This is the second of two entries on Zacchaeus. You can read the first, “Come Down,” here.
Today salvation has come to this house, since he also is a son of Abraham.— Luke 19:9
In the previous entry we watched Jesus stop beneath a sycamore-fig tree, look up through the leaves, and call a hiding man by name. We saw that salvation begins with longing: the wanting that drove Zacchaeus up the tree, and the One who saw it and stopped.
But beginning is not the same as arriving. The story of Zacchaeus traces a movement: from wanting to see, to hearing his name, to opening his door, to standing up and giving half of everything away. Four steps. And the reason those steps matter is that Scripture also gives us the story of a man who took the first three and turned back at the fourth.
Two men, one threshold. Only one walked through.
Zacchaeus wanted to see who Jesus was (Luke 19:3). Not to follow Him, not yet. Just to see. This is where it begins — not with correct theology or a prepared heart, but with the restless hunger of someone who has heard something and cannot stop thinking about it.
The rich young man had the same hunger. He came running (Mark 10:17), not strolling, not arriving composed. He fell on his knees before Jesus and asked the question he could no longer hold back: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” (Mark 10:17). He had kept every commandment. He had built every external structure of a good life. And still the question would not leave him alone.
Paul describes a paradox in 2 Corinthians 6:10: “as having nothing, yet possessing everything.” Both of these men were living the inverse. Possessing everything, and somewhere beneath the success, having nothing that could quiet the question. The longing is not a sign of failure. It is a sign that something real is missing, and that some part of the person still knows it. Most people manage that restlessness. These two did not. They followed it.
When Jesus called Zacchaeus by name, something shifted that is easy to miss. Up in the tree, Zacchaeus was the observer: watching from a safe height, controlling the distance, free to assess and stay hidden. The moment his name was spoken, all of that ended. He was no longer the one watching. He was the one being addressed.
This is the difference between two kinds of faith.
Watching is a faith where I remain the subject. I decide the distance. I control the angle. I evaluate what I see and reserve the right to stay in the tree if the verdict does not satisfy me. It is faith on my own terms: interested, perhaps even sincere, but ultimately self-directed.
Listening is a different posture entirely. The one who listens is no longer in charge of the encounter. Listening requires coming down: giving up the height advantage, the safe distance, the power to remain a spectator. You cannot truly listen from above. You have to descend to the level of the voice.
This is the movement most of us resist. We are willing to watch Jesus — to read about Him, think about Him, form opinions about Him — for a very long time without coming down. The watching feels like faith. It has the shape of faith. But it keeps us in the tree, and the tree is not where He is going. He did not climb up. He waited for Zacchaeus to come down.
The rich young man also received a personal word. Jesus looked at him — Mark tells us He loved him (Mark 10:21) — and spoke directly to his life: “You lack one thing. Go, sell all that you have and give to the poor... and come, follow me” (Mark 10:21). Both men were addressed. Both had to decide what to do with a voice that would not let them remain spectators.
Zacchaeus came down immediately and opened his door. He did not deliberate. He did not weigh the social cost of being seen welcoming this rabbi into his home. The joy is the telling detail. He was not gritting his teeth and doing the right thing. He was running toward something he had been hungry for without knowing it.
The rich young man stood at the same threshold. He had the longing. He had received the word. He was closer to the kingdom than almost anyone watching. And then:
“Disheartened by the saying, he went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions” (Mark 10:22).
He came to the door. He did not walk through it.
There is something in the phrase great possessions that deserves attention. It is not simply that he had a lot of money. It is that what he had possessed him. The possessions had become the center of gravity around which his life orbited. And when Jesus named that center — when He asked him to release the thing that was actually running his life — the young man could not do it. Not because he was a bad person. Because the hold was too deep.
The fourth step is where Zacchaeus surprises everyone, including perhaps himself.
He stood up and gave away half of what he owned, and paid back fourfold everyone he had defrauded (Luke 19:8). This was not required. Jesus had not named a price of admission. The giving came after the welcome, not before. It was the natural overflow of a man who had just been seen — fully seen, name and all — and not turned away from.
The rich young man had been invited to the same step. Jesus did not ask him to be poor. He asked him to release the one thing that was, in his particular case, the real lord of his life. And when that moment came, the cost was too high.
Two men. Both wealthy, both longing, both called by name in their own way. The difference was not desire. Both wanted what only God could give. The difference was what each was willing to let go of when the moment came.
The four steps — longing, hearing, receiving, turning — are not a checklist to file away. They are a map of where we are right now. And the most important question is not which step we are on, but whether we are still moving.
Grace does not flow from the qualified to God. It flows the other direction — toward the disqualified. It asks nothing but an open door. Zacchaeus opened it. The rich young man, for all his virtue, did not.
Most of us have taken the first step. Many of us have taken the second and third. The fourth is where things slow down, because the fourth costs something specific to each of us, something we already know about. Zacchaeus knew what his thing was. The rich young man knew what his. We know what ours is.
The question is not whether we are close to Jesus. We may be very close. The question is what we are still holding — and whether we will walk away with it, or come down without it.
Stay here for a moment. Two men stood at the same threshold. The difference was not how much they wanted it. It was what they were willing to release. Stay with that.
i. Of the four steps — longing, hearing, receiving, turning — which one are you standing on right now? And how long have you been standing there?
ii. The rich young man knew exactly what Jesus was asking him to release. You know yours too. What is the one thing you are still holding — the thing that would cost the most to place on the altar?
Lord, I have come close. Closer than most people know.
I have felt the longing. I have heard You address me in ways I could not explain away. I have even opened the door. But there is a room in my house I have kept locked, and we both know which one it is.
Forgive me for treating nearness as arrival.
The rich young man walked away sorrowful, and I understand him more than I want to admit. It was not that he loved You too little. It was that the hold was too deep. The thing he owned had come to own him. And I confess that I have my own great possession: the thing my life quietly orbits, the thing I calculate around, the thing I have never fully placed in Your hands.
Zacchaeus came down from the tree with nothing resolved and everything ready. He did not wait until the cost made sense. He heard his name, and he came down, and the releasing followed the joy.
I want to be the one who comes down.
So here it is, Lord. The thing I have been holding. I will not pretend You do not know its name. I lay it down. Not because the cost stopped mattering, but because You matter more.
Today. Not when I am ready. Not when the numbers work. Today, salvation comes to this house.
In the name of Jesus, who waited beneath the tree and did not walk away.
Amen.
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