There are two biblical characters I’ve always felt particularly close to—Nicodemus and Zacchaeus. Both of them longed to see Jesus.
Nicodemus yearned to see Jesus. Yet, he could not do so openly in daylight. As a prominent leader, he feared the scrutiny—the questions, the accusations, even threats to his life. But his desire was so overwhelming that he waited until nightfall, when shadows concealed his visit, and finally stood before the One he sought.
Zacchaeus, too, burned with a desperate need to see Jesus. His small stature made it impossible to peer over the crowds. But his hunger for encounter drove him to climb a sycamore tree, defying dignity for a single glimpse of the passing Teacher.
For both of them, what they had about Jesus was merely hearsay. They heard many people saying many things about Jesus. They deeply longed to see, hear, and truly know the reality of Jesus. Their intense longing overcame the obstacles.
The reason I felt a connection with these two was simple—I, too, had a burning desire to truly know Jesus. From a young age, I had heard many things about Him from different people. Like them, I yearned to know the truth about Jesus.
Today, we who wish to see Jesus as he truly is face a different challenge.
We were raised on two millennia of doctrines: Jesus, the second person of the Trinity, born of a virgin, worker of miracles, crucified and resurrected, ascended to heaven, seated at the Father’s right hand. These beliefs are the bedrock of our faith, recited daily without question.
Yet, paradoxically, these very convictions can become walls between us and the real Jesus.
Some of the people who met Jesus in the flesh had similar beliefs. Some wondered if He was Elijah returned, or John the Baptist reborn. Others dared hope He was the promised Messiah. But Jesus never confirmed these assumptions. He knew that labels—even flattering ones—could distort understanding, that fixed ideas about Him would deafen ears to His true message about the Kingdom of God.
The children who came to Him with their mothers saw without filters. They asked no questions of divinity or dogma; they simply knew love when they met it. Like them, we must shed the weight of centuries—the layers of interpretation, the doctrines that harden like stone—and seek Him with the clarity of a child’s trust.
To see Jesus as He is, we must first unsee what we’ve been taught He should be. It is not easy. Two thousand years of tradition loom like a mountain. But if our hunger is fierce enough—if we are willing to climb trees, to come in secret, to let go of what we think we know—then we, too, will find Him.
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