It’s another cold, dark morning, and we three – my roommates, and I – are perched in our respective living room chairs, with steaming mugs of coffee and tea at hand, and books and Bibles sprawled across three different sets of pajama-clad knees. The sky is barely brightening, and its edges are beginning to fade into a snow-flurry-promising high overcast. Our dwarfish 4-foot-tall Christmas tree is lit and glowing in the front window – an emblem of cheer and goodwill even on these murky, pre-solstice mornings. It is good to “ponder anew what the Almighty can do,” like the old hymn says, here in this cozy nook we have all come to call home.

Lately, I have been longing to experience the nearness of God more deeply, and as a result, tried to pursue Him with more intentional effort – through His Word, prayer, and communion with His people. These are certainly not unhealthy practices in and of themselves; rather, they are integral pieces of the Christ-centered life. Yet in the midst of trying harder and doing more, unsurprisingly, I have still found myself coming up short. “Martha-ing” never seems to produce the desired outcome of feeling closer to our Savior (Luke 10:41-42).

Frankly, knowing God intimately often looks very different than we would expect it to look. Entering into the viscerally felt presence of the Lord is not always experiencing the rumblings of Mt. Sinai. In fact, it is very rarely these sorts of mind-boggling encounters. And yet sometimes we anxiously pursue the feeling of closeness to Him rather than just pursuing Him. I find myself doing this all the time. I want to feel close, and so I attempt to manufacture my own closeness. It’s a very one-sided operation.

It is easy to forget that Jesus is in a persistent pursuit of His own people that runs far deeper and is far more abiding than my pursuit of Him. Long before I took my first breath, He had planned out every second of my existence (Psalm 139:16), and He was calling me to Himself (1 John 4:19). Even in our faltering, failing, and flailing, Jesus, the Good Shepherd, comes slowly and steadily seeking after the hearts of His sheep. The lost ones draw Him in all the nearer. Our feelings are no match for His grace.

As I consider Christ’s patient ways of seeking those He has called, in contrast to the frequently frenzied “do more faster” mentality I subconsciously adopt in seeking Him, I am startled by the realization that there is no place in Scripture where Jesus Himself is said to run.

Outside of the parable of the prodigal son, in which the father comes running to meet his wayward homecoming son (Luke 15:20), there is only one instance where perhaps there could be speculation around the speed of Jesus’ feet, where Mark says, “And they were on the road, going up to Jerusalem, and Jesus was walking ahead of them. And they were amazed, and those who followed were afraid” (Mark 10:32a). 

Jesus’ pace as He walked the road to Jerusalem, where He knew He would be tortured and crucified, was of amazement to His disciples. This is the only instance noted in the gospels in which, perhaps, Jesus was clipping along at a faster pace than usual: on the path toward His death. On the predetermined destination toward His own sacrifice to free us from eternal bondage.   

However, in all other instances, we do not see any inkling of Jesus hurrying, rushing, or running along at a frenetic tempo. He does not run away. He does not run toward. Not to his dear and deathly-ill friend, Lazarus; not to the disciples as they feared for their lives on the stormy sea of Galilee; not even to the temple to worship His Father.

Jesus walks. 

Steadily. Resolutely. Tirelessly.

I often forget that I serve a Savior like this – one who is patiently purposeful – not in the way that we count slowness (2 Peter 3:9), but rather, slow to anger and abounding steadfast love (Psalm 145:8).

He pursues us with deep longevity. He is in it for the long haul.

There is a bedrock of sustained intentionality beneath His unhurried feet, both as He walked through the days of His earthly ministry, and even as He continues His heavenly reign. He knows what He will do, and He holds all things perfectly in balance within Time itself. There is nothing out of place. As my pastor says frequently in the midst of a current group study on the book of Revelation, “Christ is bringing all of history to its rightful conclusion.”

Even when our feelings of closeness to Him are less than warm and fuzzy, we can remember that, though sometimes feelings of distance point to ongoing sin in our lives (which is a topic for another time), often it is simply the case that we cannot trust our feelings to be correct barometers for the reality of our relationships. 

Jesus walks with us slowly. Throughout our walk on this side of eternity, we won’t always feel onslaughts of energy and desire and nearness. We can, however, trust completely in His sustaining power to uphold His own (Isaiah 41:10), regardless of how close we might feel in a given moment. Our God indwells us through His Holy Spirit. Our Savior promised to never leave us or forsake us: “I am with you always, even to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:20). Our Immanuel was not just Immanuel once upon a very long time ago as a baby in a manger, because that’s a cute story to tell ourselves at Christmas. He is eternallyGod With Us – our God come down to dwell among us. Eternally never-abandoning. Everlastingly enduring. Eternally ours.