When you came to earth, You didn’t stand on street corners with signs that screamed condemnation. Oddly enough, You weren’t even the one shouting, “Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is near!”
You did your share of preaching—delivering theology from a fresh perspective—but mostly, You sat among the people, filling their bellies with bread and their ears with stories. Mostly, You saw people. You met them where they were and said, “Come follow Me.”
You chose them. You chose the ones who “weren’t good enough.” The ones who “didn’t quite measure up.” The ones who didn’t have all the answers. The ones with no future in spiritual things. Fishermen, tax collectors, zealots… Ordinary men.
You surprised people when You claimed to be God incarnate. Because, of course, God would come with fire and brimstone. God would come to purge the earth of evil men, not cleanse the hearts of the broken and condemned.
We think we know You, but we don’t. We don’t know the way Your heart grieves to see us so caught up in religion that we neglect relationship. We don’t understand Your love for the least of these.
When I look around my world, I see a people who preach tolerance and live something else entirely—people who would throw stones rather than extend mercy.
Sometimes I think I hear You weeping. Sometimes I feel the God in my heart extend a hand toward one of the broken. Usually I’m not good at being God incarnate, so I walk on by, still feeling the ache of Your heart resounding within mine.
What will it take for me to love like You do?
God, reveal Yourself in me until I disappear into You.