“Do you now believe?” Jesus replied. “A time is coming and in fact has come when you will be scattered, each to your own home. You will leave me all alone. Yet I am not alone, for my Father is with me.
I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” John 16:31-33 NIV In the last several months I have been thinking a lot about Jesus. In my mind’s eye, or in my spirit, I’ve been looking at Him to see His interactions with people in the days when He walked on earth as a man. I’ve re-read chapters from Tales of the Resistance in which the character of the King shows up so often in plain clothes, but always with this glow of warmth, this comforting familiarity of spirit, this laugh that shatters shame, and the kindest eyes and embrace. Of course, there is Aslan, too, who asks very hard things of children and beings he has called to lead and follow him. Will they trust him when the ways and odds appear impossible? Will they receive his reviving breath and friendship and lordship? I see a lot of similar challenging questions asked of people in red letters in the gospels as I read. Taking a couple of steps back, I am just grateful for His abundant patience. “Do you now believe?” Testimony upon testimony in my life are evidence of His faithfulness. But sometimes I still get too much in my head and think I’ve come up against something too distinct, a trouble all my own, and believe the lie that no one really understands me or ever can. Recently, in moments (or in days after those moments) I’ve looked at Jesus, and He’s shown me He does in fact understand. Emmanuel. God with us. His is not an understanding that brushes aside the weight of pain, rather, He’s shown me how He took it on first so that He could sit with me, or you, in it fully, with compassion, grace, gentleness, and truth. Whether physical pain or relational struggles or simply sitting in a “not yet” when there is a promise of God before me, well, yes, He’s felt this, too. “I don’t leave you alone in your pain.” God with us. Present. Patient. Humble enough to help us process through. This has brought me peace and comfort. It’s not an idea that hasn’t been written about before, but perhaps through my simple words Holy Spirit will reveal His goodness to your heart as well that you may know peace more fully. - - - What were those thirty years like, Lord, when you worked and lived and breathed as simply a carpenter, a son of Joseph and Mary, a member of a family and a city and a synagogue? You knew who you were. You knew and still you waited, and knowing you, you did not grow bitter in the waiting, or discontent, you waited patiently, so patiently, and you loved well in the waiting, and you always kept your heart fixed on the Father. What peace. What rest. What trust. What beauty. That’s not how I’ve ever waited for anything. I can’t imagine reading Psalms and Isaiah, knowing they speak of my power and victory, and then quietly enjoying a meal with my family. But you, God-outside-of-time, and man who though God did count equality with God as a thing to be grasped, you waited patiently for the proper time to be revealed in your glory. Teacher, will you teach me to be patient like you? Comments are closed.
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AuthorI write to process. I write to explore. I write with the hope of sharing truth greater than my own. Archives
February 2022
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