Luke 8 and 9
The king of Aram was warring against Israel. His chariots and horses surrounded Dothan, a little town near the Jezreel valley, not to capture the king, but to silence the prophet. The pagan king knew that Elisha could hear the words that you speak in your bedroom. And so he sent his army to kill the man who could hear across time and space. Elisha’s servant arose early to behold that massive army surrounding their city. Only one thing happened when you were surrounded by an army in the ancient world: Attack. Siege. Starvation. Violent death. Fear gripped his heart. He saw reality with his own eyes. Elisha, however, simply told him not to be afraid. What? Why? Those who are with us are more than those who are with them. Before his servant can point out the obvious, Elisha prays that God would open his eyes so that he may see. Truly see reality. Not just what he can see with his eyes, but what is truly there. Horses of fire. Chariots of flame. A real unseen army surrounded the very real, very visible source of their fear. Elisha could see the unseen world.
Jesus saw the unseen world. He created it. Rules over it. After He and his disciples headed east across the sea of Galilee and landed on shore a man came out to meet him. He was naked. He had been for a long time. And he lived among the dead. He walks up to Jesus and begs him leave him alone. He had never met Jesus, yet calls him by name: Jesus, Son of the Most High God. I beg you, please don’t torment me. Imagine what the disciples are thinking: Jesus gets off the boat and a naked crazy man who lives in a graveyard strolls up and asks Jesus to back off. Let him be. Don’t throw them into the abyss. What? But Jesus sees what’s really going on. He sees the broken, desperate human, made in His image. But He also sees the beings inside the man. He asks them their name. The response must have sent a chill up the disciples’ spine: Legion. We are many. Thousands. Jesus, in what seems to us a strange kindness, sends the demons into, as Mark tells us, about 2,000 pigs, which then rush in possessed panic down the steep banks, plunge themselves into the sea, and drown.
As they return across the sea, a synagogue official named Jairus is on the shore. They are most likely in Capernaum. The synagogue is not far from the shore, maybe 500 feet. And Jairus has been waiting. He too is begging at Jesus’ feet, not for himself, but his only daughter. Twelve years old. She was dying. Actively dying. And Jairus was desperate. Hurry, Jesus. Come to my house. Save her. She will pass soon. You can save her. I beg you. Save her. But the crowd knows Jesus had landed ashore. And they press against Jesus in desperation. A woman is there who had bled for twelve years. No one could heal her. Twelve years of life for a precious daughter, twelve years of suffering for a precious woman. Coincidence? Maybe.
But Jesus sees the unseen world. He senses power going out from Him when this woman touched the fringe of His cloak. Remember in Isaiah how the train of His robe fills the temple in glory? This woman remembered. And she reached out to touch Jesus. She saw the unseen world. She knew. She believed. Jesus stops. The woman approaches. Healed. Whole. Trembling. Will Jesus rebuke her? No. He calls her daughter. Daughter. Jairus. He was standing right there. Someone runs up, finds him, grabs his arm, and tells him his only daughter is gone. As Jairus looks up in searing agony to Jesus he must have wondered why Jesus would stop to call this woman daughter while his only daughter died. Jesus had chosen one over the other. Healed one and let the other die. But Jesus, like Elisha, sees the unseen world. And he looks into the eyes of a man in the exact moment when the feeling of deepest loss crushes his soul and He sees that soul. Jesus watched his eyes redden, his tears fall, and before the anguish overwhelms Jairus, before the unforgettable wail of a parent who has lost a child can escape from his lips, Jesus looks into those eyes and tells Jairus not to be afraid. Only believe. See the unseen world. Follow Me. They can hear the haunting chorus of loss as they approach. Jesus tells them to stop weeping. She’s only asleep. They laugh bitterly. He enters the room where the child lies and He takes her lifeless hand in His hand who is LIFE and simply tells her to get up. Her spirit returns. She gasps in the breath of life and looks into the face of her resurrector Jesus.
We live in the same world, you know. A world interwoven like a tapestry with threads we cannot see. We see, in many ways, only black and white when we live in a Technicolor wonder world. We think that seeing is believing, but in reality, believing is seeing. Seeing the unseen world. So, when you walk into a hospital room to meet a dying friend, ask the Lord to open your eyes so you can see and not be afraid. When you walk into your toddler’s room at 3am because they want you to hold them, ask the Lord to help you see through your stupor and see the threads of color woven in. When the crazy guy cuts you off on the highway, or your teenager snaps at you, or your coworker is mean, or your wife ignores you, or your husband is grumpy, or your neighbor forgets to bring his trashcans in, ask the Lord to let you see the human and all the things you can’t unless He shows you. We have an unseen world full of wonder all around us. We need help to see it. And our eyes tend to get distracted with all the things we think matter when what matters most, what we cannot see, is where all our help comes from.
Remember that Jesus rules all the worlds and that He tells us to look to Him, to abide in Him, to turn eyes of fear into eyes that see the kaleidoscope of wonder in life and death and grief and laughter that only Jesus can show us. Ask Him to show you.
Leave a Reply