be with me

In this, the chapter of ultimate intimacy, Jesus says he gives eternal life. And this is eternal life, “that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent.”

 

Life is defined in Scripture. It is not ambiguous. It is never anything else, but relationship with God. In the garden, death was the ultimate outcome, for when they ate the fruit, they would surely die. Death. That separation, that distance, that broken intimacy, that torn membrane of tender affection. Sin destroyed. It separated, it distanced. The transparent beauty of intimacy, muddled, confounded, it could never be the same.

Or could it? Jesus, who came to resurrect, to give life, and to give it abundantly. And this is the life, that they may know you – in Greek, γινώσκωσιν - ginóskó – it can be interpreted so intimately, to know God, to perceive, to come to know, to know by personal experience. At least once in Scripture it is used for sexual intimacy, Mary saying, “I have not known a man.” To know, and to be known, and to be ultimately alive. There is no more to life, than to be rebirthed into that sweet and intense intimacy with God.

This is the very work of Jesus, that I may know God, and God know me. This is eternal life, this is forever the single fight, the single passion, the single hope. There really is nothing else, that knowledge of intense intimacy, of insane closeness to one who has never allowed anyone that close before, who stands a virgin to all others, who bids me come, as close as intimate knowing can ever be. And he who bids, he is more desirable than any have ever been, his loveliness takes all breath away, and leaves me speechless at his beauty. He captivates, he overwhelms, he makes all knowing pale and lose appeal, as the breath of lovely breathes eternal life in the knowing of God.