Another day in the country. (Taken with instagram)
“For words, let it be known, are living things. The dreamer’s hand vibrates, trembles to write them; His very pen, shed from a wingspan, quakes On the page, when these characters come out— Words, figures, terms of doubtful origin, Visage of the invisible, shown by the unknown; Made by whom? shaped by whom? sprung from the shadows; Rising and falling in our somber heads; Finding the sense as water finds the level; Formulae of the brain’s fluctuating light.” - Victor Hugo
The Forgotten Messiah
I found this statue of Jesus today. Everything about the occasion was rife with symbolism. The statue sat elevated from the ground, perched within a recess of the wall. This particular wall was connected to a building that appeared to be in disrepair, unlike the rest of the buildings on the grounds. His stone exterior displayed a figure with arms outstretched. They reached toward the busy thoroughfare of route 363, almost desperately.
I couldn’t help but be overcome with emotion as I realized what it was that God had shown me. I was experiencing a microcosm of what happens worldwide, every day. Jesus stands with open arms and says to us, “Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” But we don’t. I don’t. We pass him by. Chalk it up to a fairytale or a fantasy but certainly not reality. We forget that he really did come for us. Each of us. And not only to purify us, but to be with us. From the brightest day to the blackest night, no matter what kind of poverty our life has accrued, he wants to experience it with us. He came to show us how far he would go to protect our souls. And now he stands, watching, waiting, hoping that we will see him. Hoping that we will remember him. But we persist in our doubt. So much so that we conceive elaborate campaigns, create lavish temples, and sensationalize our gatherings; all in his name. I profess my love through what I abstain of, yet as the world grows increasingly dim I must abstain more and more. Until I have removed myself completely from the place in which I was most assured to experience Christ’s love: amidst the wreckage that is our world. Could it be that Christ was after my imperfection all this time? Could it be the same for you?
And still, here I am. Staring up at this statue, wondering what to make of it. Much like I do to the real Jesus. Perhaps much like you as well? We see him, but we don’t know him. If we did, he wouldn’t stand forgotten and with empty hands. Instead they would be filled with the weight of our sorrows to which he desperately wishes to carry for us. Instead they would be filled with the layers of pretense and expectation that our lives have been built upon. Yes instead of striving, we would finally be at rest.
“Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
“Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.”
“We can’t introduce anything new until we’re fluent in the language of our domain.”
- Kirby Ferguson