A Spiritual Chess Match at 37,00 Feet

His name was Igor, a Russian software developer from Atlanta, bound for St. Petersburg, Russia. The DC-10 was seating perhaps 100 passengers with vast stretches of empty seats, yet there we were squeezed side by side next to the window. At first I wanted to move across the isle, to stretch my cramped legs and enjoy some reading. I’m glad I didn’t. We started talking about the Hermitage museum, and particularly the enormous six by eight painting of the prodigal son on display there. It was easy to transition from that into faith. Igor told me he was Jewish, but that his faith had not been a central part of his life. Twenty-three years ago on his honeymoon, during a four-day train ride he had shared a car with an Orthodox priest, and had been intrigued and challenged by their long conversations. “This feels like that time,” he said, “only I see it much clearer now, the way you put things.”

It was as though time stood still, God melding our hearts together in a seamless stream of theological and cultural facts and anecdotes. At one point he asked me with a serious scowl, “why do Jewish people convert to Christianity?” I remember praying, O God how much better could you lead this discussion? The next hour was filled with animated gestures, sullied brow, anger and smiles of revelation. It felt like a chess match, and my Russian counterpart seemed to be always two or three steps ahead in trying to piece together this amazing story about Jesus. I had the chance to tell it in detail, from the cradle to the cross, and watched as God opened his mind and heart to the possibility that it all could be true. God forged a friendship in those hours, and as traffic at JFK backed up, and the flight was delayed on entry, I silently thanked God for the extra time to answer the myriad of questions he still clung to. Pulling up to the gate, we exchanged information, and plan to have dinner this spring when he comes to New York.

Sitting at the Feet of Jesus

Over the past month an image of sitting at Jesus feet has taken hold in my imagination. The madman in Luke found himself there, “dressed and in his right mind.” Mary sat there, content with only Him. Another woman, “who the Scriptures say, “lived a sinful life,” poured perfume on Him there, and wept in great broken sobs of love. Jairus fell down there, and “pleaded earnestly with Him, “My daughter is dying.”

That one got me. Our oldest daughter Audrey, has been ill now for some time. I have felt gnaws of uncertainty as doctors scratch their heads, and prescribe what may cure. Like Jairus, I have fallen in a heap at Jesus feet and cried for her deliverance, both physically, and spiritually. Sometimes the most powerful prayers course down our cheeks.

Do you find yourself today at Jesus feet? Though many of the instances in Scripture include desperation, we don’t have to wait until the bottom falls out before we go there. His invitation comes to us incessantly, fervently—“come!” As easy as it may seem, how difficult it turns out to be, and how subtle the lies that keep us aloof. Oswald Chambers said it best: The meaning of prayer is that we get hold of God, not the answer.” I like that.

Before you close this, take a moment and imagine yourself at His feet. What do you want to tell Him? What questions are still unanswered? Is there something you dread, that consumes your waking nights? Have you given up on anyone? Have you suspended your faith, traded it for something more manageable or secure?

Nothing is off limits at the feet of perfect Love.