Moses was not even ready.
And I mean not even close. Picture my dude shuddering behind the boulder where God put him – and the Fear is all like, Buddy, you don’t have a clue. Just. You. Wait.
Picture Moses kind of wide-eyed (like the proverbial deer) and thin-lipped (you know, the kind of smile that might also mean indigestion), his interior self projected on his face for Yahweh’s good-natured kicks and giggles (and Yahweh is chuckling, right, and we’ll talk about that in a second). Moses couldn’t have known, really, how that trembling grin he kept wiping with the back of his hand was nowhere near hidden. He couldn’t have known. He was too busy trying not to wet himself: God!
That’s what he was whispering.
God! God! God!
And speaking of kicks and giggles, the Lord of Hosts was prepping to burst back into sight, full-on glory mode raging, and he must have been eating it up. Picture this: he’s a couple of boulders around the corner, and he’s fighting back a smile. Picture Yahweh maybe blowing into his cupped hands in eager anticipation, maybe cracking his knuckles, maybe doing a couple of jumping jacks to get the blood flowing. Maybe he starts up a private little chant: 2, 4, 6, 8, who do we appreciate? God! And then he leaps forward, knowing all Moses can see is his backside – and yessir! it’ll be leaving all kinds of holy impressions!
Picture God, having fun with this. Thrilled, maybe. Picture Moses. Cowering, craning, curious. It’s exhilarating.
Could this be?
The ecstasy of closer knowing. The celebration of intimacy.
He meant to pass them by.
Jesus sent them ahead into the storm, and when he decided to follow, he planned to walk on past. How often does this happen? The walking on water part: quite rare, generally. And the walking past? I mean, is this guy (ie: Jesus) known for strolling on by? Is that his M.O. – to slip past the needy, to ignore the hurting, to tiptoe around in the dark?
You probably already know it’s not.
Almost like he just couldn’t resist; like the moment activated the spark of divine comedy within him as it had the Fear millennia ago. Like Father like Son.
You see, it’s almost like he’s doing this on purpose. It’s a reference.
Show me your glory.
Okay. Well, here it is.
The Lord, the Lord!
A man sits in his own stench, moaning lackluster salutations. His eyes drip. His legs coil limp and loose beneath him. He whispers, God…
And it seems no one can hear.
A woman shudders; loneliness rips like blades through her veins. Her pain is constant. She bleeds. It might be the isolation that started it. Could be the other way around, that it began the isolation. It is her shame, her ritual. She asks the question: God?
Maybe you ask that question too?
A child dies. The city shrugs. Too many children. Too many dying and living and dying eventually. What’s a child look like to the blank face of biological disaster? Just another person.
But not to the parents. That goes without saying. And the father is running, running without knowing. And the mother is kneeling – knowing but kneeling anyway.
Bad news: it’s too late. Things are broken, and they’ll stay that way. Don’t be a bother. Fissures in the father’s face. A sudden, crinkling quiet in the landscape. You could crumple the whole thing and toss it; you could send it up into the clouds on paper wings. You could, if you were God incarnate.
Maybe you would.
Instead, the voice of Jesus: Don’t be afraid. It’s me. Trust me.
He meant to pass them by.
People shouting: Son of David! Jesus!
People reaching out, grabbing his clothes; falling at his feet, pleading: My little daughter is dying.
He meant to pass them by. He meant to be passing by. He intended to be passing. He’s walking past and being noticed. He intends to be noticed. He invites this. He invites awe. He invites wonder. He invites worship.
He invites you.
Oh, and last thing: he’s not hiding, though I suppose we shouldn’t be too hard on ourselves; it’s hard to imagine even a glimpse of the glory of God and more difficult yet to recognize that which we cannot fathom.
Fathom this.
Jesus was probably standing when Jairus fell at his feet. He’d just stepped off the boat, and it remained, rocking in a gentle pulse, the water shed of its intermittent animosity as he met the surging crowd. They were always hungry. So, Jesus took a breath in that open stance of his (his disciples, noticing, took harrowed breaths of their own) and began to teach. Well, he said a few words or so, and that’s when Jairus fell at his feet. The crowd was flabbergasted to see a leader of the synagogue so close up, so frantic, so humiliated. He said something, but no one could hear above the murmuring – he said it again, this time to jeers. Only when Jesus held up his hand did the crowd relent, and in the ensuing quiet, Jairus spoke again: My little daughter is dying.
And before he could get to the please – the request he’d so eloquently crafted – Jesus was suddenly in the dirt beside him, their heads as one, Jesus’ cheek against Jairus’, initiating divine closeness in this human contact, the curling of the hair of their beards, interlinked, their ears pressed against each other, and Jesus’ hand, his right hand, on Jairus’ left shoulder. They knelt like that, against each other, and those closest in the crowd saw Jairus sob and reach to grab a fistful of Jesus’ cloak in his right hand, twisting. They stayed that way for a moment.
It’s later that he walks on the water, and at that point he’s chuckling, making a joke to make a point. He’s trying to get them to notice.
It’s even later when he pulls a few of his friends aside and straight up does the holy shining thing on a mountain.
And here too, though, he revealed his glory, and we have seen it. Here too, kneeling and holding his sobbing enemy. Here we were behind him, some of us in the boat, some even sitting in the dirt right there, right behind him. Here we saw his glory as we would again on the water when he walked across waves, again on the mountain, again in the garden, again on the tree, again, again, again we saw and gasped, God?! when we saw him stooping so for love – the Son of Man bending in holy imitation of the backside of the Fear.
Exodus 33:18-23 • Exodus 34:5-6 • Mark 5:21-43 • Mark 6:48-51 • Mark 9:2-3 • Mark 10:47-48 • John 1:14