Jesus came to my door last night. I was busy in the church kitchen, cutting cubes of cheese and strategically garnishing silver platters with Ritz crackers. It’s all about the presentation, I reassured myself and the girls who were helping me, as I silently criticized the way my friend towered the grapes on the plate. Did you brew the coffee? Do we have any cream? Should I offer tea? Oh shoot, where are the stir sticks? So much to remember, so much to do…
And then He came. In the form of Christy, my beautiful friend with Down’s syndrome. Out of my peripheral vision, I saw her standing quietly, unassuming, at the kitchen door. I scurried about, my head swimming, my stomach in knots, acknowledging her for the sake of being friendly.
“Hi Christy,” I said, refusing to look her in the eye.
“Hey guys,” she replied softly.
For a few moments, she said nothing. I scurried. Then a still, small voice:
“Uh, guys, I feel that maybe you would like some help. Is there anything I can do for you?”
Silence. More scurrying.
“You know, Christy, I think we’re OK. Thanks for asking, though,” I answered.
For a brief moment, I looked at my friend as she stood still and silent, the mark of disappointment and sincerity on her face. Surely I could find something for Christy to lend a hand with, but that would only set me back. Why waste time delegating when I could just as easily do it myself? I quickly set my gaze back to the task, back to the cheese and crackers and the characteristically bitter church coffee. All the while, songs of worship to Creator God echoed from the sanctuary. Christy was gone. And I was busy.
Last night, Christy was Jesus. Maybe just for me, just for that small, significantly insignificant moment. Vulnerable, she stood at that door – He stood at that door – offering Himself to a busy and hurried, overwhelmed and over-done girl in desperate need of care. Gentle and meek, fiercely loving, Jesus came to me without agenda, without reprimand, to say, “Let me help you.” And swept up in a sea of duty and control, prudence and efficiency, I said in reply, “You know, Jesus, I think I’m OK.”