Are We Interruptible Like Jesus?

Around this time in the Christian calendar—just days before Palm Sunday—Jesus was making His way to Jerusalem. He knew what was coming. The cross loomed just ahead. The weight of the world—literally—was pressing in. And yet, in the middle of this sacred and history-shaping journey, He stopped.

Not for a king.

Not for a priest.

Not even for a disciple.

He stopped for a tax collector.

It was Zacchaeus, the man who had run ahead of the crowd and climbed a sycamore tree just to get a glimpse of Jesus. He was wealthy, powerful, and hated. Seen as a traitor to his people. Probably lonely. Probably hardened by the years of rejection and shady deals. But still… something in him was curious. Still… he wanted to see Jesus.

And Jesus saw him first.

"Zacchaeus, hurry and come down, for I must stay at your house today."

—Luke 19:5 (ESV)

Jesus stopped for Zacchaeus. Right there, with crowds pressing in and the weight of destiny pulling Him forward. Right there, with the cross only days away.

Think about that.

He wasn’t just delaying an errand. He was interrupting His walk toward the most important moment in human history. And yet He paused. He made space. He prioritized a man who was not on anyone’s shortlist for dinner guests, much less a visit from the Messiah.

Why?

Because this is exactly why He came.

Because this is exactly why He was headed to the cross.

Because this is the heart of God.

A Jesus Who Stops

In a culture that’s all about hustle, progress, and big-picture goals, it’s almost jarring to picture Jesus doing something so small. So relational. So human.

And that’s the beauty of it. Jesus was never so busy with the mission that He missed the people right in front of Him. The ones others ignored. The ones society cast aside. The ones who didn’t have it all together. The ones who just needed someone to look up and see them.

Jesus was interruptible.

Are We?

This is where it gets uncomfortable, isn’t it? Because we like to think we’re like Jesus. We like to think we’d stop, too. But would we?

Would we stop when we’re late for a meeting?

Would we stop when we’re emotionally spent?

Would we stop when the person in front of us isn’t one we want to stop for?

Or are we so locked into our own Jerusalem—that place we're focused on reaching—that we blow past the Zacchaeuses in the trees?

It’s convicting.

And yet, it’s also freeing.

Because maybe this isn't just a lesson in compassion. Maybe it's also a reminder that the journey to the cross was just as full of mercy as the cross itself. Jesus didn’t wait until Good Friday to show us grace. He lived it. He modeled it. Every. Single. Day.

And He invites us to do the same.

A Holy Detour

Jesus' stop at Zacchaeus’s house wasn’t a detour. It was a divine appointment.

And maybe that’s the lesson for us: Interruptions aren't always interruptions. Sometimes they're the mission in disguise.

When we see someone in need, someone curious, someone reaching out from the margins—that is our Zacchaeus moment. And how we respond reveals a lot about whether we're walking with Jesus or just talking about Him.

Because following Jesus means being interruptible.

It means being present.

It means letting love lead, even when we have somewhere else to be.

Final Thought

The crowd that day in Jericho saw a sinner in a tree. Jesus saw a soul ready for transformation.

Let’s be the kind of people who see what Jesus sees.

Let’s be the kind of people who stop.

Even on the way to something important.

Especially on the way to something important.

Because love isn’t efficient—but it is eternal.

And sometimes, the most Christ-like thing we can do is stop.