Have I found Jesus? Is that something I can lay claim to? As though He is hiding underneath dusty old books and trinkets, in an old banana box at your annual flea market down the road, left by the field and then turn right? Next to the bake sale stand with those lovely ladies raising money for orphans from Burkina Faso. How did Jesus get there in the first place? Is He hiding there? Underneath all the rubble no one wants any more? For when we say we have found Him, don’t we equally state He had been lost, gotten lost somehow for us to then find Him? But aren’t we the ones who were lost but now are found?
Jesus surely didn’t enter the world with much pomp and circumstance. Some little hut had to make do, a tiny wooden box, made for animals. Still people found Him. Imagine the scene, Jesus today, in some multi storey car park, and now imagine further, several really accomplished and famous academics wondering around a tiny town looking for this parking lot, for they knew something is up. Picture the scene, them rocking up, big Bentley and all, Driver included, a convoy of big cars with blackened windows, cruising some insignificant town in search of Him who, in their eyes, was significant enough to go through all this trouble. I mean, they were mates with the king, they were someone! Like Bill Gates, Steve Jobs and Richard Branson showing up in Malvern PA, or Berlin Marzahn, or Thalwil, Switzerland or Hilo, Hawaii.
Rumours must have gotten round, after all, they were Somebodies. They went looking for Jesus in some dingy place, behind some piles of trash, not the nice part of town, if you know what I mean. There is a parking lot up where I used to live. The parking attendant was excited to see me and the hubs arrive to take pics. To him, many couples showed up there to direct dubious films, and he didn’t mind very much. I don’ want to take you to taboo country just for shock value, but to rock your world. Jesus showed up where the good people didn’t hang. And He stayed there, with those outcasts, those no-do-gooders, those smelly people no one really liked. And He still had the appeal to draw in powerful and wise people from afar.
I often put my shiny Jesus figure in my rose patterned box under my desk. Looks pretty, yep, that’s how I like Him. Every now and then I go looking for Him, and sure enough, He is just there where I last left Him. Dear God, help me, others travelled for miles to catch a glimpse, and here I am, locking Him into a pretty rose tinted box. Like those cupcake forms I only use occasionally. He doesn’t fit a little box, though. And He doesn’t need to be found. He draws all men unto Himself. All things are from Him and to Him and through Him. I don’t find Jesus, He comes looking for me. He comes to rescue me. He calls my name. And I run. Run from Him.
Those Somebodies, those wise men, they knew where Jesus can be hiding: underneath the chipping veneer of our superficial values and appearances. After all, He has to look past those on a daily basis, for I do my best to cover all my short comings and weaknesses, those scars and nasty realities. Maybe, if I allow myself to truly look at myself, at all those blemishes, imperfections and hurts, that’s where He is. Not in hiding though, even though it may seem that way to me. For my heart and yours are those treasure chests we sometimes even hide from ourselves. And, He was only ever after our heart, bruised and battered as it may be, the biggest trinket of them all.