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God with skin on

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Luke 24:35-37
The disciples of Jesus recounted what had taken place along the way, and how they had come to recognize him in the breaking of bread. While they were speaking, He stood in their midst and said to them, "Peace be with you."

And they were startled and terrified.

Jesus in the abstract is so easy to talk about, get excited about, try to understand, explain and pray to.

Jesus appears in the flesh, and what is my first reaction? Like the disciples, I think I'd be startled and terrified. No wonder Jesus so often said, "Do not be afraid."

I don't question Jesus' love for me. I know it's often tough love, but the strength and certainty and power of his embrace make it no less tender. Make it no less personal. He knows me utterly.

I want that to be perfectly OK with me; not that I'm going to do everything perfectly, but that I hide nothing. Sometimes when I pray or am just wandering along the roads I wander on, I know I'm hiding. So I close my eyes so he won't see me. Silly, I know. Jesus looks into me with eyes that see everything. But in his ever-loving patience he lets me pretend for a little while. Waiting for me. Jesus waits for me. And that makes his love all the more persuasive.

Jesus has not come to me in the flesh. Or has he? "I was hungry, I was thirsty, I was homeless. I was shivering, I was sick, I was in prison" - that's Jesus for you. "All the least of these brothers and sisters of mine" (Matthew 25) - Jesus is here after all.

That's Jesus for me. And when I do not do for one of these least of these, well, he's pretty clear: "You, David, did not do for me." Jesus will not settle for my self-centeredness, no matter how subtle or camouflaged. He might wait, He does wait - but He loves me, and he loves you, far too much to settle forever for that kind of slow and creeping death.

So how do I pray, Lord? Give me more opportunities to know you? Free me from fear when you really do show up in the flesh, whether you're hungry or thirsty, homeless or shivering, sick or in prison. And love my grasping, cramped and tightened hands open, so you can fill them with all that you have for me to give away.



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