How Do You See the World?

(Luke 24:36-53)

It’s been a sweet and slow walk with him through his gospel. Lingering in places that call to me to breathe the air there and feel the moment. No rush. No push.

And somewhere in the lingering, I fell in love with Luke.

Or maybe what I fell in love with is how he sees the world . . . and its proximity to heaven.

At least fifty-five times (I stopped counting) he pens the Greek word ginomai, often translated and it came to pass.

(GHEE-no-my)

Luke doesn’t pen ginomai casually.

Because what comes to pass is more than simply what happens next.

Luke uses ginomai like a flashing neon arrow.

Directing the reader’s attention to God’s interaction with the world.

To events where God’s actions emerge from eternity and show themselves in physical time and space.

By number fifty-five, his pen is practically writing ginomai itself.

Near the end of Luke’s narrative, Jesus appears in the midst of His disciples.

How odd that, in the middle of this extraordinary scene, He asks the most ordinary question.

“Do you have anything here to eat?”

Well, they do.

In fact, someone has pulled fish off the grill.

Hot and tasty.

As if, right before Jesus appears, the disciples are about to sit down to dinner.

Luke doesn’t record this, but after Jesus swallows that first bite and settles everyone’s nerves, it’s not hard to imagine that dinner starts happening.

For everyone.

After all, sharing meals is a familiar rhythm for Jesus and His disciples . . . and the fish is ready.

I picture the disciples around the table, forks a-clatter.

Feeling almost normal again.

Until . . .

Jesus opened their minds to understand the Scriptures.

To how close heaven has been all along.

God’s will and intentions playing out on earth.

Mind-opening.

And mind-blowing.

And with that, my mind opens.

As I sense the Lord gently pointing out that I’m really not all that open.

To invitations outside my comfort zone.

The plight of the introvert.

Causing me to wonder how many it-came-to-pass moments I’ve passed up?

This afternoon it comes to pass that I’m invited to a poetry reading at a senior living campus.

Nothing about this invitation is comfortable.

I don’t know these seniors.

And I don’t get poetry.

But I accept.

Nervously.

And end up having a ball.

Listening.

Laughing.

Loving their joie de vivre.

And them.

Which feels like a warm-all-over hug.

An it-came-to-pass blessing I might have passed.

As Luke winds his gospel to a close, he pens a final ginomai.

Jesus lifts His hands to bless His disciples.

And it came to pass,

while he blessed them,

he was carried up into heaven.

While He blesses them, in that very moment, heaven leans down.

The disciples can practically touch it.

And it dawns on me why Luke can’t stop penning ginomai.

Again and again.

Because ginomai is happening again and again.

Then . . . and now.

Wherever we sense heaven is close to earth.

Whenever we perceive a connection to the Divine.

Whithersoever we experience God’s blessing.

Even for a moment.

Even in everyday life.

Even at a poetry reading.

And it came to pass.

I’ll miss Luke and how he sees the world . . . . . . and its proximity to heaven.