Meeting Jesus

By October 16, 2010 December 14th, 2018 Creative writing, Spirit

St. Ignatius had a set of steps that enabled his followers to become closer to Jesus. One of them stood out to me as an interactive journey I could take—I would walk with Jesus through the Gospel of John as if I were there, using all five senses—sight, smell, touch, hearing, taste.

The beginning
It’s hot out here. The wind barely murmurs against my legs and the dust has clambered onto my toes like hoards of tiny spiders.

A man walks by. There’s something different about him—is it the way he holds his head? He looks up and catches my eyes. I am instantaneously struck with tears. No one has ever looked at me that way, this way that hooks my heart—I cannot breathe. His smile reaches around me and the world slows for a minute. This man is the only one . . . the only one . . .

What am I looking for? Something in him pulls me forward. I want to be at his side. I feel life, hope, meaning. There is more . . . oh for the words of mortal man to describe . . .

Who can I tell? Who can I bring to the feet of this man? I can blubber about him, but I would sound like a fool. They must come into his presence. There is something . . . there is more than just this man here.

He turns to me. “Your name—princess, queen—is perfect.” He sees me. He knows me. It makes no sense. Who am I? But when he says it I just know—I am who he says I am.

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  • Roadkill says:

    “So, Andrew,” said my brother Simon, “Where ye been all day, lad?”

    I took a sip of grape juice. “We hung around wi’ the Lamb o’ God all day.” I love the scent o’ fresh squeezed grapes. I could smell the wine Simon was drinkin’ even stronger, a sweet stench I forebore when I became a Nazarite. Some days I missed it more’n others.

    I took another sip. “Ya’ll haf ta come along tomora an’ meet ‘im. Ya wunna belie ‘im atherwise.”

    Simon snorted into his wine; droplets glistening in the firelight as they flew onta my robe. “Firet ye take up wi’ a prophet hue eats nay but bugs ‘n’ sweets, and now ye want ta follow a man frae Nazareth? Are ye daft?” He threw back the wine as only Simon could do. I once seen him drink near half a cask and still walk home.

    “Simon, ya hafta meet ‘im. When he looks at ya, ya’d swear he knows yer every secret, yet he bears nae grudge. And he told me that Ma and little sis was safe, and nae ta fret.”

    “Ye fool, everyone knew they were safe! How’d ye not know?” He belched a long one, and I heard his wife laugh as she always done. She’s a strange one that way.

    I laughed a bit me self, staring up at the night sky. Orion stood serene, bow at the ready, daring anyone ta harm our land, placed by the hand o’ the Almighty ta remind us. The stars twinkled in the cooling desert air. I smelled seared goat. My belly rumbled and suddenly I was famished. Three days fasting was enough for now. I stood ta go get food.

    “This was at mid-morning, brother. We didn’t even know they were in trouble yet, now did we?”

    Simon stared, open-mouthed. Red wine dripped into his beard like blood. “He did naw sech thing.”

    I stared back. “He did. We’ll leave after early breakfast. Ye need ta come wi’ us and meet Jesus. Yer steenkin’ fish can wait a few hours.”

    “How’d he know? No one knew!” Simon slammed his fist onto the table. “None o’ us knew yet they were in danger! Not til noon!”

    “Aye, there’s the rub. He knew they were safe… before they were in danger. After breakfast, brother. Be ready.”

    Simon put his cup down vehemently. “Aye. I will. I’ll go and meet this Lamb o’ yers, or Lion, or whoever he is.”

    “Jesus. His name is Jesus.” I walked off toward the fire, the tang of goat filling my nostrils like rain in the desert.

  • admin says:

    Nice job, Miles. In the imagination, they can have a Scottish accent. 🙂

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