It’s the homeless huddled beneath a downtown bridge…
And the high schoolers shot in their school and all their studies,
The battleground strewn with wounded bodies and broken bones…
And the hearts shattered of dreams and promised hopes…
I wonder — where does He walk when He walks the ground of my world.
It was Jerusalem that day.
And there it was — Bethesda.
He came upon a pool.
A watering hole of some sort.
Not for the rich and the famous, not for the elite nor the exquisite.
Vastly the opposite.
It was a field for the broken and the burnt. The bitter and the busted of our world.
A spot for the lame, and the lepers, and all who call themselves the losers of our time.
And there He sees them, and finds them.
And walks to them.
To be with them.
Wasn’t it the pool where you see a field of faceless shame and pain?
Where the invalids congregate for some sort of cure and hope?
The place where darkness begs for light to shine with glory, so the hurting can be continuously whole?
And Jesus came.
Not to be amongst the carousel of party goers, but to be in the midst of endless cries and tearful groans and painful moans.
For you and me.
For our world today.
And you sorta catch Him there — touching the lepers and totalling no laudation. Healing the lame yet hearing no applause.
And you’re slowly getting it here.
He’s come for your world. God-born-Saviour scaffolding the shaky landscapes of our pain, transforming the ragged places of the our raw — bringing us hope, making us whole.