Even as he heals you. Discomfort is often the raw material of wholeness.
Like spit made into mud and then pasted onto your eyes. Like being told to go wash in a pool that you cannot see the way towards. Like the tentative responses of those from whom you ask directions, who aren’t sure if they should say anything about the mess on your face. Like the moment you splash the cool water on your face and rub your eyes, awkwardly focusing your vision for the first time. Like the brightness of the sun that blinds you in a more shockingly beautiful way than the darkness ever had.
The Gospel of Comfort is no gospel at all.
If we urge someone to follow Jesus because he is going to make their lives better, we are at best salesmen telling half-truths. Yes, we are right to trust in Jesus to put to rights some aspects of human lives—particularly, we pray, some of the most dreadful parts. But there are also other aspects that he is likely to disrupt. We should include that in our gospel call as well.
If we hope to continue following Jesus because we expect him to cause everything in our lives to move constantly up and to the right, we are going to be disappointed. Sometimes following Jesus means accepting demotions, looking like losers, giving up what we have worked so hard for, and walking away from what is familiar and safe.
Healing and discomfort, hand-in-hand—that’s the honest Gospel. It’s the way we begin, and it’s the way we go on.
