Faltering Friends

Jesus had no social media during his thirty-three years of life on earth. No sitting at Moonbuck’s (the other guy’s close competitor), texting his Father back home, hot cuppa’ in hand, waiting for the ping of incoming texts. No checking his Facebook account for comments or friend requests. No one to click like. No chance (even had he wanted one) to become an affirmation junkie like most of us.

But even without social media, Jesus had followers by the thousands. He also had acquaintances in high places. The former followed him for what he could do for them, and the latter was consumed by jealousy to the point of plotting his murder.

Thankfully, Jesus had a few real friends. Twelve, handpicked, up-close friends. He called them family. He poured himself into them. They watched and participated as he taught, healed, baptized, and served. Together, they formed a mission dream team.

But Jesus knew something about his friends. He knew what they would prove, over time: shrinkers, falterers, tale-tellers, squabblers, betrayers, doubters, deserters, and one outright backstabber.

For that, Jesus could have unfriended them. For that, he could have chosen not to pick them. But for three years, face-to-face, he modeled grace. Taught truth. Loved them anyway.

But at their final dinner together, a sacred festival of covenant memory, he tossed a landmine of sorts onto the table.

“Someone eating with me will turn me in.” (Gibson paraphrase.)

Say what, Jesus?

But he knew—and not only about Judas. His heart bore the weight of what he knew, and later in the evening, it tipped out. “You will all falter in your faithfulness to me.”

All? Falter? The words sliced then. The words slice now. Because as his follower, I’m part of that “all.” You too. And no one knows us like Jesus.

Thank God, no one loves us like Jesus.

Respond in Prayer

Dear Jesus, Perfect Lover of my soul. Over and over, I have deserved to be un-friended. Thank you for inviting me to walk your way. For knowing who I am, and still clicking “Love” on my life. Teach me to stand close enough to others that your grace spills over them too. Signed, your faltering wanna-be-faithful follower.

Kathleen Gibson