We Want to Meet Jesus

Some Greeks who had come to Jerusalem for the Passover celebration paid a visit to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee. They said, “Sir, we want to meet Jesus.”   John 12:20-21 (NLT)

We want to meet Jesus.  I was reading this passage this evening and when I read these words I stopped. I’m not really sure why.  There was something about that thought that made me, well – stop and think. 

This past couple of weeks have been hell for me (not to mention what it’s been like for Ashley, Jon, and so on…).  We have been on an emotional roller coaster and a spiritual journey that is unparalleled in my life.  I have groaned on about how tired I am.  I have related how this experience has exposed me to the base reality of faith.

Now, with the stress suddenly reduced (for me), no family around (I am currently working in the nether-regions of Upstate New York) and sitting in a hotel room, I am lonely.  Then I read those words…”we want to meet Jesus”.  I want to meet Jesus.  I think.  What would that be like?

What if I walked over to that little diner across the street from this hotel, and as I walked toward the back, in a booth – sat Jesus?  There he’d be, wearing his striped button up shirt, boot cut jeans, Sketchers and goatee.  In reality I would probably fall down in worship, after all – isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?  But maybe it wouldn’t be like that at all.  Maybe he’d invite me to sit down across from him.  He’d order me a Diet Pepsi, some meatloaf and fries.  Knowing the Jesus of the Bible, he would probably reach across the table, put his hand on mine and look at me with the same sympathetic, soulful eyes that I imagine he looked at Lazarus’ family before he wept.

Maybe he’d just remind me that he’s always right here with me just like he promised the disciples as he ate his final meal.  Or perhaps he would pray with me, and remind the Father that he had not lost one of his own.  I can imagine the flow of the conversation, from things personal to spiritual.  We’d laugh, cry, I don’t think I’d have the temerity to debate.  I’d probably have a gazillion questions, but I bet he’d continue to bring the conversation back to how much he loves me.

Every now and again I’d get to feeling guilty because I certainly have never loved Jesus nearly as much as he loves me – but he’d probably say something like…”Aww, that’s okay, don’t worry about it.” 

Eventually the time would come when Jesus would have to leave.  The waitress would come over and I’d pull out my wallet and he would stay my hand.  In a soft voice he would say something to the waitress, she’d tell me not to worry about it – it was taken care of, then she’d walk away…her step a little surer…her shoulders a little less stooped.

Jesus and I would stand and hug, he’d say that he loves me more than I’ll ever know and that he’d see me later.  Then he’d walk away.  Back in my hotel room I would sleep the best night’s sleep I have ever had.  I will be rested.