The Sycamore Tree

The Sycamore Tree

He was chief publican, and the One he was waiting for 
called him down from the sycamore tree. 
Rich, powerful and hated.

Judged by others with their limited label,

trusted by no one, save One who called him

by name.

The last small town from Galilee to Jerusalem.

“I will stay with you,” He Said. 
Heads turned, jaws dropped,

Murmuring, whispering.

Mouths formed in a frown, even anger.

Murmuring, whispering.

But he had strategized, he had ran ahead,

To see the One, hoping to see the One,

who would bring salvation to the lost, to himself.
Guest with a sinner? How can that be?

The Son of God will come to any man, call to any man,

not just the righteous.

Do we need to come down out of the sycamore,

eagerly searching the coming of the Lord?
Or are we too passive, too comfortable, or too uncomfortable?

Let us not assume the identity that others give us,
or the labels we put on ourselves. 
And let us not judge others by the labels we put on them.

He will not see them as we see them, but as He saw Zacchaeus.
His brother.

Our fallen natures seem to suggest otherwise.

The trappings of our past or how we live presently keep us from the power of Grace.

Zacchaeus, translation the pure in heart, was called by his name, by the One.

He was searching, and he came down.