Sunday was the day you woke up early on purpose, dressed in stuffy clothes, and got to the car just in time to not get fussed. Sitting in the front row, singing songs you didn’t know and a man in a fancy robe talking on and on about God or something. Your only job was to sit still even when your brother was poking you or whispering, “I’m not touching him” until Dad’s hand squeezed your knee, telling you to behave. If we were good, we went to a restaurant for lunch before the football game. We always had to wait for the preacher to say the blessing, and if he was at your table, you better not act up. He was God’s watchman, the closest we knew.
There was Jesus. There was you. And distance.
At a friend’s church, Jesus hung on the wall, and they said His body and blood lived in a little gold box on the altar, and only really special people could touch it. When you got old enough, you could taste it, unless you weren’t a member, then it didn’t matter what age you were.
There was Jesus. There was you. And distance.
The Bible says God would walk in the Garden of Eden and talk to Adam and Eve like family. At least until sin snuck in. Then they were kicked out. Distance.
Moses asked to see God’s face but man could not see His face and live. The Israelites could not even step foot on God’s holy mountain. Distance.
The Ark of the Covenant was believed to hold God’s presence, and no one was allowed to touch it. One man did and died on the spot.
There was God. There was everyone else. And distance.
Then, Jesus was born. He was cuddled and held. The shepherds and the wisemen saw His face. He looked people in the eyes, spoke to them, touched and healed them. He hugged people. There was no more distance.
But then there’s me.
My heart wanders. Every time I get close, temptation tries harder to maintain the distance, if not increase it. I wish I could say it doesn’t happen anymore, but the harder I fight, the harder it fights back.
There is Jesus. There is me. And the distance comes and goes like Grover teaching us about near and far (if you know, you know).
I think God missed the connection, so He built a bridge across the distance through Jesus. It took a cross, nails, and His precious blood to draw us near again, to walk… like in the garden.
I’ve found it is best to stand on that bridge when arrows fly and darkness flows underneath. Jesus lifts me when I don’t have the strength to stand on my own. No more distance.
And if I wasn’t so stubborn, I’d stay there. But I foolishly climb down when trouble passes, only to find myself knee deep in it, again.
Father, please guard my heart,
guide my feet,
be my strength,
stay close.
Amen…
A special thanks to Jim Henson and Sesame Street, for Grover.
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