I never wanted it to be because of my words, my persuasion, my hand, but I wanted the Truth to capsize people, like it capsized us that day.
Simon and I had begun our conversations about love, life, dreams, purpose, and Truth two months before. The answer felt near and plain, but it was our eyes— our hearts that held us captive to the dark. We felt blind and numb to the face in front of us then; at least, I did.
It was all grey that morning. We sat side by side. We were together but removed, drawn to the same source, but in our minds, miles apart— pelting pebbles into the shallow edges of the reservoir.
After what seemed like days, it began to burn inside of me; I could hold it in no longer. It rang out, sore and stinging from my lips, into the frigid air;
“What are we missing?”
I was answered with a century of silence.
And then, with a single plink, the ripples grew wider and the edges found themselves higher on the shore, all around. It was a sprinkle picked up by the wind; and like billowing curtains, it soon turned to rain.
It grew into torrents, filling the lake; it came from heaven and poured out from our eyes, our mouths. The same roar that tore apart the surface of the water clouded our ears as it invaded us. It emptied and filled us. It capsized and resurrected us. It was purity, it was light, it was the answer. We were both locked in place in the profundity.
After the thunder receded, we exchanged hardly a word. With some semblance to the gravity of the conversation between Moses and “I AM”, we looked at one another, recognizing a mutual experience. It was more than that, though. It was revelation—an exposure and an encounter, a stripping-bare and having-been-covered at the same time. It was being made whole that shone from our eyes.
It was the face of Truth.
It was Jesus.