Hit Between The Eyes

Wow! Have I ever been hit between the eyes with reality emanating from the spontaneity of conversation concerning the church, when  a pastor asked me to describe how I see God.  This was in context of congregational worship. He suggested that I may be envisioning worship at a foreign level to most church congregants. It's been a long time since I have revisited my definition of worshipping God in a public setting but presented it: Worship is attributing to God for by nature, who He is. By his furled brow I could tell it was, as he suspected, a foreign idea and I didn't push the uncomfortable moments that followed which eventually lead to other spiritual pleasantries of agreement.  The next morning I began revisiting the attributes of God; what I envision, whom I perceive, and how I imagine God reacts when I think I've failed or succeeded. As I've  tried to put these mammoth ideas into words, I've found it helpful to speak aloud the attributes of God's character at least once or twice during this time, each week. It's also been helpful to see again the places where my own experiences of people or authorities have shaped the words I've heard myself using, as well as the places where I might unjustly project upon God things that do not belong there. For instance, things that might seem incredibly real to me—my sense of failure or success, a sense of fear or offense—somehow seem, not unimportant, but less tall, less real, if I imagine really trying to describe them to the Man who claimed to be God.

I've found in the Gospel of John where he recounts the story of a man confronted with the responsibility of grappling with his perception of Jesus and the looming worry on his mind. As I read the story in John 4 of this certain royal official, whose son was ill and hours away from death, I see where he had heard that Jesus had arrived in a town nearby, so with a desperate hope he left his son's side and went to the place where Jesus was teaching. There, he hurriedly begged Jesus to come back with him to Capernaum and heal his son.

I don't read much about the official's perspective of the rabbi from Nazareth. Had he heard that Jesus was a miracle worker? Was he certain that God was with him and not Beelzebub as others speculated? Or was it merely a last feeble attempt to change the outcome that seemed likely on his son's deathbed? This man's perception of Jesus likely existed hazily within his perception of the things he knew were real—and pressingly real at that moment. His son lay at home dying. If I were him, my sense of time and space would have been incredibly heightened. My son is seriously sick to the point of his death; only moments around the corner. Well, hearing of Christ's arrival, the official left quickly hoping there was still time. If Jesus agreed to return with him, they would have to move quickly.

I don't know, but I think that at the very least, the official must have held the hope that Jesus was a powerful healer, a man who might well make a difference in the outcome of his son's illness. Perhaps he had seen or heard what others were noting: "The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is preached to the poor." Whatever his perception, the official believed there was something real enough about Jesus to possibly mend the peril of the moment.

Yet, as in some moments when I've faced with tears or anger or excitement, factors other than God's provision or Christ's power have often seemed more real to me. It seems for this desperate father, Jesus was more of a "last hope" in a race against death, than he was hope and life itself. I see him consumed by the weight of time, as he begged the face of eternity, "Sir, come down before my child dies!" The text is full of anxious awareness that time is of the essence. Not unlike days of mine, when my perception strays form the profundity of  Christ and fails in coming to terms with His unique claims as they might affect my every moment. Yes, I think I'm, most likely to be in tandem with this centurion, believing Jesus to be real but not recognizing Him as God. One of the greatest tragedy in my thinking about Christ is often that it stops far short from really considering the outrageous claims He has given me to consider.

Yet here, in a providential test of perception, Jesus responds to the anguished father's desperation. But He simply says, "You may go. Your son will live." Here it is! I see it! It's in this defining moment, the man had to decide whether Christ was who he said He was or not. He had to decide what and who was more real. Could the hand of Jesus really touch his son across these cities? Could this word really mean something for his son from such a span? Were time and distance the greatest factors in his child's life or was this rabbi one who could really overturn everything that loomed so real before him?   

The gospel simply reports that the man "took Jesus at his word and departed."

Father, God, thank You for opening my eyes wider these past days to the fact that at every word of Christ's, my perception of reality can be sharpened. Thank You for showing me my weakness in thinking the fact that that Jesus is more than the only man who ever walked on the face of this earth, more than a miracle worker at certain times and places.  By Your grace, from this moment on, may I move beyond fear and hurriedness, trusting beyond time and space, beyond my own eyes, and take Jesus at his word, walking away from each situation convinced all is well. Amen