Jesus.

Jesus

May 2024

Recently I was having a chat in a restaurant with a new friend.

When I told her I am a priest she told me about an early life encounter with Jesus.

“He appeared at my elbow,” she said. “He was with me for three peaceful years. Then he left.”

“What happened?” I asked her.

“Oh, my dad took the piss out of me. Jesus left. He never came back.”

I looked down at the table, “Maybe he didn’t want to embarrass you.”

I have learned that Jesus, like the Cheshire Cat, can appear and re-appear in our lives in such peculiar ways.

Six months ago my mother died.

Shortly afterwards, in the weird fog of a complicated bereavement, I allowed myself to be hurt by someone who was bored with me. A boredom she wasn’t really entitled to. Well, since then, quietly, and without drama, an old friend has appeared at my shoulder, and he has a new quality. He has become devoid of dogma or arguments about what happened on the cross. He is just himself.

In the old hymn ‘Alleluia sing to Jesus’ is a description of the man at my shoulder;

‘Intercessor, friend of sinners, earth’s  redeemer plead for me.’

That one line folds my existential angst between warm hands until it softens and melts, like wax, and I remember a conversation with my spiritual director when my dad died. I had told him that I didn’t know what to do and he said that I should just lay my head on Jesus’ breast just like the loved disciple did.

It’s the single most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me. I say it to people sometimes now too. Watch their eyes fill with tears.

Sometimes it’s been the other way around, when some beautiful and contactful human being points me home to him. I hear these words.

‘Lord of all gentleness, Lord of all calm.  Whose voice is contentment, whose presence is balm’. Imagine that. Imagine the peace of him.

Today, it is a modern version of the Twenty- Third Psalm which is singing to me: ‘His endless mercy follows me, his goodness will lead me home.’

I can only think that the longing for this Jesus who has appeared by my side- who is appropriately attired, when I catch him out the corner of my eye – by which I mean white robe, sandals, the whole proper shooting match – is really a longing for a proper humanity infused with God. For being entirely accepted as we are. Full blooded love in all its glory. Love, not as a feeling, but as an attitude to everything. Connected to everything else. Someone who knows how to be present. Who knows how to lift without snatching. Who can gently pull my story into his until they both become water. Who can remind me that I am not alone. A humanity that won’t get bored with me no matter how tiresome and monotonous I become. He picks up everything that drops from our pockets. Trust. Benevolence. Goodwill. Kindness. Hope. The unconditional gaze is his. He has no malice and no second face.

In the stillness he creates, neither do I.