It’s Holy Week, the last week of Lent leading into the celebration of Christ’s death and resurrection. This year, Holy Week has been filled with a variety of emotions: temporary fatigue, guilt, annoyance, laughter, delight, and surprise.
Specifically, I was trying to explain to a friend today something that happened which summed up a lifetime of experiences. The term I ultimately used was “holy attraction.”
My aunt recommended a show which I’d heard about but never seen called “The Chosen.” Tuesday, I finally watched it…and was hooked. As I told my friend, the man they have portraying Jesus is the way little me longed for Him to be represented: a Middle Eastern man with dark brown (and curly) hair, deep brown eyes, a long nose, a worker’s physique, and a kind smile. Don’t get me wrong, Jim Caviezel did an excellent job with this portrayal in “The Passion of the Christ.” But this Jesus seems more…real. More of a man who truly understands our experiences.
In the first scene in which Jesus appears on the show, I immediately knew it was Him. My chest tightened and I squealed with excitement, knowing that the character about to meet Him was in for the best experience of their life. I was practically having a fangirl moment. The more I watched of the show, the more I desperately wanted to be right there with Jesus. I was attracted to Him…but in a special way. There was no sexual desire aroused whatsoever. There was no romantic inclination. Rather, it was a delight in the holiness of the God-Man which begged for more. I wanted to sit at the Rabbi’s feet and drink up every word He said. I wanted to tentatively approach Him and bow in reverence, hoping that He would do what He always does and raise me up for a hug. I wanted to be a child and play with Him. I wanted to be a woman and ask Him questions. As I sit here and type this up, the butterflies are back in my chest, reminding me how wonderful Jesus is to me.
How can I have such a complicated yet simple reaction? Jesus is special. He always has been and always will be.
When I was a small child afraid of the dark, He was there for me, guarding.
When I was a depressed 14-yr-old with no one to confide in, He was there for me, comforting.
When my family went to another country, He was there for me, opening my eyes to wonder.
When I was a college student, unsure of what the future held and trying to make sense of what I believed and could do, He was there for me, showing me things which helped others.
When I was a guilt-ridden woman this week, ashamed of myself for a habitual sin, He was there for me – reawakening holy attraction to Him. I want that attraction to stay this time. I don’t want it to wane. I want to be enamored with the Hero of my story, of all our stories.
So here is what I want to know: do men also experience this holy attraction to Jesus? I don’t mean in a, “Maybe, but they’re probably gay,” way. I mean did the disciples have a holy attraction to their Teacher? Does my father understand this holy attraction? Or is this something special to women’s relationship with Jesus? I don’t know yet. I may spend a lifetime figuring it out, but I may publish more posts on the subject.
Grace and peace.
Bathroom Ephiphanies 