Being Seen Series

Title: Being Seen

Intro: We are called to be like Jesus—to look up, to see the lonely and lost, to extend radical acceptance, to invite ourselves into people’s messy lives.

Scripture: Luke 19:1-10

Reflection

Dear Friends,

There is something about being seen, really seen, that changes everything.

I remember visiting a wealthy businessman some years ago. His office was on the top floor of a gleaming building. Everything around him spoke of success—the expensive furniture, the awards on the wall, the view of the entire city from his window. But when he sat across from me, I saw something in his eyes that all that success could not hide. It was emptiness. “Father,” he said quietly, “I have everything, but I feel like I have nothing.”

That conversation stayed with me because it reminded me of a short man in Jericho two thousand years ago, climbing a tree like a child, desperate to catch a glimpse of something he could not name, something his money could not buy.

Zacchaeus was rich beyond measure. As chief tax collector, he essentially owned the taxation rights of an entire city. Imagine that for a moment. Every transaction, every business, every household—he had his hand in all of it. The wealth he accumulated was staggering. He could buy anything, go anywhere, have anything his heart desired. But here is what money could not buy him: he could not buy back his reputation. He could not purchase respect. He could not acquire genuine friendship. He could not obtain peace.

The people of Jericho despised him. And they had good reason. He had become rich by overtaxing them, by collaborating with the Roman occupiers, by betraying his own people for profit. In their eyes, he was not just a sinner—he was a traitor. The religious leaders had long ago written him off. He was unclean, unwelcome in the synagogue, cut off from the community of faith. His wealth had built walls around him, and he lived in a prison of his own making.

Yet something was stirring in his heart. He had heard about Jesus—this poor rabbi from Nazareth who welcomed sinners, who ate with outcasts, who seemed to see people differently than everyone else did. What was it about this man? Why did the crowds follow him? Why did broken people seem to find hope in his presence?

When Zacchaeus heard Jesus was passing through Jericho, something inside him moved. He had to see this man. But how? He was short. The crowds were thick. And if he pushed his way through, can you imagine the reception? The people he had been extorting for years would have blocked him, mocked him, pushed him away. He was the last person they would make room for.

So he did something undignified, something completely beneath his station. He ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree. Picture this wealthy, important man, probably in his finest robes, scrambling up a tree like a schoolboy. Tax collectors did not climb trees. Important men did not climb trees. Only children and slaves climbed trees. But desperation makes us do desperate things. When your soul is hungry enough, you stop caring about dignity.

And then it happened. Jesus reached that spot, and he did not just pass by. He stopped. He looked up. And he saw Zacchaeus.

Let me tell you something about being seen. Most of us go through life feeling invisible in the ways that matter most. People see our job title, our bank balance, our house, our car. They see what we do, what we have, where we stand in society. But how many people really see us? How many people see past the mask we wear, past the persona we have constructed, past the walls we have built?

Jesus saw Zacchaeus. Not Zacchaeus the tax collector. Not Zacchaeus the wealthy man. Not Zacchaeus the sinner. He saw Zacchaeus the human being, created in God’s image, hungry for something real, desperate for connection, longing for meaning.

And Jesus did not just see him—he called him by name. “Zacchaeus, come down immediately. I must stay at your house today” (Luke 19:5).

Those words must have felt like water to a man dying of thirst. Jesus was not asking permission. He was not negotiating. He was inviting himself into Zacchaeus’s life, into his home, into his world. And that simple act of acceptance, that radical gesture of inclusion, broke something open in Zacchaeus’s heart.

The crowd was scandalized. “He has gone to be the guest of a sinner,” they muttered (Luke 19:7). They could not understand it. Jesus was supposed to be a holy man, a prophet. Holy men did not associate with people like Zacchaeus. They kept themselves pure, separate, uncontaminated by sinners.

But Jesus never saw people as contamination. He saw them as possibilities.