Leave the Door Open
This Lent, I've been struggling to show up in prayer. Not because I've forgotten God, but because I keep finding reasons to postpone the conversation I know I need to have.
I know Jesus loves me. He has proven it in more ways than I can name. And yet, I still question him. His love and his plans. The harder life gets, the less I turn to him, and doubt creeps in like an uninvited guest who always knows where I keep the spare key. That doubt quietly hardens into self-reliance and a slow drifting from God, myself, and community.
In today's Gospel, Jesus appears before his terrified disciples: "Peace be with you." They think he is a ghost. But he draws closer, shows them his hands and feet, and says, "Touch me and see." They didn't go looking for him. He came to them, with the very peace they didn't know to ask for.
I want to be in that room. I want to touch his hands and feet and know for certain. It's this peculiar tension between believing and longing for something tangible. Paul Tillich wrote, "Doubt is not the opposite of faith; it is one element of faith." I'm learning to recognize doubt in its many disguises. When I catch it, it's an invitation to deepen, but more often than not, it slips through unrecognized.
This reading gave language to a shift I've been slowly discovering. I generally bring my burdens to Jesus only after sifting and composing myself. But this Gospel points to something simpler: I don't have to make the journey to him. I just have to be open. He walks into the room while it's still in disarray, always willing to meet me where I am.
He is the only one who can quiet my restless mind, and no matter how many times I forget, he never tires of showing up. And every time I remember, my heart simply overflows.
Where might Jesus be showing up in your life, waiting to be welcomed in?
Matilda Bernard