Do You Struggle with Having an Intimate Relationship with Jesus, too?
I struggle sometimes with the notion of having an “intimate relationship” with Jesus. Is that how I would characterize my relationship with the Most High, the Creator of the Universe, the God-Made-Man? “Intimate” sounds so, well, intimate.
Do you feel this way, too, in your relationship with Jesus?
When I think of other relationships in my life, there are a few that I consider “intimate.” There’s my husband; that’s an obvious one. We have been through everything together – the good, the bad, the ugly. We can talk about anything. We trust each other without question. We know without a doubt that each of us is committed to the core to our oneness.
The other relationship that I might consider “intimate” is the kind I have with my sister, or maybe a longtime friend. That’s the kind where you can go off together on a girls’ weekend, enjoy a good bottle of wine, and tell stories all night. There’s no judgment, just a lot of laughs and love. What happens there, stays there.
Intimacy in those terms suggests a mutual sharing, a baring of souls, the ultimate “safe space.” Intimacy is sacred. It is rare. It is a gift that we give to only a few, and we receive from only a few.
Intimacy is the pinnacle of what we can achieve in any relationship. It is fraught with risk and potential pain on one hand but opens us up to the greatest possible joy. True intimacy generates a oneness that is hard to capture in human language. It is simply a way of “being” together.
So back to my relationship with Jesus.
I’ve always thought of us as friends. I tell him everything; I talk to him all day long. I like to read scripture with him, and often he gives me amazing insights.
I picture myself sitting at his feet and taking in his wisdom. Sometimes we walk on the beach together in my imagination. I sit on the back porch with him as we drink coffee together on sunny mornings. He occupies my headspace and speaks into my heart as I walk around the block and say my rosary. He is very present to me. He has even allowed me glimpses of his workings in my life.
But can I claim intimacy?
It feels like there is a difference between how I would characterize our friendship and what I consider “intimacy.” Something is missing, or at least something was missing---until yesterday.
The news has been filled with content about the invasion of Ukraine by Russian forces. The images of women and children pouring across the Polish border, of fathers and husbands and sons staying behind to fight, of senior citizens and babies – the most vulnerable – on the move to escape violence and destruction and war.
Naturally I brought my concerns about this horrible situation to the Lord in my prayer time.
I told him about Putin, I mused over speculations that we might be on the verge of WWIII, I wondered about the various Marian Apparitions and Marian messages and how this might be all connected.
Do the moms with babies have enough diapers, do they have food for their children, where are all these refugees sleeping, how can I do something to help…I was truly pouring out my heart to Jesus in a nonstop rambling sort of stream-of-consciousness prayer.
Something made me pause, turn and look at Jesus. I did a complete double-take. I saw the Jesus who I talk to, but never see; who walks with me, but is always just out of sight; the one who can touch my heart, but eludes my view.
Yes, this Jesus that I thought I knew…he was sitting next to me, but he wasn’t the same calm presence that I have come to expect. He had his head down on his arms. When he lifted his head and looked at me there were tears in his eyes. He just looked so devastated and discouraged and so very sad. It was as if the people of the world were breaking his very heart.
I knew instinctively that I had to comfort him. I forgot that this was Jesus, the Anointed of God. I just saw someone who seemed very human.
Without thinking I put my arm around Jesus’ shoulders, and I leaned in very close to his face.
I told him not to be discouraged, because even though the world seemed to be in a bad state, I reminded him that so many good people were stepping up and doing amazing things.
I showed him how people were risking their lives to save Ukraine;
How brave women were keeping an orphanage open for children who had been abandoned;
How first responders were helping to transport seriously disabled children to safety;
How many Europeans were opening their homes to refugees and how money was pouring in to care for the displaced;
Even how strangers were booking Airbnb houses in Ukraine, not with the intention of staying there, but rather to creatively sustain the “hosts” and send money to help them.
It occurred to me that I might have sounded a bit like Abraham, trying to get God to see the good side of Sodom and Gomorrah, or maybe a cheerleader trying to keep up the team spirit amid an onslaught.
And then, in a second, it was all over. Jesus disappeared. It was as if it had all been a dream. Was it a dream? It hadn’t felt like it.
For the first time in my experience of Jesus, our friendship really did feel intimate. We had shared a “moment” that was different than our past times together.
What was different that made it feel more intimate?
I have always been the one baring my soul to Jesus. I assumed and trusted that he was listening, but it always felt like the sharing was one-way.
The Jesus I knew was composed, in-charge, The Rock. He was my teacher, my guide, my companion, my God. I needed him, but I knew he didn’t need me. And therein was the obstacle to intimacy for me.
Doesn’t intimacy require a two-way street?
As I have pondered this prayer experience, I saw that this time, Jesus had allowed me to see his broken heart and to comfort him. It was for me a glimpse of the “Garden of Gethsemane” Jesus, the Jesus who felt abandoned and afraid and alone. The Jesus who cried out in desperation to his Father.
Strangely, being allowed this glimpse did nothing to diminish my understanding of his divinity and awesome power, but rather allowed me to see a God who can share intimacy in the truest sense of the word.
Jesus enters into the pain of our world, he hears our prayers, and he thirsts for unity with his people. He feels the hurt, the sadness, the weariness of our distress and suffering.
It felt so natural to me to respond to Jesus in his sadness, to want to encourage him, to bring some light into the darkness that seemed to be surrounding him in that moment.
Then it dawned on me. This was Jesus’ way of showing me what it is to be his hands and feet and heart in this wonderful and horrible world.
He calls me to remain hopeful, to keep my eyes open for the goodness in the world, the many acts of kindness that emerge from the blackest moments.
He reminds me that when I comfort others, I am truly comforting him:
“For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.” (Matt 25:35-36)
Just that one moment, that one experience, in my prayer time yesterday brought me to a new understanding of what intimacy with Jesus feels like.
He pulled the curtain back a bit and took our relationship to a new level. He allowed me to experience how deeply he feels what we feel.
He allowed me to comfort the Great Comforter. That is indeed intimacy.
About Kathy Zerda:
Kathy Zerda has been married to Bob for 43 years and has three children, one of whom they lost to suicide at the age of 24. Kathy grew up in Columbus, OH, and is a cradle Catholic that has attended Prince of Peace Catholic Community in Houston for 37 years. She met Bob at the University of Notre Dame where she earned a degree in microbiology. After earning a doctorate in virology at the Baylor College of Medicine, she has worked as a research scientist, engineering manager, and university professor. She and Bob are now enjoying retirement and grandchildren, Kathy, who is a spiritual director for her parish, has served in numerous ministries over the years, most recently LOVING STONES of CHRIST apostolate and Women in the Spirit Retreat. She and Bob also actively support suicide prevention and mental health initiatives, and are past board members of the Guardian Angel Educational Fund that supports the education of indigenous Mayan children in Guatemala.
Favorite Scripture: “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” (Jer 29:11)
