Ride Along - Essay

Ride Along

So I sit under this overpass because that's where I think I would find him, the Jesus who lived in Galilee. Years ago my surfing buddy, Paul, had left the State to go to graduate school. We had surfed together for years, sometimes three times a week. My first dawn patrol without him, out of sheer habit I looked over to the passenger seat to talk to him and was surprised, nearly startled, to find him not there. It was the same with Jesus this morning. I felt his presence so powerfully that I expected to see him there in the seat next to me as I hauled ass down I-5. I am far, far beyond relying on my eyes to ascertain presence though. Just because I couldn't see his face doesn’t mean he wasn't there. In fact, I know he was, that some part of him was there with me. Furthermore, he was not there as a radiant resurrected being, in glory, in power, as he is often depicted by those who are less familiar with him. He was there, as it were, in jeans and a sweatshirt, handsome, smiling, still, long haired. He felt to me as if we were going on a road trip, maybe a hunting trip, with that degree of familiarity. I knew he was my best friend, the best I had ever had, and that there was nothing I had done to deserve his friendship and that there was nothing I could do to damage it. He was just there, and his presence filled me with a kind of emptiness, a powerful draining; not of life, but of infection, of hurt. But there was no vacuum, either. What replaced the draining was a feeling of appreciation of the terrible beauty of temporary separation from the Creator of All That Is, and a longing to return when it is time,  a dread of leaving Creators presence fifty years ago and a love of Now, a desire to share and serve as He had done in his life here, a life of service without desire for recompense, and a feeling that 1000 years of doing that would be far too long and far too short. But that it wouldn't matter, I could never do enough and I could never do too little. No act was sufficient and no act, no matter how small, would be insignificant.

So I pause under this bridge, the best temple I can think of today, and give thanks to the man and the God. But since I can best relate to the man because that's what I am, it's him to whom I speak. It's his presence I am grateful for. It's not your birthday, Jesus, but it's the day we celebrate it. Thank you for who you were. And thanks for riding along with me today.