As children, my sister and I were taught to appreciate the breathtaking colors and vistas of the Smoky Mountains. On our annual trips there, dad would pull into the highway ‘lookouts’ and point out various details of the views. This required more time. We didn’t just look at the wonder; we gazed at it.
Have you sat quietly under a starry sky, full of life and light?
Have you seen a museum masterpiece that made you linger, because you sensed layers of intent within the painted marvel?
Have you gazed, transfixed, at the face of a sleeping baby, while your mind pondered the miracle and complexity of creation?
One of my best friends and I sat on a beach, in the sand, in the eighties. When the sun began to drop behind the horizon, we gazed on it, mesmerized by the colors and striations of the emerging backdrop. She asked me to quote the 139th Psalm and, honestly, I don’t recall that the words ever had more meaning than when God adjusted the lights during the telling.
In the first chapter of Acts, Luke recounts one of the meals Jesus shared with His disciples after His resurrection. He sought to offer them some final instructions. He commanded that they stay in Jerusalem and wait for the Father’s gift of the Holy Spirit, and promised they would, ” . . .receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and . . . to the ends of the earth.”
After He said this, Jesus was taken up before their very eyes. With little warning, He left, rising toward the heavens, and all they could do was gaze. They watched intently as He ascended, then two men in white appeared beside them. They asked, in effect, ’Men of Galilee, why do you stand here gazing? This same Jesus . . . will come back in the same way you have seen Him go.’
They had abandoned everything to follow Him. They kept commitments to Him when others walked away. They suffered scorn and isolation because they believed that He was who He claimed. Most importantly, they loved Him, and He loved them. They were still mourning His loss when He appeared to them following the resurrection. Their hearts heard Him say that they would be witnesses to the ends of the earth, but why did He have to go? What must this mean to their already fragile, grieving hearts, once joyous in His daily presence?
Remember when Jesus first walked with the two disciples on the road to Emmaus, and one later asked, “Were not our hearts burning within us while He talked with us on the road . . ?” Can you imagine the burning in the hearts of His disciples as they raised their eyes heavenward? Can you imagine how their minds raced to grasp the consequences of their assignment and His departure? They had to feel overwhelmed, uncertain, and distraught, even as they stood and gazed at the marvel.
The rest of the story, as you know, reveals that they had learned their lessons well, for they gathered together and relied upon the most amazing act: they prayed. They waited. They took care of business, choosing a replacement for Judas Iscariot.
Have you gazed at Him lately? Have you recalled prayers He has answered that made your heart whisper, “Thank You,” while driving down the road or walking down the grocery aisle? Have you picked up stones of remembrance where your heart built altars to honor His miraculous intervention?
When I gaze at Him, I am moved to pray.
When I gaze at Him, I am more willing to wait.
When I gaze at Him, I sense added purpose to my days.
And the best benefit:
When I gaze at Him, I lose sight of me.
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