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Luke 19:1–10
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Connected by scripture or shared themes.
Luke 19:1–10
Continue exploring
Connected by scripture or shared themes.
Zacchaeus was a chief tax collector in Jericho—deeply implicated in Rome's corrupt taxation system. He was wealthy, yes, but at a terrible cost: his own people despised him as a traitor and collaborator. Yet despite his position, despite his wealth, despite knowing the scorn of his community, Zacchaeus heard that Jesus was coming through Jericho, and he wanted to see him.
The desire burned so strongly that when crowds blocked his view, he did something that would have destroyed what little dignity he had left. A grown man, a man of position, climbed a sycamore tree. He put aside his reputation to catch a glimpse of this rabbi.
"So, he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore fig tree to see him, since Jesus was coming that way." (Luke 19:4)
This raises an uncomfortable question for us: How eager are we to see Jesus? Do we come to worship only when it fits our schedules? When there's no sporting event on television, no family visiting, no competing hobbies? Or do we have that deep, driving desire to encounter him—to let nothing and no one become a barrier to that meeting?
We sometimes speak of believers in places like sub-Saharan Africa who leave their homes each Sunday not knowing if they will return safely—risking persecution, even death—and yet they go faithfully, week after week. Meanwhile, we stay home for far less significant reasons. The first message of this meal, then, is a challenge: Ask yourself honestly, how eagerly do you seek Jesus? Not just that one time when you first committed to follow him, but each and every day of your life.
We often speak of ourselves seeking God, searching for Jesus to fill an emptiness in our lives. And that language is true—we do search, we do long. But that is only half the story.
"For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost." (Luke 19:10)
While we have been searching for God, God has been seeking us. Jesus said he came to seek and save the lost. All the time we imagined we were the only ones looking, Jesus was already on his way to us, offering an invitation.
When Jesus reached the sycamore tree, he stopped. He looked up. He called Zacchaeus by name—not "tax collector," not "traitor," not the contemptuous names whispered in the streets. He called him by his name. Then Jesus said:
"I must stay at your house today." (Luke 19:5)
This was not Zacchaeus inviting Jesus, as Levi had done, or Simon the Pharisee, or Martha and Mary in their homes. This time, Jesus invited himself. "I want to be intimately involved in your life. I want to dwell in you through my Spirit."
We are not simply one in a crowd, unseen or unnoticed. We are not a number among countless numbers. God knows each of us by name. He created us and will never neglect us or stop loving us. As God said through the prophet Isaiah:
"Can a woman forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child that she bore? Though she may forget, I will not forget you. See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands." (Isaiah 49:15–16)
At those times when life's circumstances have overwhelmed us and we wonder where God is, God still has your name engraved on the palms of his hands. His compassion for us is everlasting. Though other things may take God's place in our lives and we forget to place him at the center, he never forgets us.
The invitation stands open. Do we need to open the door of our life to Jesus for the first time? Do we need to open it wider, allowing him into those parts that currently lack his presence? If so, please speak with someone before you leave this evening—someone you trust, or someone wearing a purple lanyard. It would be a privilege to share with you and pray for you.
But wonderful as this invitation is, there is an uncomfortable aspect to it. God's invitation through Jesus is for everyone—and that challenges us deeply.
The citizens of Jericho muttered their disapproval:
"All the people saw this and began to mutter, 'He has gone to be the guest of a sinner.'" (Luke 19:7)
Their implication was clear: Zacchaeus was so bad, so far gone, that Jesus should not be associating with him. But Jesus did.
I wonder if we are not more like those citizens of Jericho than we care to admit. How quick are we to write someone off? To think, "That person cannot possibly change. I don't see that person ever becoming a Christian. There's no point bothering." In our thinking, we effectively exclude them from God's grace.
When Jesus was eating at a Pharisee's home last week in our series, he noticed how guests competed for places of honor. So he told them that when they give a banquet, they should not invite the dignitaries, the influencers, the powerful—but the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. In other words, those whom society despises are on God's invitation list too.
Scripture is clear: we are all sinners. And there is a time and place for making righteous judgments. But we must never imply that someone, because of their words or actions, is excluded from receiving God's grace. Nobody should walk through the doors of this church and feel judged or excluded, whatever their circumstances. We have a radically inclusive gospel—offered to all without exception. But it is also exclusive, for it demands a response.
No one can encounter Jesus without responding in some way. Some reject him outright. Others appear to respond positively but turn away when Jesus doesn't meet their expectations. But many respond as Zacchaeus did—with heartfelt thanks for Jesus's invitation.
And having responded positively, change should follow. Zacchaeus stood up and made a dramatic declaration:
"Look, Lord, here and now I give half of my possessions to the poor. And if I have cheated anybody out of anything, I will pay back four times the amount." (Luke 19:8)
This offer is extraordinary on two counts. First, Zacchaeus knew the Jewish laws. Exodus commanded that stolen goods be repaid double. Levitical law required repayment in full plus a fifth. And the Israelites were called to tithe—give a tenth—as an expression of gratitude to God. But Zacchaeus says he will give half of his possessions to the poor. That is five times the amount of a tithe. And he will repay anyone he cheated fourfold—not 120%, but 400%.
Second, this reveals the magnitude of the transformation. Money and possessions were the most important thing in Zacchaeus' life. He had sacrificed social acceptance to gain wealth. He had made himself an enemy of God for it. And now, having spent time with Jesus, his priorities were turned completely upside down. The time with Jesus had to be life-changing. It was not enough to be accepted by him; there had to be a response.
Notice something crucial: Zacchaeus was accepted before he gave away his possessions. In verse 5, Jesus invited himself to stay at Zacchaeus' house. By eating with him, Jesus made a statement: "I accept you. I want to share fellowship with you." Only after that acceptance did Zacchaeus give away his money.
And in verse 9, Jesus said:
"Today salvation has come to this house because this man, too, is a son of Abraham." (Luke 19:9)
Notice the word: is. Not "was" or "has become again." Despite all Zacchaeus had done—despite cheating and defrauding others—he never lost his identity as a son of Abraham. He was always accepted, even when he was a sinner. His giving was a response to that acceptance, not a means to obtain it.
So when we respond to Jesus' invitation, what does that response look like? It does need to be wholehearted and generous. Our giving is a response to God's love, not a means to earn it. Our response may involve financial giving—and it is worth noting that over 50% of Luke 18:18 through 19:27 concerns money and possessions. But our response may also take other forms.
We may share our homes and offer hospitality. We may use our skills and talents—offering craft skills at holiday club, teaching English classes, volunteering with local Christian charities that address poverty or homelessness. We may open our lives to others in fellowship.
But we must be absolutely clear: our giving does not and cannot make God love us more. Our giving is a response to a love that is already ours. As the sinful woman in Luke 7 understood when she anointed Jesus' feet:
"Therefore, I tell you her many sins have been forgiven—as her great love has shown. But he who has been forgiven little loves little." (Luke 7:47)
She anointed Jesus' feet in response to knowing she had been forgiven, not to obtain that forgiveness.
For a reading where the meal is not actually mentioned, this story packs quite a punch. It challenges us to examine our hearts and see where our priorities truly lie. It reminds us that Jesus takes the initiative to invite us. He seeks us. He calls us by name. He wants to dwell in us and share fellowship with us.
It challenges us to see how radically inclusive his invitation is—encompassing even those we might have written off, even those society despises. And finally, it calls us to respond lavishly and generously in light of all that God has done for us. Not to earn his love, but to overflow with gratitude for it.
May we leave here this evening knowing that we have been redeemed by God, that he has called us by name, and we are his.
Zacchaeus was a chief tax collector in Jericho—deeply implicated in Rome's corrupt taxation system. He was wealthy, yes, but at a terrible cost: his own people despised him as a traitor and collaborator. Yet despite his position, despite his wealth, despite knowing the scorn of his community, Zacchaeus heard that Jesus was coming through Jericho, and he wanted to see him.
The desire burned so strongly that when crowds blocked his view, he did something that would have destroyed what little dignity he had left. A grown man, a man of position, climbed a sycamore tree. He put aside his reputation to catch a glimpse of this rabbi.
"So, he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore fig tree to see him, since Jesus was coming that way." (Luke 19:4)
This raises an uncomfortable question for us: How eager are we to see Jesus? Do we come to worship only when it fits our schedules? When there's no sporting event on television, no family visiting, no competing hobbies? Or do we have that deep, driving desire to encounter him—to let nothing and no one become a barrier to that meeting?
We sometimes speak of believers in places like sub-Saharan Africa who leave their homes each Sunday not knowing if they will return safely—risking persecution, even death—and yet they go faithfully, week after week. Meanwhile, we stay home for far less significant reasons. The first message of this meal, then, is a challenge: Ask yourself honestly, how eagerly do you seek Jesus? Not just that one time when you first committed to follow him, but each and every day of your life.
We often speak of ourselves seeking God, searching for Jesus to fill an emptiness in our lives. And that language is true—we do search, we do long. But that is only half the story.
"For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost." (Luke 19:10)
While we have been searching for God, God has been seeking us. Jesus said he came to seek and save the lost. All the time we imagined we were the only ones looking, Jesus was already on his way to us, offering an invitation.
When Jesus reached the sycamore tree, he stopped. He looked up. He called Zacchaeus by name—not "tax collector," not "traitor," not the contemptuous names whispered in the streets. He called him by his name. Then Jesus said:
"I must stay at your house today." (Luke 19:5)
This was not Zacchaeus inviting Jesus, as Levi had done, or Simon the Pharisee, or Martha and Mary in their homes. This time, Jesus invited himself. "I want to be intimately involved in your life. I want to dwell in you through my Spirit."
We are not simply one in a crowd, unseen or unnoticed. We are not a number among countless numbers. God knows each of us by name. He created us and will never neglect us or stop loving us. As God said through the prophet Isaiah:
"Can a woman forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child that she bore? Though she may forget, I will not forget you. See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands." (Isaiah 49:15–16)
At those times when life's circumstances have overwhelmed us and we wonder where God is, God still has your name engraved on the palms of his hands. His compassion for us is everlasting. Though other things may take God's place in our lives and we forget to place him at the center, he never forgets us.
The invitation stands open. Do we need to open the door of our life to Jesus for the first time? Do we need to open it wider, allowing him into those parts that currently lack his presence? If so, please speak with someone before you leave this evening—someone you trust, or someone wearing a purple lanyard. It would be a privilege to share with you and pray for you.
But wonderful as this invitation is, there is an uncomfortable aspect to it. God's invitation through Jesus is for everyone—and that challenges us deeply.
The citizens of Jericho muttered their disapproval:
"All the people saw this and began to mutter, 'He has gone to be the guest of a sinner.'" (Luke 19:7)
Their implication was clear: Zacchaeus was so bad, so far gone, that Jesus should not be associating with him. But Jesus did.
I wonder if we are not more like those citizens of Jericho than we care to admit. How quick are we to write someone off? To think, "That person cannot possibly change. I don't see that person ever becoming a Christian. There's no point bothering." In our thinking, we effectively exclude them from God's grace.
When Jesus was eating at a Pharisee's home last week in our series, he noticed how guests competed for places of honor. So he told them that when they give a banquet, they should not invite the dignitaries, the influencers, the powerful—but the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. In other words, those whom society despises are on God's invitation list too.
Scripture is clear: we are all sinners. And there is a time and place for making righteous judgments. But we must never imply that someone, because of their words or actions, is excluded from receiving God's grace. Nobody should walk through the doors of this church and feel judged or excluded, whatever their circumstances. We have a radically inclusive gospel—offered to all without exception. But it is also exclusive, for it demands a response.
No one can encounter Jesus without responding in some way. Some reject him outright. Others appear to respond positively but turn away when Jesus doesn't meet their expectations. But many respond as Zacchaeus did—with heartfelt thanks for Jesus's invitation.
And having responded positively, change should follow. Zacchaeus stood up and made a dramatic declaration:
"Look, Lord, here and now I give half of my possessions to the poor. And if I have cheated anybody out of anything, I will pay back four times the amount." (Luke 19:8)
This offer is extraordinary on two counts. First, Zacchaeus knew the Jewish laws. Exodus commanded that stolen goods be repaid double. Levitical law required repayment in full plus a fifth. And the Israelites were called to tithe—give a tenth—as an expression of gratitude to God. But Zacchaeus says he will give half of his possessions to the poor. That is five times the amount of a tithe. And he will repay anyone he cheated fourfold—not 120%, but 400%.
Second, this reveals the magnitude of the transformation. Money and possessions were the most important thing in Zacchaeus' life. He had sacrificed social acceptance to gain wealth. He had made himself an enemy of God for it. And now, having spent time with Jesus, his priorities were turned completely upside down. The time with Jesus had to be life-changing. It was not enough to be accepted by him; there had to be a response.
Notice something crucial: Zacchaeus was accepted before he gave away his possessions. In verse 5, Jesus invited himself to stay at Zacchaeus' house. By eating with him, Jesus made a statement: "I accept you. I want to share fellowship with you." Only after that acceptance did Zacchaeus give away his money.
And in verse 9, Jesus said:
"Today salvation has come to this house because this man, too, is a son of Abraham." (Luke 19:9)
Notice the word: is. Not "was" or "has become again." Despite all Zacchaeus had done—despite cheating and defrauding others—he never lost his identity as a son of Abraham. He was always accepted, even when he was a sinner. His giving was a response to that acceptance, not a means to obtain it.
So when we respond to Jesus' invitation, what does that response look like? It does need to be wholehearted and generous. Our giving is a response to God's love, not a means to earn it. Our response may involve financial giving—and it is worth noting that over 50% of Luke 18:18 through 19:27 concerns money and possessions. But our response may also take other forms.
We may share our homes and offer hospitality. We may use our skills and talents—offering craft skills at holiday club, teaching English classes, volunteering with local Christian charities that address poverty or homelessness. We may open our lives to others in fellowship.
But we must be absolutely clear: our giving does not and cannot make God love us more. Our giving is a response to a love that is already ours. As the sinful woman in Luke 7 understood when she anointed Jesus' feet:
"Therefore, I tell you her many sins have been forgiven—as her great love has shown. But he who has been forgiven little loves little." (Luke 7:47)
She anointed Jesus' feet in response to knowing she had been forgiven, not to obtain that forgiveness.
For a reading where the meal is not actually mentioned, this story packs quite a punch. It challenges us to examine our hearts and see where our priorities truly lie. It reminds us that Jesus takes the initiative to invite us. He seeks us. He calls us by name. He wants to dwell in us and share fellowship with us.
It challenges us to see how radically inclusive his invitation is—encompassing even those we might have written off, even those society despises. And finally, it calls us to respond lavishly and generously in light of all that God has done for us. Not to earn his love, but to overflow with gratitude for it.
May we leave here this evening knowing that we have been redeemed by God, that he has called us by name, and we are his.
