Imagine

I don't know about you but I have an active imagination and I sometimes wonder. I wonder what it would have been like to have followed, physically, Christ. To have lived to hear the Master's voice say, "Follow Me," the pain in his words, the hope in his voice, the love in His eyes. I wonder if I'd have followed. Would I have been the zealot, hoping for a bloody revolution, an overthrow of oppression? Would I have been disappointed, angry to hear Him say, "Love those who hate you...Turn the other cheek...Take up your cross and follow." I probably would have been Peter, recklessly shouting, "I will follow, even to death," only to feel His eyes on me, burning into me with profound love, pouring sorrow, saying, "You will deny me." To have sat at table with Him, toasted our future with Him, traveled dusty desert roads, pray with Him...imagine, to have sat at the feet of God-in-the-flesh and see Him smile. Imgaine! I can see it in my mind's eye...It's partly cloudy and a stiff breeze is blowing off the Sea of Galilee, sharp and cool. (can you see it?) I look around. Sprawling upon the pebbly beach and rocks, my companions. Twelve of us have been chosen, now tired, dusty from travel. There is a small fire burning, a smell of broiled fish briefly on the wind, snatched away on the breeze. And then, I hear the voice of the Master...laughing. A deep, completely abandoned, contagious laugh and I can't help but turn to look. A few feet away, Jesus. Your head is thrown back, clapping your hands, howling in sheer delight at something Matthew has just said. Matthew...with his dry wit and almost-wicked smile. I see it, hear it. A taste of water on the wind, a storm approaches. I hear You say, "Come friends, let us get in the boats and cross while we can." A smile, a flicker of pain in your eyes..."Come friends..."


Over time and space,
I wonder.
My mind goes back
and I wonder, question...
if.
If I would have believed,
followed, died
for Someone greater
than my dreams.
If, shattered by grace,
I would bow, worship,
weep at His death,
His revolution.
How could this be real?
Or...
would I have thrown myself
faithless, floundering in religion,
rules, to a life of servitude?
Could i abandon Love,
a life of meaning,
purpose
for the safety of the known,
mindless, sheepily following
generations of tradition?
Had I known, I might have
failed, denied,cursed...
Yet, You love.
Opening the heart of eternity,
You pursue with
the reckless Passion of
death giving Life!
How can this be real,
this Hope you give?