Can it be that the authorities really know that this is the Messiah? Yet we know where this man is from; but when the Messiah comes, no one will know where he is from.
Jesus is preaching and teaching of the festival, and those around him were astonished. They were incredulous because they thought they knew Jesus; they knew where he was from. On the other hand they were skeptical because Jesus was a nobody; what little they knew did not provide the pedigree they thought the Messiah ought to have.
Jesus didn’t really clear things up at this point, at least in John’s recounting. Jesus says you know me and where I’m from, but you don’t really know where I come from, because I come from the Father, whom you do not know, but I know. I wonder if the those around Jesus at this explanation had the same perplexed look I do.
But there’s something about this idea that we know someone, or should know someone because of where they’re from, or what they’re like, or who their parents are, or the color of their skin. The crowds thought they knew Jesus because they knew some demographic facts about him. They didn’t know his heart and soul, so they didn’t really know him.
How easy is it us to presume we know someone because we know something about them, and that something becomes a defining, all-encompassing truth. But it’s not the exclusive truth, nor is it defining.
Religion. Political preference. Choice in house or car or spouse. Things they cannot choose, like skin color, first language. We look at people and presume we know far more about them because of one little thing. In my recent trip to Guatemala, there were people who had different political outlooks, different ways of worship, and yet their hearts looked strikingly like mine. Hmm.
This even is true with my loved one and the all-encompassing significant mental illness that’s plagued them. It’s easy for others to presume to know their heart, or their outlook, or their intentions, because of this label, or because of the illness-induced behavior. It is definitely a part of their life now, but it is not them. They’ve been hospitalized for 40 days, increasingly getting more stabilized, and continuing to have significant fearful delusions about my husband and me. We haven’t communicated with them at all during that time. It’s easy to assume that I know how this is going to go. Or forget that the person I know is still there.
Last night, on the eve of our move, our sick loved one called. She sounded better than she had in months. It was a simple, and short conversation. But it concluded with words we hadn’t heard in months. I love you.
I’ve no illusion that this is a sign that all is well, and going to remain well. But I am reminded that it’s too easy to think we know about someone’s soul, based on things we see, or things we know about them. My loved one’s sweet soul remains, currently tormented and hijacked by things I can legitimately refer to as modern-day demons.
This morning, I’m thinking about how we can’t know someone’s soul based on the things we see or the things they do. God knows their soul. God can judge. We should not.
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