Meeting Jesus

I usually take the leaflets people proffer on pavements, or outside stations, sometimes pausing for a brief interaction. But the other day, as a woman was handing these out, I quickly took one and rushed to catch a train, barely breaking my stride as I headed to the ticket barriers. My train and I arrived at the platform at the same time, and consequently, it was only after my journey had begun that I realised I was still clutching a piece of paper, and took a good look at it. And saw...

My immediate thought was that I really, really, sincerely hope that when I do see Jesus in all his fullness, I will be too joyfully ecstatic to look anything like this! That reaction remained with me, and before my meeting I showed the leaflet to a few colleagues. We talked about how we hoped we'd look when we do meet Jesus in heaven. Dazzled, said one, by his beauty, and his glory, while another's face softened, as she spoke of wanting to be like Dante's Beatrice, rapt and radiant and reflecting God's light and eternal joy. 

Since then, I have looked at the leaflet from time to time, and pondered on meeting Jesus. And my reflections have led me to three interwoven thoughts: thoughts filled with invitation, and which fill me with hope, as I contemplate this final, supreme encounter.

Firstly, that Jesus offers me opportunities now, to meet him every day, in many places and guises. He comes to meet me in prayer, and in beauty and love and kindness; in people and Eucharist and Word. And he also lets me meet him in ugliness, and pain; in situations of anguish and despair, where his presence is harder to discern. He is hidden, and not-so hidden, in the heart of the world; in the sublime and in the everyday. And if I miss the sound of his footsteps, and regret not meeting him today, then I can certainly meet him tomorrow, and do so with greater love and intention.

And yes; the measure and the depth with which I can recognise and meet and be with him here, will help determine the measure and the depth with which I will meet him in heaven. This is the assurance of Matthew 25, and countless other promises. But we are also assured that the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who, with profligate generosity, pays latecomers as much as those who have laboured all day. (Matt 20) When God showed Julian of Norwich the three degrees of bliss to be enjoyed in heaven by everyone who has served him in any way on earth, she also saw that Even if the service lasted only for a day, he or she will be rewarded for that day's service and for the intention to serve God forever. This too is a promise.

And finally, I strongly believe that Jesus really does not want any of us to cry tears of anything other than deep, deep joy when we finally behold him, in all his grace and his glory... He does not enjoy our shame and self-reproach, especially when they make us look inwards, and away from his unconditional, merciful love. His desire is love, not judgment. To paraphrase George Herbert, Love bids us welcome, and, drawing close, takes our hands and persuades us in, if our souls draw back, guilty of dust and sin. And Love will surely say to us, as Jesus did to Julian of Norwich, in one of her revelations of heaven, that we are his joy, his reward, his glory... his crown. And his delight is in our happiness, and in our endless joy, with him.

And you; how do you hope you will look, when you meet Jesus in all his eternal, radiant beauty and fullness?