Seeing Jesus
(While teaching the contemporary version of the Lord’s Prayer)
5 yo: I don’t really see Jesus in that prayer.
Me: Oh wow, that’s interesting. Where do you see Jesus?
5 yo: In the juice. And the bread.
Me: At communion? That is a good place to see Jesus. Is there anywhere else you see Jesus?
5 yo: Not really.
Half of the time at church, my kids are making so much commotion to, from and at the communion table, that I'm not sure what they are getting out of the experience. Then I hear a zinger like this, and think, well, at least this kid knows one place where Jesus promises to show up.
It's not the only place, of course, that Jesus meets us. When I think of it, I'm on the lookout for God-sightings in my daily life, and there are so many when I remember to look. The birch trees were aflame in yellows this week in my neighborhood; the mountains have a paint-brush stripe of white snow at the top. My youngest child is in kindergarten and comes out running into my arms and into a tirade of everything that was "so fun" at class that day. Nature, a child's joy, a warm hug, God is consistently in these places.
But this past week I noticed God somewhere else. A couple of weeks ago, my 10-year-old and I were running a trail race in our hometown. I knew I was fatigued from a heavy exercise week, but hey, it was only a 3k! Unfortunately, that was enough to sprain my ankle, not once but twice in that short distance. I have a small avulsion fracture on my left ankle and a classy walking boot to wear for the next month. I may or may not need surgery after that. I'm a lousy patient and even lousier at resting. The first day after my injury I washed all the bedsheets in the house and then went to Costco. That was dumb; I didn't seen Jesus in any of it, so the next day I took it easier.
I've been generally mopey and feeling sorry for myself, while also still caring for the kids and the house. About 6 days after my injury, I was supposed to chaperone my kindergartner's class trip to the fire station. I couldn't walk there with the class, so I drove, because my kid was excited to have me there and also I needed to get out of the house. I limped into the fire station in my walking boot and sat down behind the group of kids gathered around the firepole. As I sat there, another adult sat down next to me with a huge sigh. I have to rest, too, she said, my hips are killing me. We smiled at each other, the kinship of the wounded. Then she told me a little more about her (invisible) injury, and I told her about mine.
Later, I thought about this woman. I knew she had also recently experienced a death in her family and she was someone I wanted to know better. Grieving and in physical pain, she sat down beside me and we shared a moment of vulnerability. I doubt she would have sat down next to me and shared that, had I not also been broken.
This is so often how God shows up: in the broken, messy places, because that is what our real lives include. What good is a God who only comes when the sun in shining? No, we need a God who comes in rain, storms, pain and death. Someone like Jesus.
I read a devotional recently where the author spoke about being a missionary in a developing nation. She wrote that she was full of herself and her own wisdom, until a local man told a story about his rabbit. The man said he had found a rabbit as a bunny and nursed it to heath; it became his constant companion. One day, the rabbit went exploring near a latrine and, you guessed it, fell down into the hole. The man explained that he tried everything to retrieve the rabbit, but that he finally realized there was only one solution: go down into the filth and get it himself. So he did.
The author used this story to make this point: she was actually a lousy missionary because she wouldn't get down into the dirt with folks and she needed to ask God for forgiveness. Now, that may be true, but I think the real point of that story was this: God, through Jesus, went into the worst place, knew all sorts of suffering, so that we won't be alone in any of ours. If I told my kids this story, they'd probably summarize it like this: God's willing to go through a lot of crap for us.
As comforting as that is, the best part for me is seeing God show up in the pain (of last week) and hope of seeing God in the irritation and inconvenience and impatience of a bunch of weeks ahead. God will be there at church, too, in the prayers and the bread and the juice and the people who support me and my family so well, even if we're a little too loud at the communion table.
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