This post is part of a random daily blog series I am writing throughout January.
There’s this exchange in the first chapter of the Gospel of John where the pharisees and John get into it about whether or not he is the Messiah. John had been baptizing people and the Jewish leaders wanted to know who he is. “. . . why then do you baptize if you are not the Messiah, nor Elijah, nor the Prophet? I baptize with water, John replied, but among you stands one who comes after me, the straps of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie” (1:25-28). I read that shorty after crossing the line of faith and I just sat with it. It’s on an obnoxious sticky note on the page. What? I can’t comprehend that feeling. I think I know what I am supposed to say and feel, but actually feeling it?
Part of Jesus taking on humanity had to be so that we can connect and try to comprehend this almighty God we have. Jesus went through human struggles and dangers and persecution. My small self can connect with that piece of his life. But John’s sentence about not being worthy to touch his sandals? I’ve been trying to feel that, like, really feel it, since I read it.
I’m intentionally reading the gospels in hopes that I can work on my emotional connection to Jesus and his sacrifice. It’s one of the big roadblocks I have in writing out my testimony. I figure focusing in on his life will help me understand who he is and what he went through better. I think it’s a solid approach. I’ve been asking God as I sit to open my heart and mind, to see and feel the Word at the same time. To go deeper than paper. I’m trying to be cognizant of this when I come to church. I can feel it working, I think.
My two emotional preferences are all in and overwhelming (good and bad), or disconnected and pragmatic. I struggle in church to let myself actually worship out in public around others. I haven’t quite learned how to let down my stubborn ego while standing in church—I still feel this veil of awkwardness. Faulty human, ya know?
Yesterday was the first time I received communion at First Covenant where I go to church these days. The first time I was there for a communion day I opted out because I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to—I grew up Catholic and since it had been so long since I’d received communion or gone to confession I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to go up there. It’s weird unlearning patterns you grew up with. One of the traditions from mass I feel like I want to hold onto is kneeling. In the Catholic church it’s custom to kneel after communion until the priest and servers have completely put up the altar and have returned to their seats. I had never really utilized that time before, but when I came back to my seat yesterday I had this really strong need to allow myself to meditate on what just happened, to pray, and I felt a really natural inclination to kneel. So I wasn’t sure what I was doing but in a need to get out of others and into a place of where I could just absorb, I just sat, half on my seat, half leaning with my arms extended over the seat in front of me. Those few minutes felt like a long time. It was the first time I’ve allowed myself to switch from learn mode to true worship mode in this church.
My heart reached for Jesus and I mentally checked out of where I was. And now I know what it means to meditate on the cross. I was watching myself in front of the cross, and had this huge need to just be closer. It was painful that I couldn’t reach out further. I realized that if I even had the opportunity to hug Jesus’ feet I wouldn’t want to let him go. I stayed with my head down in that moment until I heard the pastor wrapping up. I’ve been filled with such light from worship music before—in church, in my car, while running, but that? That was the first time I’ve needed to be at the feet of Jesus.
In this really strange way I found myself considering my response. I was happy because it felt like I was finally able to reach this place that others have been at and can easily get to. But it was so slow motion and somber and this feeling of how I can’t physically touch Jesus and that’s painful. It’s hard for me to love if I can’t hug or hold your hand or be physically in the same space. It feels weird to celebrate a moment at the cross, but I know this was growth and really leaning into Jesus. I know he wanted me there.
I want to believe so fully and so strongly that I feel through my heart and my being that sense of small at just imagining the opportunity of being able to have the honor of untying the sandals of Jesus. I want to believe so hard that I feel myself near to the cross any time I’m tempted or drawn away from God. I want Jesus to come with me into every room and every conversation.
I just want to remember this moment, and go there intentionally.
GLK
