As an adult Christian I am learning to get to know Jesus both as a man, as a historical figure, and as the risen Christ, and each of these ways of knowing him has its own layers to it. Jesus was a man who had a mother and father like I do, he enjoyed table fellowship like I do, and he enjoyed time in prayer like I do. As a historical figure living 2000 years ago, Jesus lived in a culture, geography, and political climate different than I live in now, but I can try to study those times and extrapolate his experience to my experience (e.g. customs, dress, rituals). And finally, the deepest layer I’ve come to know Jesus as is the risen Christ - - as a person, as a voice, as a Spirit who speaks to me in my daily life, through the scriptures, in my relationships, and in the Mass.
Having been introduced to the practice of Ignatian prayer several years ago, I have had moving experiences of meeting Jesus on the Road to Emmaus, meeting him on the road with Bartemeus, meeting him among the tombs in Genesaret, and on the road back home from a foreign land with the Prodigal Son. By sitting with these scriptures for a period of time, meditating on them, and putting myself in the scene, Jesus has revealed himself to me through the characters in these stories. As such, it’s been not so much a process of me making these Gospel stories my own, but of the scriptures revealing the risen Christ to me in them.
Without a deeper way of knowing the scriptures, and Christ through them, the scripture stories remain just stories, as John Shea notes. It’s difficult to hear a story over and over again and have it be fresh exciting, and generative (Shea, p. 51). As Shea suggests, I’ve had to learn to get out of the way of the story and find a new way of seeing.
For me, when I am able to meet Christ in scripture, he meets me in my wounded places, seeing wounds I may not have revealed to anyone else, but he seems to know intrinsically they are there. I’ve been the fearful, possessed man dwelling among the tombs in shackles and chains in Gerasenes (Mark 5:1), I’ve been the lonely, Prodigal starving in a foreign land, longing to eat the husks of corn the pigs were fed (Luke 15:11), I’ve been the hard-hearted apostle unable to see Christ walking with them on the Road to Emmaus (Luke 24:13), and I’ve been the persistent Bartimaeus who comes face-to-face with the Jesus who asks him, “What do you want me to do for you? (Mark 10:46).”
In getting to know Jesus Christ, I’ve always been intrigued by what John the Baptist says to his follows when Jesus first arrives on the scene, “I must decrease so that he can increase.” For me, this scripture describes the self-emptying journey that John Shea is talking about in Gospel Light. It’s about being present in mind, body, and Spirit, but letting the Spirit of the risen Christ speak through my life, rather than letting the mind or body being in control and running the show. As Shea says, “We participate in the Divine Being at every moment (Shea, p.40).” When I’m living a life attuned to the Spirit, I move beyond the dualism of compartmentalizing my prayer time and work time, joys and suffering, and good times and bad. As Richard Rohr says, I come to know that “everything belongs.” Every aspect of my life becomes fertilizer for Christ to plant his seed and grow something. So even when I don’t see the flowers blooming, I know that the eternal gardener is at work, creating something new.
As an adult Christian, I know that the Gospel stories are speaking to me when a word in the scriptures jumps out at me or moves me to tears. This has the impact of either surprising me when a word jumps out at me - - or humbling me when I’m moved to tears. Lately it’s been tears that have ruled the day; convicting my heart that there is an unmet need in me that only Christ can fill. The tears also tell me that beyond the specific scripture passage I may have read or heard, Christ now has direct access to my heart. His heart is becoming my heart. His joys are my joys, and his sorrows are my sorrows, and he is conforming my heart to his will.
John Shea calls this way of connecting to the scriptures “apprenticing ourselves to the story” (Shea, p.56), such that the spirit of the text has awakens our spirit, stirs our minds to see and understand, and see with the eye of the soul (Shea, p. 60). In doing so war are now considering a common human condition, rather than a specific instance of characters in a scripture story.
As I am called to work in Ministry and continue to learn how to make Christ’s story my own, I see that this transformation to having the heart of Christ is vital. If I can see with the eyes of Christ and feel with his heart, I can be his hands and feet and accept the trials that go along with it. His yoke will be easy and his burden will be light, and I can share the realization of St. Paul when he said, “It is not I who live but Christ who lives within me (Galatians 2:20).” If I am not transformed and don’t accept the heart of Christ in my ministry, I am just a body who is listening to his own mind/ego and is not connected to his eternal purpose. I don’t see Christ in the person I am serving, and my ministry becomes just a job.
In summary, from my experience, becoming a Christian is about making the Gospel stories my own, but, like grace, it’s not something I actually DO. I am just called to show up and be “present to the presence” as Brother Lawrence says. If I am able to be present and empty myself of inordinate attachments within and without, the Gospel stories can speak to me and Christ’s story becomes my story. His tears at Lazarus’ tomb become my tears, his righteous anger at the temple becomes my anger, his death on the cross becomes my death, and his rising to new life becomes my own.
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