Love Goes to Bring Them Home

The boy we found in His Father’s house has grown, and now we find Him among the people of Nazareth, opening the scroll of Isaiah. The words have traveled through generations of waiting: good news for the poor, freedom for captives, healing for the brokenhearted. He reads, returns the scroll, and sits down beneath their watching eyes. Today, He tells them, these words are fulfilled in their hearing. As we follow Him, the promise begins to take shape among the people it has always concerned. In a synagogue, a tormented man cries out, and the spirit holding him yields to His command. Beside Jacob’s well, He sits with a woman from the estranged Samaritan people, speaking across the old division of the family and drawing her attention toward the Father. Through villages and along familiar roads, people bring Him bodies worn by illness and lives troubled beyond their ability to find rest. He receives them, and they discover that what has held them does not hold authority over Him. Even the wind and water become still at His word. Beyond that water, among the tombs, a man who has lived far from the comfort of a household is restored and sent home to his own people. The compassion that brought Him to Bethlehem is carrying Him through the wounds of the family.

From this distance, His journey begins to describe a great arch, reaching north toward Caesarea Philippi and the shadow of Hermon. Among places bearing the names and memories of other gods, He asks His companions who they believe Him to be. Peter names Him as the Christ, the Son of the living God, and Jesus speaks of a people He will gather whom the gates of death will not overcome. As we look toward the mountain, we begin to sense how far back the wounds of this story may reach, and how much lies beyond our sight. We remember Elisha’s servant, afraid until his eyes were opened and he saw the mountain filled with the horses and chariots of God. The help had been there before he could see it. Now Jesus stands before three of His companions, His face shining and His clothing radiant with light. For a moment, has He allowed His chosen to glimpse both sides of the scroll we have imagined? They know the man who has shared their roads and meals; now they behold His glory, and the Father’s voice speaks from the cloud, naming His beloved Son and telling them to listen to Him. We call this the Transfiguration, yet the name leaves us standing before the wonder. We cannot follow their sight all the way, but we can remain beside them a little while, remembering who has been walking with us.

Perhaps something has been stirring within us along this road as well. If you have come this far and find yourself longing to understand, or simply longing to be near Him, you can speak to Him. You need no words more accomplished than your own. Tell Him what draws you, what troubles you, or what you cannot yet believe. Perhaps the compassion we have been following through the generations is becoming personal to you. There is room to pause here, to ask, and to listen, before we continue.

The road carries Him onward toward Jerusalem, and we bring that glimpse of the mountain with us. We have watched His authority reach into suffering, division, the storm, and the unseen powers that torment His people. We have seen something of the glory belonging to the One who has come so near. Now people spread their garments before Him and welcome Him with branches and praise. He passes through their welcome and enters the temple, returning to the place where we first heard Him speak of His Father’s business. He looks around, and we linger with Him there, remembering the boy who once remained in this house while His family searched for Him. The great arch has brought us back, carrying the lives He has touched and the promise He announced in Nazareth. We stand beside Him at His Father’s house with the question that has accompanied us from the beginning: What would God be willing to do to get us back?