Luke 19:1

This verse opens the story of Zacchaeus, set in Jericho — a prosperous city near the Jordan River in ancient Israel. Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem, a journey he knew would end in his death. The verse introduces us to Zacchaeus through his occupation: tax collector. In first-century Israel, tax collectors worked for the Roman Empire — the occupying foreign government — and were despised by their fellow Jews for collaborating with the enemy and often overcharging people to enrich themselves. The seemingly simple phrase "passing through" carries real weight: it tells us Jesus had somewhere else to be, yet something — and someone — was about to stop him.

Lord, thank you that you never just pass through. Even with eternity on the line, you stopped for one overlooked man in a tree. Help me walk through my ordinary week with eyes that actually see people — especially the ones I'm tempted to rush past. Give me the courage to stop. Amen.

"Passing through" is one of the most loaded phrases in this story. Jesus was headed to Jerusalem — toward the cross, toward the most consequential event in human history — and yet he paused in Jericho. Not for a ceremony or a crowd of important people. For one despised man hiding in a sycamore tree. There is something quietly radical in that. Jericho was just a waypoint on Jesus' map, but it was someone else's whole world. Think about the places you move through without really stopping — the grocery checkout, the office hallway, the neighbor's block you drive past every morning. We all have routes we travel on autopilot. But Jesus walked into a city with urgent, world-altering purpose and still noticed Zacchaeus. What if paying attention to the people you pass isn't a distraction from your calling, but woven into it? Presence is rarely convenient. It rarely fits the schedule. But it's where some of the most important things happen.