Knees upon earth. Knees upon cobblestones. Knees upon cold, ceramic tiles and carpets and knees upon the rocky banks of a trickling creek. Knees upon hopes and dreams. Knees upon grassy knolls and knees upon snow, cold and wishing. Knees upon concrete. Knees upon hospital linoleum. Knees upon the torn battlefields of love and war and knees upon bedroom floorboards. Knees upon hands and hands upon knees…
And so the man knelt before him, and asked him. And Jesus looking at him, loved him.
And then he asked him to take off his shoes.
Kind of. I mean, in a metaphorical sense.
He told the guy to take off his shoes (kind of) because the ground beneath was holy – not that the young man didn’t sort of know it already, remember, he was on his knees from the start. But there was something missing, and it had to do with his shoes (…kind of).
I mean, really it had to do with issues, the kind that make you feel deep down like a god. Make you think you’re God himself. Make you make decisions that feel safe because they keep issues where we’ve always tried to keep them: out of sight, out of mind.
Issues like identity. Issues like law. Issues like honor. Issues like…how to love. Because love is hefty. You try to shoulder love, and it’ll take a minute. It’ll take your breath away. Don’t expect love to be a drippy faucet sort of thing. Love is a Pacific wave. Pick that up. You’ll feel it in the morning.
And if you don’t pick it up, then keep your issues on and low to the ground. And don’t go running up to Jesus and fall on your knees because he’ll love you alright. He’ll love you, and he won’t leave you where you’re at, with your shoes on desecrating holy ground. With your tried and true issues. He will most definitely challenge you to stand, to get up off your knees.
Knees…
Knees that bleed. Knees that bruise and break open and fingers touching wounded knees with ginger attention to the sting. Knees that swell over time. Knees that twist and tweak and tear. Knees that give it all, give even more, give out, give in, give up. Knees that wrinkle. Knees that bend. Knees that wobble and knock and crack with every step. Knees that scar.
Knees in crawling. Knees in falling. Knees in the deepest need of something new, something real. Knees in feeling, the whole spectrum through, from now to later to someday and never. Knees in teaching. Knees in asking. Knees in hoping that something might change and knees in begging for nothing to change and knees in waiting for the uncertain inevitable thing. Knees in fighting. Knees in praying…
Okay, so Jesus didn’t say anything about shoes. That was a funny, little wordplay thing; convenient though, for the moment, isn’t it? That we take off our shoes in humility and we let go of issues in…humility? But okay. Let’s get literal. Love is a legitimate responsibility. It’s a calling. For Jesus, it’s his very nature, and he expects nothing less than the annihilation of the false self. The issues that make you think you’re some kind of god are exactly the issues he’s asking you to take off. And in the case of the young man on his knees, Jesus knew in his gut that it would take more than some lip service to the law. Life change requires new habits. Tangible, new habits. Love is something that happens. So, Jesus tells the guy to step into something heavy and hard because he loves him, and he wants him to flourish in love.
Oh, and love isn’t only that Hollywood moment under moonlight (though it sometimes is). It isn’t only romance. In this story, it’s not that at all, not even close.
Really, love is the thing we do when we notice the humanity of the person beside us and we take some time and energy to invest in that.
Love looks like a mother bending to listen closely to her child’s story, no matter how many times it’s already been told. Love looks like deciding to sit next to the person that isn’t interesting, that talks too much, that kind of smells. Love looks like an intentional choice to be present in a moment with another person.
That’s what Jesus is calling the young man into, and then the guy just rises from his knees and walks away.
Now, that’s weird. He runs to Jesus, and he falls to his knees. He yearns, remember? I don’t think it’s for show. He’s looking for answers to messy, painful questions: How do I live truly? How can I do this life thing right? You don’t get the impression that he’s faking. He’s on his knees after all, and then there’s Jesus’ reaction. He doesn’t rebuke him or call him a snake. Looking at him, he loves him. Apparently, this guy is on the right track. There’s a readiness in him to drop everything for the sake of the truth. And then…he mopes? But, no, this is not the moping kind of dude. He doesn’t walk away all whiny and self-righteous and ticked.
The young man walks away deeply grieved.
Yes, he’s ready to drop everything for the sake of the truth, but the truth is, he’s too weak. He can’t do it on his own. He can’t take that step and let go of his wealth, and he knows it. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to. It’s that he can’t.
His current issues loom too large. So, he gets up off his knees.
Knees…
Knees say sorry. Knees say take that. Knees say take me. Knees say it’s all over, there’s nothing left, and knees say thank God, there it is. Knees say oops. Knees say finally. Knees say yes and no and some knees say maybe. Knees say it’s not the end, it’s never the end, but knees say I can’t do it anymore too. Knees say we’re almost there. Knees say why.
Knees say thank you.
The young man stands, tragic in his own strength, with his issues smothering him, and walks away from Jesus. And maybe that’s the end.
But maybe not.
I like to imagine that the young man saw Jesus once more. And I see him, the young man, wrecked and on his knees yet again, days after the crucifixion. He’s shaking with sobs. He’s asking himself why he couldn’t let go, why he still can’t, and what it might have been like. He suspects, now more than ever, that Jesus was something special, but now he’s dead. Of course, the typical rumors of a messiah still alive, still winning, they circulate, but it’s game over, deep down everyone knows, and the young man can’t help but feel he missed it. Maybe we all missed it, he thinks, and he’s talking about the messiah, and he’s talking about the people of God, and he’s talking about God himself – but under his breath, of course.
And that’s why he flinches and gasps when a voice behind him says, “So, that’s it, huh? Story’s over?”
Nobody is supposed to be here, in the private quarters of his mansion, and the young man wipes a sleeve across his tears and looks up to rebuke whichever servant meandered in too close for comfort, and he sees Jesus’ face.
A million thoughts mob his brain. One catches his attention as he stares at the teacher. One: let go, now. For the first time in his life, the young man doesn’t know what to do, so he stays on his knees. He asks himself if he could ever let go of his wealth. Could he let go of his security?
He wonders and watches the face. How…? he thinks to himself. The rumors…
Jesus’ eyes crinkle at the corners, they shine. Somehow this face that was bloodied and dead is back, this man is actually back, and he’s here. Jesus is saying something, but a rushing sound fills the young man’s ears. He can see the mouth of the messiah moving, but he can’t hear the words; he can see Jesus’ eyebrows lifting and the mouth slipping into a smile. Muffled words. The young man lifts a shaky hand to massage his eyes; something aching in his mind. The roaring sound of wind or rain retreating.
When the young man opens his eyes, Jesus is gone, and the young man is still, on his knees.
Luke 18:18-27 • Matthew 19:16-30 • Mark 10:17-27