This Reality

There stands a cool iron gate you clasp your hands around. Peer through its bars and stare in silence at the grove of olive trees. Gnarled branches and deep dark leaves cast their shade across the white gravel stone. 

An incline grows tall behind the garden there and in front, a downward slope reaches to the Kidron Valley where beyond and upward stand the strong walls of the Old City.

Birds sing across a Mediterranean breeze. Real warmth from that same real sun that hid behind the clouds 2,000 years ago–it tingles on your skin today.

And somewhere, ancient stones lean and tilt where grass and moss seep through cracked spaces. Wonder of the one who tread them on His way to trial. 

Step into the stone pit where markers hang memories of rope–hands that were holding sick ones to restoration–they were bound inside such a darkness.

Here in these remnants, there whispers a real story of a real man and a real God. Of real tears and sweat and blood. Of friendships and betrayal. Of wet spit, stinging slaps, whips cracking, flesh tearing, shouts of anguish, pitiful wailing. No doubt it whispers of the trembling wishes this would only be a horrid dream. 

Real haunting ching of nail and hammer.

Real sleepless nights.

Real bloodshot eyes.

Real confusion and anger and guilt and sadness.

Have you ever found yourself running to a place in order to catch up with a person before they leave only to find them gone when you arrive? They were here not five minutes ago, someone says. It’s hard to explain what it feels like to stand where Jesus stood. But I guess it feels a little like that–as if you had been running to meet up with Him. Standing on Israel soil feels something of a reality hit. Had I arrived five minutes ago (or better yet, two thousand short years ago) my eyes would be staring at Him standing right there in front of me.

Erase the space of time from then and now and your eyes would fall on Him deep in conversation with a friend or there weeping on the ground alone. The reality of God in flesh brings you to tears. 

Why? 

Have you not been seen down to the deepest and darkest places of your heart and mind? And has He still not loved you? Has He not come to be with you? Emmanuel. Has He not said said He would make a way? The hope of the Christian, the hope that changed the course of history and gave you reason to wake each morning-that hope stood right here. 

Maybe just peer through that gate again, or pause beside the ancient stairs, place your hand against the cold stone wall, or step into the night air and look at the moon that He slept beneath–and marvel. 

This is not some fairytale dream or ancient folklore. This really happened. Perhaps the reality of a God who is so terrifyingly powerful and so overwhelmingly kind breaks your heart in a good way as you come to realize that the Father really loves you. The stories you read are true.

The One with the kindest grace and most unrelenting love said yes to you–and He showed it right here.

It changes everything, doesn’t it? Dear Friend, we would do well to pay attention to this reality–to open up the Ancient Words again and feast on them. There is no one like Him. See how He longs for us to be together with Him. Have you ever had anyone go such length to fight for you like this? 

And then, just think–

Real stone rolling, crushing gravel.

Real heart beating one breath, then two.

Real scarred feet step out into a garden where grass is wet from morning dew.

Their weary grief so undeniably defeated by bewildering tears of joy.

Real glory.

Real Kingdom.

Real rooms He’s preparing.

Though unseen now, still as real as the very breath we breathe–this risen King, coming again.

Oh dear Friend, we would be wise to trust Him. Won’t you listen to Him with me? Won’t you love him too? Let’s step together into the sunrise of this bewildering reality. Here is where the greatest of dreams comes true.