Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: GRACE (02/12/26)
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TITLE: Little Recognition | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jack Taylor
02/19/26 -
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Dust puffs ascended. They were pilgrims passing through Jericho to celebrate the Passover at the Temple. Hoping for a gracious reprieve and mercy. I ducked past elbows angled toward my nose and darted around knees deliberately blocking my way. My head could fit easily under most of their armpits.
The whispers drifted by on the breeze. “The Nazarene.” “Prophet…Healer…Trouble Maker… Rabbi.”
I stepped onto a stone but couldn’t see over shoulders and shawls. Like antelopes tensing at the approach of a leopard, the pilgrims tightened their ranks. More whispers. “Tax collector… sinner… traitor… money grabber.”
“Go polish your shekels, Zacchaeus,” a voice called. It was accented with heavy Galilean. I hadn’t grown wealthy by going passive against the hostility. Status and survival depended on my shrewd discovery of the hidden. While respect was elusive, the power numbed the need for it.
Of course, power did little to fill the empty gaps inside during the night hours. There was a price to pay for selling your soul. If only there was a space for grace.
The man I wanted to see was lost in the mass of sweating, mumbling transients passing through my city. Frustration rose like bile in my throat. I couldn’t even catch a glimpse. A sycamore fig tree leaned toward the road a short distance ahead. There was more than one way to get a clear picture of those who hoped to elude me.
I raced for the tree; one I’d been climbing since I was a boy. Those were the days before Roman ledgers, bodyguards, and valuing men for their silver. I heard the laughter nearby. “Look! The tax-collector climbs the tree like a child.”
Let them laugh. The bark tore at my fingers and palms, the resin clung to my skin, my tunic snagged, but I didn’t care. I hauled myself up, heart pounding – not from the climb but from the anticipation. A branch brushed my face, sap scented the air, but from my perch I could see over their heads.
It was impossible to miss him. His eyes moved across the crowd, searching. People called out to him, hands reaching, petitions rising like smoke. Yet, he did not hurry.
My pulse quickened as he approached, thundering in my ears, as I regained my breath from the climb. I was out of the way, unseen. And yet he stopped directly below and looked up into my eyes. There was no disgust, no calculation, no attempt to avoid, condemn, or confront. He smiled as if in recognition.
“Zacchaeus,” he said, “Come down. I must stay at your house today.”
Was this grace? Who was its dispenser? I didn’t hesitate. I scrambled down and walked alongside him like a prince. As we chatted a different sense came over me. I stood with soiled tunic, sap on my hands, and a heavy purse with dishonest gain. The insults that usually fell on me, now fell on him.
In my courtyard, he dipped his hands in the cool waters of my fountain and let the refreshment fall over his face and beard. The scent of baking bread drifted by and he breathed it in with pleasure. As he luxuriated in such small joys, my own pleasures shrunk even more. My wealth seemed empty. Fishermen, former lepers, vagrants, and wealthy women alike hesitantly accepted my hospitality. In the hours of preparation, Yeshua drew out my story, allowed others to share theirs, and welcomed me.
Grace crept up to me like a hesitant pup. I stroked it, uncertain of what this could mean for me. I hadn’t earned anything. I didn’t deserve special treatment. It was a gift.
Words erupted before I understood it all. “Look, Lord! Here and now, I give half of my possessions to the poor, and if I have cheated anybody out of anything, I will pay back four times the amount.”
Servants and onlookers gasped. My wife set down a tray of dates and figs and sat in the corner. Yeshua’s followers sat with food suspended halfway to their mouths.
Yeshua smiled, standing with a raised cup. “Today, salvation has come to this house,” he said. “This man, too, is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to see and to save the lost.”
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