Having seen Jesus, John can say: This is God's chosen. In that moment of recognition all he had been and done, everything he had said, made sense. It became worthwhile, but it was not always that way. For a very long time there was no recognition, and he had perhaps looked into many faces for some sign. He had believed there was a reason for what he had been about. He had prepared himself and the people, but for what he had not known. He realized he had to, but there had never really been a why.
It was not easy, but faith is like that. It is believing and acting on what is believed. Like love, faith means risking. It is trusting and waiting, and it can be hurting as well. It is hoping there really is a meaning, that all the searching and looking and trying will end in recognition of the one who makes it make sense.
There has been no seeing, no understanding to be clutched and held up for others to see. There may be only a feeling that God will work it out, in God's way. But it is enough. It has to be, because it is all there is. So he searched and wondered. He was being who he was waiting for God to become who he would be, and as God was getting ready to be recognized John waited to be chosen, by God's chosen.
My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
No comments:
Post a Comment