My brother’s heart

You do not understand that it is better for you to have one man die … than to have the whole nation destroyed.’ … So from that day on they planned to put him to death. Jesus therefore no longer walked about openly … but went from there to a town called Ephraim in the region near the wilderness; and he remained there with the disciples. (John 11:51, 53-54)

Sometimes, it doesn’t take much to know the beauty of another’s heart; just a moment, a look, a glance, the touch of a hand can tell you everything you really need to know. And so it is here.

As cynical hearts conspire to kill him, Jesus retires to the countryside to be with friends.

Scripture doesn’t tell us what he did there, only that a few days later he returned to the place of danger to make his final witness to the Love which constituted his soul, the Love that consumed him and resulted in an excruciating death at the hands of his enemies.

I have long believed that we either know Jesus as a human being, a human soul, or we do not know him at all. His flesh and blood, his humanity, as weak and vulnerable as our own, is the vehicle of the divine heart in whom he abides and who abides in him.

Seeing and feeling his humanity moves me to fall in love with him again and again.

It happens every Holy Week. In Jesus’ words, in his bearing, I feel and know the beauty of a passionate, loving, sad and wounded heart, a truly human soul.

And I know him as my brother one more time.

I try to imagine what happened as he shared bread and table, wine and worry with his friends, away from the conspiracies that would congeal to destroy him.

There likely would have been anxious laughter and furrowed brows amid memories of all they’d shared along the dusty roads and tiny towns that welcomed or despised them.

Together, they had known the ecstasy of a joy beyond any they’d ever known, the grace of being with him. The beauty of his words and the wonder of his power awakened hopes for which they had no words.

Underneath all this, were their nagging doubts about whether they’d ever really understood him, little knowing that all the beauty they’d known and felt in him would soon be dashed to dust.

But there was one more thing. A current of love flowed in and through, among and under everything they heard and said and felt together.

No one would have asked to know the source of that living stream. For, they all knew. They all knew my brother’s heart, however little they understood him.

Who Jesus is, the heart of his humanity and the glory of his divinity, often appears most dramatically in contrast to the reactions he stirred in those who opposed him.

His opponents conspired to kill him because it was pragmatic, expedient, the best thing to do to eliminate a problem.

While they plotted, Jesus withdrew to be with friends he loved, loving them to the end, even as he prepared for his ultimate witness to the gracious heart of the Father.

One side plans a legal murder, while Jesus unveils the Love that cannot be defeated by hatred or destroyed by its enemies.

In the end, they killed him, never understanding or imagining the beauty of my brother’s heart. But of course, that wasn’t the end. The end is life. The end is love. The end is communion with the heart for whom we most long.

David L. Miller