Text: Luke 19:1–10
“I will never leave you or abandon you.” —Hebrews 13:5
Years ago, when we began spending Saturday nights inside a juvenile detention center with teenage boys whose stories had been shaped by abandonment, violence, addiction, and fatherlessness. Behind the hardened exteriors were young hearts starving for initiation—for someone to fight for them, believe in them, and show them that their lives were not destined to become the sum of their wounds.
One of the first boys to respond to the gospel was fourteen-year-old Ricky. After every Bible study, before we could even pack up our materials, he would run to the phone and call home to tell his family everything he had learned about Jesus. His younger brother, Reuben, listened quietly from the other end of those calls, watching a new story unfold in his brother’s life.
After Ricky was released, we took both brothers to dinner and a minor league baseball game. Somewhere beneath the stadium lights, with their feet hanging over the bleachers, Reuben finally voiced the question that had been stirring in his heart: “Why are you doing this for us?” Beneath that question was a deeper one many wounded hearts carry: Am I worth pursuing? Does anyone truly see me? That night, we told him about a God who relentlessly pursues orphan-hearted sons, and before the evening ended, Reuben gave his life to Jesus.
The truth is, Reuben’s question is the same question echoed throughout Scripture. It is answered scandalously in the life of Jesus, who continually moved toward the forgotten, the wounded, the wandering—and especially those pushed aside by self-righteous religious people—to show them they were deeply seen and fiercely pursued by the heart of God.
One of the clearest pictures of this is found in Luke 19. Zacchaeus was a chief tax collector—wealthy, corrupt, and despised as a traitor to his own people. He climbs a sycamore tree simply hoping to catch a glimpse of Jesus as He passes through Jericho. But before Zacchaeus ever speaks a word, Jesus stops, looks up, calls him by name, and says, “I must stay at your house today.”
The religious crowd looked on with contempt. Why would a holy man associate with someone like him? Yet that is precisely the heart of Christ. He moves toward the people others write off. He pursues the overlooked, the morally compromised, and the spiritually restless. Zacchaeus thought he was searching for Jesus, only to discover that Jesus had been pursuing him all along—because “the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost” (Luke 19:10).
What Jesus did for Zacchaeus—and what He did for Reuben—is what He still does for us: He steps into our hiding places, calls us by name, and reminds us that grace is never earned by the worthy, but freely given to those willing to come down from the tree and receive it.
Some people wander loudly; others wander quietly. Some run toward addiction, destructive relationships, pornography, anger, or rebellion, trying to numb wounds they do not know how to heal. Others drift into quieter forms of exile—buried beneath shame, loneliness, anxiety, secret sin, disappointment with God, or the ache of feeling unseen.
Some have been wounded not by the world alone, but by religious people who pointed fingers of condemnation, offered rules without relationship, and made them feel as though their failures had placed them beyond the reach of grace. Some sit in churches every week feeling profoundly unknown. Others have walked away entirely, convinced they are too far gone. But wherever your wandering has taken you—into obvious rebellion or quiet despair—the pursuing heart of Christ has not stopped moving toward you. Not ever.
People may walk away. Man-made institutions will fail you. But Jesus is relentlessly faithful—unwavering in His mercy and unwilling to abandon the ones He calls His own.
The question is no longer whether Christ is pursuing you—the cross settled that forever. The question is how you will respond when His grace finds you. Will you keep hiding behind shame, cynicism, distractions, and self-protection? Will you remain in the tree like Zacchaeus, observing Jesus from a distance while guarding your wounds? Or will you come down—honest, surrendered, and open to the kind of love that can heal what you have spent years trying to outrun? Grace invites a response, and the safest place you can be is in the arms of the Savior who has already come looking for you.
Think about that as you seek to abide in Him this week.
PRAYER
Jesus, thank You for pursuing me even in seasons when I was running, hiding, doubting, or convinced I was too far gone. Thank You for seeing beyond my failures, my wounds, and the labels others have placed on me. Forgive me for the ways I have resisted Your love or tried to heal myself apart from You. Give me the courage to step out of hiding and respond to Your grace with surrender. Heal the places in my heart marked by rejection, shame, and disappointment. Help me believe that I am fully seen, deeply loved, and worth pursuing because of Your relentless mercy. Teach me to rest in Your love and follow wherever You lead. In Your name, amen.
Reflection Questions:
In what ways have you identified with Reuben’s question: “Why are you doing this for us?” Have you ever struggled to believe that you are truly worth pursuing?
Are there areas of your life where you have been wandering—through obvious rebellion, quiet despair, distraction, or spiritual distance from God?
Have past experiences with religious people ever distorted your view of God’s heart toward you? How has that affected your willingness to trust Him?
What “tree” are you hiding in right now—shame, fear, control, busyness, cynicism, secret sin, or something else? What would it look like to come down and respond to Christ’s pursuit?
How might God be calling you not only to receive His pursuing love, but also to pursue someone else who feels forgotten, overlooked, or far from grace?
The post Why Are You Doing This for Me? appeared first on .