They told me to give it three weeks. “Your eyes and your brain are getting reacquainted again,” he said. “Your eyesight will fluctuate for the next few days.” But less than a week after eye surgery, I was tired of fluctuating. At times my vision was so crisp that it was almost too much for me—like I was somehow seeing more than I should. But this clarity came and went; I was sometimes far-sighted, sometimes near-sighted, sometimes neither very well. Perfect sight was not as immediate as I anticipated.
My experience of Christ is not so far from this. Fittingly, I was given the charge of retelling my story—my journey to faith and sight—the same week I was having trouble seeing. The reflective task of peering into my life, looking at patterns and history with the hope of illumination seemed ironic as I squinted to see my computer screen. But it served as a helpful metaphor. My vision of Christ has been far from immediate. It has been much closer to a fluctuating timeline of beholding and squinting, seeing, not-seeing, and straining to see. My experience has been something more like the blind man’s from Bethsaida. “Do you see anything?” Jesus asked after placing his hands on his eyes. The man looked up and said, “I see people; they look like trees walking around” (Mark 8:23-24). Once more Jesus put his hands on the man’s eyes. “Then his eyes were opened; his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly” (8:25).
For those of us who want to relate to Jesus as the God of immediacy, two-staged miracles are cumbersome. I don’t want fluctuating vision. I am leery of winding roads and long journeys. I want to live knowing that he is the one who makes all things new—now. And he is. But Christ also makes us ready to handle it. God is working that we might be able to stand in the very midst of the one who makes all things new—and apparently we are not always ready.
Continue reading Ravi Zacharias Ministry – Lightening the Darkness