I think that phrase is true for everyone. We think we know so much about other people. Spend enough time with someone and you start to think you've got them figured out. Some of us think we're so good that we can figure out who a person is within the first five minutes of talking to them. And more of us still think we know someone based solely on what other people tell us about them.
But that's not really true, is it?
How many people really know you? And not just superficial knowledge, either - the "deep down I know all your qualities from bad to good including your fantasies and your dreams and your demons" kinda knowledge. I'm guessing that if there's even one person you can say that about, you're doing pretty good.
But even then - do they really, really know you? Core-of-your-soul know you? I'm guessing not. Why am I guessing not? Because I can't honestly say that I've let anyone (even my own husband) know me that thoroughly. Why? Because I still want him to like me. The core-of-my-soul is a lot dirtier than I'd ever like to admit to anyone.
Today's passage is about Jesus going to his hometown and teaching in their synagog. What struck me in this passage was how Jesus' old town-mates started out with some measure of awe about him: "Where did this man get all this? What is this wisdom that has been given to him? What deeds of power are being done by his hands!"
This awe doesn't last long as they start to put these new developments into their contexts of Jesus as they used to know him: "Is this not the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon and are not his sisters here with us?"
It's one of those, "Waaaaiiit a minute. Who the heck do you think you are and where the heck do you get off trying to tell us what's wrong with us? We know you! You're just a carpenter. You're not more special than any of us."
These people thought they knew Jesus, but they really had no idea. They didn't core-of-his-soul know him, that's for sure, and it didn't appear that they even wanted to.
You know what's really funny to me as I think about this? Jesus wants us to core-of-his-soul know him. He laid himself out for us completely. He didn't hold back anything. Even 2000-odd years later, we can still core-of-his-soul know him.
Granted, his soul is a whole lot cleaner than mine. In fact, his soul is so clean, it's blinding in its perfection.
And yet... God completely and utterly dirtied Jesus' perfect soul so that my soul - your soul - could be whiter than snow.
That never ceases to amaze me.
And frustrate me. I think I'm far more comfortable being dirty than I am being clean. Why? I'm gonna steal a few lines from Michelle Merineau, a girl at Prov, who mused about this:
"I wish God was human. I think it takes a whole lot of humility to accept what Jesus did. Most of the time I like to think that I can be good enough on my own. I hate the fact that I'm not. And I feel somewhat like a jerk when I even think about accepting God's grace. I feel like I'm cheating him or something. I find it a lot easier to believe in karma. But God loves me more than that. That to me is the hardest thing to swallow."
What do you think?
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