A couple of weeks ago, someone leading a Sacred Space evening at Keele Chapel, played this song:
It touched me then, and now when I hear it, it moves me to tears. I used to find the notion that Jesus knows quite intimidating; like He was a fly on the wall, watching everything we did wrong, secret shame.
But ultimately, the Cross deals with that. So the idea needn’t be scary. The song reminds me of a verse from Hebrews:
For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are–yet was without sin.
Hebrews 4 v 15 (NIV)
Reflection on I know makes me think that Jesus’ sympathy goes deeper still than that. Not only does God know what it is like to be human, He knows exactly what it is like to be me.
He knows, before I tell Him, and when I am too exhausted or faith-depleted to tell Him, how hard I try at work; how it is to be constantly walking on eggshells around someone for whom you can do nothing right. The long job-related to-do list swimming shapelessly in my mind, that means I can never give time or energy to my own research, or personal development. He sends friends to help me with my work where I have too little Research Assistant support.
He knows how tired I am most of the time. The emotional strains of a long-distance relationship. Why I don’t have the motivation to look after myself very well.
He knows how scared I am about not knowing what I’ll be doing in five months’ time; the disappointment and desperation of another rejection without interview. Fighting back tears in the Head of School’s office, and the prospect of a making a UCU-advised formal complaint about the selection process at Keele.
And so many more things. It’s comforting that Jesus *knows*. It’s something to hold on to tight at the moment.