“Is that really you, Jesus? If it is, tell me to come.”  — Peter

Jesus shows up in unexpected places and at unexpected times. Impossible times, sometimes.  And I find it so encouraging to read over and over again the stories of wondering and uncertainty.  The stories of those who knew him in person–those who knew the lines of his face; who had touched his hands and knew the sound and tenor of his voice; who had walked with him and shared meals and laughter; who had watched him work the crowds; who had left everything to follow him, to study him–these same people couldn’t tell who he was or if they were really seeing or hearing him.

I suppose the roar of the wind and the waves masked the sound of his voice–making it almost impossible to hear. The spray of the waves and the wild rain obscured their sight; the water dripping from their eyelashes.  And it was dark.  With only flashes of lightening for illumination.  It’s not surprising that they couldn’t be sure.

Sometimes, I find myself in that same boat. White-knuckled.  Unsure.  Straining through layers of noise, life, history, theology, culture and (mis)understandings to catch a glimpse of what is real.  Clinging to the security of what I think is keeping me afloat.

Is that really you, Jesus? Why am I afraid to admit that question?  To admit that often I am not sure.

Is that really you?

“Come.” I hear you say.

“Come. Find out for yourself.”

Into the storm. Into the wilderness.
Come.
Are you hungry or thirsty?
Come.
Are you weary and tired?
Come.

Feet following after my heart, I come.
My eyes still uncertain,
I come.

And this one thing, I know–
You are with me in the unknowing.
In the unraveling of what I used to know.
In the mess of what I don’t know now.

You are with me–beckoning,
hand held out: “Come.”

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One thought on “An Invitation

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