australian—half English and half Scottish. Her own ethnic mix would only get further complexified when she married my Malaysian grandfather—I know little of his heritage save for the fact that he is ethnically Chinese. Ingredients continued to be added to this mixing pot when my Australian—now Chinese-English-Scottish—father married my Singaporean—Indian (Punjabi)—mother. It is a rich ethnic broth. The ethnicities of Chinese, English, Scottish, and Punjabi mixed with the cultural influences of Australia, Malaysia and Singapore. My brothers and I, the Chin boys (now men), carry the traits of all of our ancestries in different ways. My younger brother and I have the high-bridged noses of northern India, and my older brother the rich complexion of the same place. I don’t know the origins of his curls, nor the darker hair we all have—Asia, Europe, it could be either. My older brother is left-handed, a trait commonly associated with the Kerr clan, the home our Scottish ancestry finds itself coming from. But how genetic is left or right-handedness? I don’t know. And nestled in my own hair, often between blades of bearded stubble, or the thatched nest of my crown, in certain light, there sometimes shines the glint of a few strands of red hair.
Though it shapes me, this ethnic mix does not entirely define me. I do not bear the histories and heritages of my ancestors. Neither their victories nor their shames are mine. And yet in curious way, I am still undoubtedly tied to them, and most clearly in the physicality of my body. My nose reminds me that I have roots in India, my skin tone of history in China, and the glints of red speak of ancestry in Europe.
There is a story in one of the Gospels that records Jesus’ encounter with a man who, himself too, had distinct and shaping physicality. Perhaps you think I may be referring the man with a withered hand in Mark 3 or the man born blind in John 9, and Jesus Christ’s subsequent healings of them. Or perhaps the paralysed man in Mark 2 or the man who had speech and hearing impediments in Mark 7, and the Lord’s healing of them! You might be surprised to hear that the “distinct and shaping physicality” of the main I’m referring to was much simpler than the sufferings of these other men. This man’s “distinct and shaping physicality” was this: he was short. I am thinking of Zacchaeus, the tax-collector.
It’s not nice to be told that you are short, especially as a man. Perhaps my assumptions are anachronistic. Perhaps shortness in first-century Palestine was revered and celebrated. But somehow I doubt so. In the times I have found myself short (after all, tallness and shortness are always relative), I have realised that there is a minimising feeling when you are shorter. There is a limiting reality to it. You can’t look all the way through crowds or see what’s ahead. You have to shuffle forward to get a view of a musician performing, or stand on your tippy-toes, to have your face in a picture. And I’m saying this as a man who half of the time, doesn’t find himself relatively short. I wonder what it might have been like for Zacchaeus?
Perhaps Zacchaeus had used his stature to his advantage, darting out of the way from frustrated tax-payers. Or to eavesdrop discreetly in places he was not supposed to be. But for all the potential boons I’m sure a shrewd shorter man might leverage, the banes are almost undeniable. How many would have mocked the short man for his stature? How many would have looked over him both metaphorically and literally? Zacchaeus was a short man and he lived in a time when bone-breaking height adjusting operations had yet been invented.
As the Gospel of Luke records in Luke 19, Jesus walks into the city where Zacchaeus finds himself coming up short. In Jericho, Zacchaeus distinct and shaping physicality comes face-to-face with the incarnate God. But not on its own. One can only imagine how dense the crowds may have been at the thought of Jesus entering the city; people flocked to see this man they called “prophet,” who healed and spoke with the authority of their God. Zacchaues’s shortness meant he could not see over the crowd. As tax-collector, I doubt many would have been keen to let him through; it was high time for Zacchaeus to pay his own dues. Unrelenting, Zacchaeus runs ahead, pre-empting the walk of the Lord and finding a sycamore-fig tree he climbs up to get a view of Jesus. Want did Zacchaeus want? Just a glimpse? Was that worth the shame of an adult man running ahead of a crowd, climbing up a tree, in the simple hope that this Jesus character might just pass by this spot? Apparently so. Jesus walks by the tree, and seeing Zacchaeus, calls him down, requesting to stay the evening with him: “Zacchaeus, come down immediately. I must stay at your house today.” From that moment on, Zacchaeus was forever changed.
I’ve heard sermons that moralise this story, instructing listeners of the earnestness with which we are to seek Christ. It often goes like this “be like Zacchaeus, seek God unrelentingly.” And while that may not be entirely untrue, it misses out some of the interesting notes in this story’s symphony. What is fascinating is not just the eagerness and earnestness with which Zacchaeus sought God, but the distinctiveness of Zacchaeus in relation to others, and how he sought God despite that.
Because his shortness he couldn’t see. Because of his shortness he ran ahead. Because of his shortness he climbed a tree. And because of his shortness he could met God.
Zacchaues’ unique and shaping physicality—his height—was the bridge that allowed him to meet God and to be changed by him. This Zacchauen search for God, through which one’s distinctiveness is not a hindrance but rather a unique pathway to divine encounter, refreshes our pursuit of God. The Creator God has allowed our distinctiveness, and he will meet us in our distinctiveness. I doubt God is fickle enough to rank the colour of our skin, the vibrancy of our eyes, the curls of our hair, the bridges of our noses, or the height of our shoulders. But I have a suspicion that he is not afraid to allow us to use our distinct and shaping physicality—our uniqueness—as a bridge that allows us to see, and then be seen. Our unique and distinct physicality is a way that we can encounter the eternal God. To hear his voice, and to be changed by him.
Taller or shorter. Deeper or shallower eyes. Straight or wavy hair. Freckled or not. Weak or strong. Intellectual or simple. East or West. African or Latino. Creative or academic. Man or woman. What are the unique and shaping physicalities that we all have that will become bridges for us to climb trees, see and be seen? How will God invite us to know him distinctly through our distinctiveness? An answer to this kind of question can’t be given, but I have a suspicion, that like with Zacchaeus, exploring that possibility will lead to a good, no, a very good end.
“Did you dye your hair? It looks a little red!”
Perhaps that was God asking to stay the evening with me.
Singapore Bible College Library, Singapore
