The tangible God

 

The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing. -Zephaniah 3:17

This week I’ve been captivated with the thought of Jesus’ presence. Reading in Laurie and Matt Krieg’s book An Impossible Marriage about their powerful experience with visual prayer has invited me to think about Emmanuel in a different way. Christians say often that God is with or near us, but how often do we see him there next to us, before us, around us, in any way that makes that truth significant in our situation? Many times it feels as though we’re sending messages in a bottle—perhaps we can trust the recipient to read them, but we can’t be sure of how long it will take for them to hear us, or whether our message will somehow be swallowed up by an ocean filled with other bottles. 

Talking to God doesn’t feel personal, it feels distant and cloudy. What else should we expect when we envision God simply presiding over things, rather than existing in and through and with his creations?

But God is with us, it’s true. We simply can’t use our fleshly eyes to see him. And what if that’s because he gave us a way of seeing that is somehow both more intangible and tangible than that? What if God gave us imagination as a way of perceiving him, not just through story or imagery, but as a vivid part of our active reality?

Imagine for a moment that Jesus is really here with you. On your couch, in the passenger seat of your car, walking next to you through the mall. Not just in your heart or your mind but specifically present and visible to you. You can reach out and touch his clothing. You can hear his voice as that of a friend. You can ask him for a hug, and actually receive it.

How different is our response to this real Jesus. How much more clearly we can hear him when he speaks.

If Jesus is here with me, really here in my space, I don’t have to direct my words at the sky and wonder how long they’ll take to reach him. I can turn to him and say “Jesus, I’m hurt. I want to run away” and hear him reply, “No, stay here with me. I will help you.” 

I can trust that he’ll come to my aid because we’re not communicating through radio waves or morse code or video feeds. We’re together in real time—and what loving father, what brother or mother or sister or friend, would fail to help me, love me, encourage me when I’m right in front of their eyes? How much more will Jesus, the perfect Son of God, be able to rescue me from any danger and lend his strength to me in trials?

Note to Self

When you were tiny and your mother held you
snugly, close to her chest
one hand cradling your sweet head
cheek pressed against yours,
she was safety and
you trusted her.
Her love would protect you always.

That’s the way He holds you now.
In my mind’s eye his smile greets
your trembling chin

Your eyes tell what words can’t

that somewhere along the way love betrayed you
something hurts now that should be whole
Safety is lost
and you can’t find it

I know
are the words spoken to you.
I was there when no one loved you
There, in that unseen plane
He reaches out a hand to touch your pain
His arms enfold you, down-soft

Somehow it gets inside you,
the silent strength of that smile, the love that warms those arms,
and gives you words to tell the darkness.

You can’t have me.
This light is mine and I belong to it.