Where can I go from your spirit?
Or where can I flee from your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, you are there.
If I make my bed among the dead, you are there.
If I take the wings of the morning;
And settle at the farthest limits of the sea,
Even there your hand shall lead me,
And your right hand shall hold me fast.
– Psalm 139: 7-10
I distinctly remember the first time I realized our oldest son was taller than I was. We were not standing back to back with either him or me standing on tip toes to stretch higher than the other and we were not measuring age and height on the kitchen wall. We were walking through the Village. Actually down Court Road on the way to the elementary school. The sidewalk there is narrow and so I was walking a step or so in front of him. And, for the first time, without looking at him, I had this sense of his presence both behind me and above me. So much so, I stopped and turned around. And, looked up at my son.
I think Jesus’ presence with us must be something like that.
There.
Just over our shoulder.
Just behind us or beside us.
More sensed than seen, but there.
“I am with you always,” Matthew’s gospel has Jesus saying.
You and I live in that always time.
Whether the particular moment we have right now is a moment more challenging than comforting or more like the being at the ends of the earth than an intimate moment.
“I am with you always.”
Which, among everything else it may mean, means also right now.
On this day.
On this night leaning towards the darkness of tomorrow.
Just as you are.
Just where you are.
I am with you always.
To the ends of the earth.
Through hell to heaven.
In life and in death.
And, in life beyond death.
I am with you always.
To comfort and to care.
And, to call you, again and always, to life made new.
There.
Just over your shoulder.
Jesus.
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