Photo by @felipepelaquim on Unsplash

I put on my gloves, breathing in the brisk fall air and preparing to stomp on some fallen leaves with her as we walked together.

I excitedly anticipated hearing what ups and downs on the journey of life had coaxed her to recently move to our little town by the river, and to join our homey little church.

Spending time with her felt like a bit of a slap upside the head, however. But the good kind of slap upside the head. The type of slap helps you see things afresh and shakes out the cobwebs.

[God will give] a thorough housecleaning, getting rid of all the historical and religious junk so that the unshakeable essentials stand clear and uncluttered.

The Message

“Oh, there’s Raymond,” my new friend muttered under her breath as we passed by a disheveled, drug-addled young man. I was anxious to get back to our conversation and see what happened next in her life story. I coaxed, “but what made you move to . . . ”

She wasn’t listening.

“Hi, Raymond,” she called out. He smiled, genuinely pleased to see my friend, and waved at the three of us. At that exact moment, I looked around to see who must have smacked my new friend, as her eyes were inexplicably filling with tears. The cold fall air, I wondered. A brisk walk often made my eyes run, too.

But she was still talking about Raymond.

“Sometimes I just hold him in my arms and tell him God loves him,” she whispered, her eyes tearing. I looked around for who she could be speaking about. Had an old friend of hers just passed us as well? There was no one else around. My neck craned in all directions, and I stared wide-eyed at my new friend, slowly understanding she was still talking about Raymond.

“You do WHAT??” I wondered, horrified.

I quickly composed myself. I mean, I am a Christian, so of course, I – ahem – knew EXACTLY what she was talking about . . . er . . . knew of people who knew exactly what she was talking about . . . er . . . I mean, who doesn’t grab the odd smelly bum we pass on the street and hold them in our arms, crying tears of God’s love for them?

To reassure me, however, I made a mental note to check my “Christian Club Membership Card” when I got home to ensure it hadn’t expired.

Her heart mirrored a tiny piece of the heart of Jesus, and her words seemed to mirror what would have fallen from His lips.

I stared wide-eyed at this new friend.

She was still silently weeping. “I sense such a Spirit of God on him,” she said so quietly it was almost a whisper. I looked back at Raymond, who was walking away from us. He had waved and walked on.

The image of tears of love spilling from her face onto Raymond reminded me of another woman whose tears of love spilled onto Jesus.

Just then a woman of the village . . . came with a bottle of very expensive perfume and stood at [Jesus’] feet, weeping, raining tears on his feet. Letting down her hair, she dried his feet [and] kissed them, and anointed them with the perfume.

The Message

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You can love a person dear to you with a human love, but [many] can only be loved with divine love.

Leo Tolstoy in War and Peace

As we continued walking in silence, I wondered:

– WHO really is Raymond?

– WHO am I?

– WHO is Jesus?

It seemed I was blind to all three.

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