“So he ran ahead and climbed up into a sycamore tree to see Him, for He was going to pass that way. And when Jesus came to the place, He looked up and saw him, and said to him, ‘Zacchaeus, make haste and come down, for today I must stay at your house.’”
—Luke 19:4-5 NKJV
Zacchaeus was a wealthy man, yet when he heard that Jesus was coming, he set aside pride and position to climb a tree just to catch a glimpse of Him. His action wasn’t about status or even seeking justification at first—it was about curiosity, hunger, and an openness that made room for transformation.
What stands out here is not only Zacchaeus’ eagerness but also how Jesus responds. Amidst the crowd pressing in, Jesus singles out the one who had gone to unusual lengths to see Him. He looks up, calls Zacchaeus by name, and insists that He must stay at his house.
We are reminded of other moments of bold pursuit—friends lowering a man through a roof, a woman pressing through a crowd to touch His garment. In each case, Jesus honored their faith-filled determination. Their persistence caught His attention.
Zacchaeus’ encounter reveals something deeper: a shift from mere curiosity to a life-altering recognition of need. He knew his wealth could not cleanse his guilt or satisfy the longing of his heart. When Jesus entered his home, redemption also entered.
For us today, the story of Zacchaeus invites reflection on what it means to steward not only our possessions but also our hearts, homes, and legacies. Zacchaeus was a man of means, but it wasn’t his wealth that drew Christ’s presence—it was his humility and hunger. What he discovered is that true legacy begins with redemption.
We can pursue success, build wealth, and make plans for the future, but without Christ at the center, those efforts remain incomplete. Stewardship, at its core, is less about accumulation and more about alignment—aligning our resources, our decisions, and even our future planning with the values of God’s kingdom.
When Jesus said, “I must stay at your house,” it was more than a social visit. It was an invitation to transformation, to reorder what mattered most. The same invitation comes to us: Will we let Him enter not just our homes but also our priorities, our resources, and the way we think about what we will leave behind?
Zacchaeus’ deepest hunger was not wealth but redemption—and when that hunger was met, his resources became a testimony to his transformed heart (as later verses reveal). Likewise, our greatest legacy is not what we leave in material terms but the faith, hope, and love we steward and pass on.
May we climb whatever “tree” is necessary to draw closer to Christ, and in doing so, allow Him to reshape not only our hearts but also the way we think about stewardship, wealth, and the legacy we leave behind.
