On Being Human

I’m thinking about Jesus the man tonight.

The man whose feet got dirty and needed washing.

The man who reclined at the table with his disciples because he loved them and because he was hungry.

The man who withdrew from the crowds and fell asleep on choppy waters.

This humanity is resonating hard with me, I think, because I am so aware right now of my own humanity.

I feel, in a lot of ways, that I’ve been pushed to the edge of myself here lately.

So out of my element.

So unable to handle things.

Y’all, I am a handler.

I want to love, to serve, to minister out of those places where I feel strong, where I feel like I have it all together.

This is not often how it works for me.

Instead, I’m trying to wrap my arms around shards of brokenness while I feel my own heart rubbed raw.

This binding up the brokenhearted is not for punks.

Hebrews says that we don’t have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses (Heb. 4:15).

I know that this is true.

Because here in my humanity, knowing the really-real mess that I am, I know him.

His presence is steadfast.  Undeniable.

He is here in the high-ceilinged courthouse where futures are decided.

He is here in my living room visited by so many strangers who make me feel like I am on display.

He is here in the sacred moments when words fail and still something comes.

He is here when I am out of my element, pushed to the very edge of myself.

This God-Man who sympathizes with my weaknesses

And chooses to love me anyway.

He is here.

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