Dust, kicked up from the road, as he nears,

closer and closer,

yet I see him not.

The crowds are closing in,

everyone eager for a glimpse,

maybe a word, from this man.

This man has turned water into wine.

This man has healed the sick, the blind, the lame.

This man even raises the dead back to life!

Running ahead,

I search for a way, just to glimpse

this man.

A sycamore tree stands,

its branches hanging

above the road.

Hurrying, I climb.

This man!

He is coming my way.

“Zacchaeus!”

At the sound, I am trembling,

hearing my name,

realizing from where it has come.

This man knows my name.

This man knows who I am.

But does that mean

he also knows

what I’ve done?

This man has healed,

while I have stolen.

This man has cared,

while I have cheated.

This man has loved others,

while I have loved myself.

He speaks to me still.

“Zacchaeus,

come down.

I must stay at your home today.”

And now, I’m trembling still.

Fear turned to joy;

hope turned to life.

This man knows,

yet honors me still.

This man knows,

yet seeks me still.

This man knows,

yet loves me still.