I see you there, standing on a rocky beach. The darkness is just beginning to lift, and with it, streaks of hope begin to pierce the despondency and confusion of the last few days. Maybe you won’t ask.
“Do you love me?”
The words bite, piercing to the core of the very questions that have been swirling around in his mind. No. There is desire to love, a wish to love, but action has proven there is no love here. Not the same stinging, sharp love, love that would walk to a cross, love that has given everything. Yet… there would be. If forgiveness could be stronger, if experience could speak, if deepest longings could be satisfied…
“You know me. You know I love you.”
Perhaps you would hear the words and release him. Maybe he could walk away having convinced you, still questioning himself but clinging to the idea that somewhere within him there was love. Other words proved that love. He knew who you were. He promised not to fall away. Yes, those other moments came too, but somewhere within him –
“Do you love me?”
With the same quiet persistence that the waves beat against the shore, the words beat against him, against the innermost part of him. The eyes looked deep into him, too deep, deep enough to see what was at the base of it all. All the fear, the control, the self-glorification, the final decision of words flung out into the night of crushing defeat. Words that denied year after year of faithful pursuit. Words that revealed not just what was truly inside of him, but betrayed love itself. And yet, deeper still, was a yearning, a hope, to love –
“Lord, you know I love you.”
You did know him. And he was so afraid. He had journeyed to the depths, and there he found what he had hoped to leave behind. What he had thought he had left behind at this very beach, dropping his nets for a greater adventure. He had seen the truth from early on. He knew his gifts, his strengths blazing forth as he rose to the head of those who would follow you, but he knew now how worthless they were. He had nothing to offer. No sacrifice that could repay his debt.
“You, you who came from this place, who was not the rock, who’s inheritance was a boat and a life that looked like your fathers’ for generations before you, you who I know, who I have known, who I have seen walk from bold proclamation to utter denial; do you love me?”
Here, in this moment. Stripped bare. You did know. You knew everything. You could see every crack, every doubt, every fear, and every failure, before and ahead. As you stood there you both knew he was not enough, but only you knew how crucial it was that he learn it. Only you knew how many more times you would have to come back to him. Standing there on a beach you were laying the foundation for many more nights, moments of confusion, realizations of inadequacy. The question beat through his mind, through his heart, and he remembered, from somewhere inside, the words you had spoken to him. And he decided to choose, once again, to believe you were the truth.
“You know everything. You know I love you.”
You looked down at the pebbles scattered under your feet, pieces broken and scattered, small, insignificant, like those you gather and mold into rocks within your church. You looked into him again, and you could both see the road ahead, one more clearly than the other, but both knowing that the breaking was just beginning. He took a breath and decided to trust the all-knowing Christ, his friend who had walked with him down dusty roads and called him to more than he could have ever imagined.
“You know everything. You know I love you.”