Someone asked me the other day who Jesus is to me.
A friend? A warrior? A tortured naked man nailed to the cross because of my faults? (#biggestguilttripever)
No…I couldn’t relate to any of those. I had to pause and think about that, like really reflect on that question for a few days.
Jesus…Jesus…hmmm….who is Jesus to me?
Jesus has always just been with me. He just…is a part of me and I can’t really remember a time when He wasn’t. But what is He to me?
After reflecting on this for a few days, a word finally come to me:
Healer.
Jesus is my healer.
He heals me, over and over and over…and over…and then over again, and again….and again.
Like that scene in the Passion of the Christ, when Jesus gently, calmly picks up the ear of the soldier Peter had attacked, and then, like an artist fixing his craft, he gently and calmly reattaches it, much to the speechless amazement of the soldier.
In the midst of all the chaos and the fighting, Jesus zones in on that soldier and sees not an enemy but his beloved child whose ear has just been cut off. With the greatest of care, he simply reattaches it and the soldier – that man -is forever changed by Jesus’ healing touch.
This. This is what he does for me.
When I feel wounded:
He heals me.
When I feel broken apart, cracked open and bleeding profusely from my torn soul:
He heals me.
When I feel like I can’t go on anymore.
He heals me.
When I feel like I’ve suffered too much, like I’m too broken, too traumatized, too jaded, too sinful…
He approaches me – like a caring father – he carefully gathers up my broken pieces scattered everywhere, looks at me with eyes only filled with love and gently, carefully, lovingly fixes me, restores me, and heals me with his touch.
So, who is Jesus to me you ask?
My healer. Jesus is my healer.
Who is Jesus to you?
