Jody Serey’s Reflection

If Jesus Came to My Door

(Revelation 3:20: Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me.)

If Jesus came to my front door and knocked, he would have to wait while I shooed the old barking rescue chihuahuas into the bedroom. Then he would have to pause another moment while I attempted to hold back the slightly younger and bigger dog who would be intent on asking him to play by bringing him a squeaky toy. After I ushered Jesus all the way in, we would probably go sit in the kitchen because the best view of the bird feeder is from the window by the kitchen table if you sit on my side. And it’s just cozier in there.

After he got seated, I would offer him coffee, and some cake if I still had any left from the weekend. And if there was none, I would set out cookies, probably store bought. I would ask, “So how is your mother?”

It most likely wouldn’t have totally dawned on me yet just exactly who was watching the hummingbirds with me as we began talking about whatever it was that had brought him to my door. Long hair and a beard wouldn’t have seemed out of the ordinary, and sandals are standard attire here on the desert. If he was wearing a robe, I might have paid attention to that. But there is no guarantee I would have detected anything unusual about the young man.

Even if I had realized who he is, he would have seemed very young to me at 33. My kids are older than that by a decade. And I would have struggled not to call him “honey,” and would probably have failed, because that slip of the tongue has occurred a time or two already when I was praying to ask him for his help with something.

If Jesus came to my door and we talked at my table, I would want to know if I was supposed to be leaving with him, or did he have something else in mind? I would worry about my husband, my adult kids and family, the dogs, my friends, my job, and the wild birds in the yard. Unlike his earlier disciples who managed to step away from everything and follow him with nothing, I would falter if I was asked to shed everything and just go now. What about my medication? Should I bring a change of clothes? I can’t walk very far these days, so should I pack a cane just in case?

If Jesus came to my door, I would worry that he looked tired, that I was talking too much or not enough, that he might be needing a ride or a room or a proper sandwich, and whether or not he was safe walking the streets without any way to hide himself from the stony gaze of strangers, or to protect himself from violence.

And if a threat loomed suddenly, I would try to intervene, this 75 year old woman who would attempt to put herself between a perceived risk and the young man, the presence of God on earth. I would lift up my old mother’s hands, the way I used to raise younger ones to protect my kids in the car if we stopped suddenly.

I might finally think to ask, “What do you need me to do?”

And when he spoke the words to tell me, I hope that I could hear them.