Written by Evan Meinke
There is nothing worse than to have the desire to cry and finding the inability to. Everything gets bottled up, pressurized, and you just desire to die along with those you view as wretched in your community. This is where we found you at. He was the only one who believed in you. We don’t know a whole lot about your mother who bore you, the woman who conceived you. We do know some of your cousin. He really believed that you could change the world, and that you truly were everything you claimed to be. But it is interesting that at the end of it all he still sent messengers to ask, “Are you really the one? Are you truly God’s son?” And as that axe split through bone and marrow, I wonder if the blade was dull, or if the tip of it was sharp and narrow so that he didn’t feel pain like you did when your disciples brought you the news.
See, everyone asks for the miracles, and it’s amazing that you saw me for what I was on that day. Desperately trying to get at what you had to offer I ran alongside those waves lapping on the beach in hopes that you might stop to see me. So at your lowest point, wanting to be left alone, you find me. The addict, the broken, the hungry, the burdened, the one who truly doesn’t care about your heart or your hurting; only what is in your hand. As your feet left that boat, and inevitably hit the sand on that shore to find a crowd of me’s with wonder and amazement, hoping to see a magic show, you still felt compassion. As those mahogany eyes held back waves from advancing from ducts buried deep within your soul, which a good sobbing would have helped make you whole, you still felt compassion. As your stomach grabbed and growled in starvation from being deprived of what gives life, you saw past is gurgling lies and in your weakness, you still felt compassion. Because we kept calling your name endlessly, bleating so loud it drowned out life itself. At that moment, and you knew such a sound could only come from a flock without a shepherd. In that moment you saw me, stripped bare and naked, exposed for all that is truly trapped, truly wrapped in what is flesh, and in your mercy you still felt compassion.
And as the day pressed on, your friends saw that the day going to die, and that we were in the desert, we were on some country side, so they wanted to throw us away. “Let them fend for themselves and go back into town.” Those monsters were going to throw this infant child into the water, and listening to the shrieking voice, they wanted to let us drown; alone. And in their logic, it is so beautiful that your grace shone so much brighter. Because they were right. They didn’t have the resources to feed the multitudes, and they didn’t even want to try. So with 5 loaves and two fish, the best salvation for a sick and screaming soul that mankind could offer at that time, they present all they could to the man they claimed as their king. I wonder if that is all they could really find from the crowd. Of if after attempted they came back with what was claimed was their best? I don’t know. I won’t be arrogant enough to claim that I have all the answers, but in this story he did.
And in feeding the multitude in your sadness, I hope you only felt love, not anger, not madness at the lost state of those who pursued you for all the wrong reasons. By damming up your saddened spirit, you welcomed us into a home, into a family, and provided not only bread, but your body to a bunch of lowly peasants and fishermen. I wonder if the fishermen you called your friends were the same as my mechanics I call family. Sweating, bleeding, and working together creates a weird bond.
So after those twelve baskets of leftovers were put away, and our party dispersed as well as your friends, I wonder if the rocks on that mountainside were able to comfort their creator as his sobs poured out onto weathered skin and down a shattered heart. As you tore your clothes and watered the crags and crevices of that hill, how did the owner of the universe contain all that pain in his heart? So what was the feeling in your heart? If I am supposed to share in it, it sure would help to understand your heart. God, mines getting pretty worn out, I sure could use your heart! After all this time it sure would be beautiful to feel your heart.
When you were talking to your father, was it through coked back screams, or in a gentle sobbing? It is just hard to imagine you staying calm with a broken heart throbbing. And as you crossed the water, was its level rising with your grief? As you walked closer to your friends, did you know of their disbelief? And as Peter’s yelp bounced across the water, did your love follow suit. As you rushed to quickly save him, as he drowned in his pursuit. “If it’s you Lord, Command me to come!” I think we all want to feel special, a part of something, not just a sum of nothing. So command me to come, and when I drown on my own pleasures, please save me. There has got to be more to this life, you would know, you made me.