He Makes Me Choose

I imagine a moment through the eyes of one of Jesus' followers...


"I look at Jesus and He looks normal. No halo, no glowing. Then He performs a miracle. He just does it. Again, no trumpets, no glowing, it just happens. And He walks on. And I stand there for a moment more, looking at the healed person, trying to decide if it really happened. But He walks on, and I'm following Him, so I need to keep walking, too.


"But my mind is still back there, at the site of the healing. Did that really just happen, right there, right in front of me? He keeps walking. Eventually it fades into line with all those other memories. And at some point I have to decide. He makes me decide. Belief in Him isn't automatic. I have to choose. He leaves me no other way. I can choose how I make sense of the memory. He gave me the gift of being there when He performed the miracle. But He doesn't force me to hold on to the memory. He doesn't force me to use that experience and its memory as the interpretive cornerstone of everything else I know. He makes me choose."