Somewhere in the middle of our discussion on Matthew 24:15-28 last night, I realized how different it feels to be near to Jesus in Lent. In Epiphany, I was jostling with the crowds to get nearer the miracle. I was standing shoulder to shoulder with the disciples, trying to decipher the beauty and mystery of the God man. In Epiphany, I wanted to be near when Jesus touched lepers and saved harlots and spoke beauty and explained Truth. I wanted to be near Him like I wanted to be near beauty and like a magnet He pulled my soul closer.
In Lent, being near Jesus feels different because it means walking with Him to death.
He is no less beautiful or miraculous or True, but it feels somber to be beside Him as we go. I know it is for me that we're on this journey - for my sin and hard heartedness that He has to set his eyes like flint on Jerusalem.
But I still want to be next to Him and I only want to be next to Him.
That is the repeat phrase I heard myself say after we finished prayers and I started off toward home last night. All those street preachers are right, at least partially: there is an end to this world and it is serious business. And in the end, I want to be found next to Christ - tucked under His provision and snuggled right up to His beauty when all that is somber thunders down.
If Christ is the most beautiful thing when the world folds in on its own desires, then He is definitely the most beautiful thing about this Wednesday morning.
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