Where you’re from is probably not somewhere impressive. Most people come from Nowhereville. Not everyone can come from Shinymont. And as we all know, the only thing produced in Nowhereville is nothingmuch. There are often other people ready to point that out, as if it’s some sort of life-long handicap, probably because they, too, are from Nowhereville but are trying to convince themselves and everyone else that they’re from Somewhereboro.

Where you’re from isn’t as important as where you’re going.

As a kid, I loved swimming. I mean, really loved it. Anywhere I could, any chance I got. There was, and still is, something so freeing about the weightlessness of water as it completely enveloped my body.

But as excited as I was to swim, I couldn’t just jump right in. I had to test the water. Usually several times. First a toe. Then a whole foot. Then both feet. Then I’d go in up to my ankles, then my knees, then my waist. And then there came the moment when I knew the only thing left was to plunge my whole body under. So I’d take a few quick breaths, dive under, and before I knew it I was acclimated to the temperature. Let the fun begin!

I’d have to test the water like that because I was afraid it was too cold. And you know what? I was often right. It was too cold. The water was going to come into shocking contrast with my own body temperature. So I took it slow. Testing the water never increased the temperature of the water, but it did increase my nerve.

Know better than the common folk. The authorities are the experts while the crowd is deceived. The supposedly enlightened rulers are blessed while the mob is cursed.

At least that’s the general thinking, often in the minds of both parties. This is a power dynamic as old as time.

The good news, of course, is that this simply isn’t true. In God’s great design, the most essential and fundamental truths of the universe can be understood by anyone. And the great subversiveness of his kingdom is that it’s often the poor, the simple, the uneducated, the powerless, the disenfranchised, and the humble who see most clearly.

Attempts to arrest Jesus were made several times, as far as the Gospels tell us. All unsuccessful for various reasons:

One time Jesus’ detractors bailed on their plot because they feared the crowd who adored him.

Another time Jesus stealthily slipped away through the surrounding crowd.

Another time the only explanation given was that “his hour had not yet come”—which is the writer’s post-resurrection messianic take on the situation.

And yet another time we’re told that they wanted to, but just couldn’t do it—which sounds a lot like when you don’t have your homework to turn in because you simply forgot to do it while playing video games with your friends, but can only say, “I just didn’t do it.”

Unity takes time. And lots and lots of effort. It requires patience and long-suffering and a stalwart determination to make it to the end—together—no matter what. It is costly in just about every way you can imagine, and probably in some ways you cannot yet imagine, or dare not imagine because that cost might be just too pricey. Unity is costly, but is it worth it?

Apparently unity was worth it for Jesus. As Paul explains, the divine plan is “to bring unity to all things in heaven and on earth under Christ.” (Ephesians 1:10) The cost for Jesus was, of course, his own life. But that is not the only price he paid—unity cost him, and continues to cost him, in patience and long-suffering.

The work of universal unity began slowly, and it progresses slowly.

There are fascinating situations in the Gospels where Jesus overhears a supposedly private conversation, or even better, hears people’s inner thoughts, and then addresses them. Times when he gives answers to questions no one directly asks him, or corrects misconceptions on issues that no one asked his opinion about. He displays a boldness and an insight that cuts straight to the heart of the matter, and straight through the hearts of those involved.

But then there are other seemingly rather crucial moments of confusion when Jesus doesn’t offer clarity. He just stays silent, from all that we are told.

If you never really have to think too hard about where your next drink of water is coming from, you’re better off than 1/3 of the people in the world. According to a 2019 UNICEF report, about 2.2 billion people do not have access to safely managed drinking water services. Staggering.

The problem in most situations, of course, is not that water is not available, but that the water cannot get safely to the people. No plumbing. No sanitation. No filtration. No infrastructure. No systems.

First, and perhaps more importantly, on a human level this is a tangible problem that must be addressed.

Reading about Jesus or attempting to follow Jesus should end up raising consistent questions. Here are two that I find are always worth asking:

Where is he going? Jesus is always on the move. Both in the Gospels and in my own experience with him, he doesn’t sit still for long. He has a little bit of wanderlust. There’s always some new adventure, some new place to visit, some new people to encounter and minister to. So if I intend to follow him at all, it seems rather crucial to stay alert to where he is going. Sometimes his movements might be somewhat predictable, sometimes not.

It may very well be intentional on his part.

Not because he’s playing hard to get. Not because it’s some sort of cosmic game of hide-and-seek. From all that I understand, that’s not really how he works.

And not because you did something wrong. Not because you drove him away by your sin or your disobedience or your frustrating personality quirks. You didn’t disappoint him into leaving.

And not because he intends to be gone for forever. Again and again, whenever he gave people the disorienting news that he was going away—”You will look for me, but you will not find me”—he didn’t mean permanently. He will come again. Eventually you will find him again.

The good news is not shouted from the rooftops. The good news does not get announced with trumpets. The good news does not arrive in a parade. The good news does not explode like fireworks. The good news does not go viral on social media.

It could, of course. It has at times. Sometimes it still does.

But if you’re only listening for a loud, booming voice, you’re likely to not hear the good news being spoken to you. And if you’re only trying to share the good news with others by shouting, they’re not likely to hear you.

God, in general, seems perfectly content to communicate in whispers. The most incredible story of all time has a power all its own and needs little more than a breath behind it.