I love to fly. In my reoccurring dreams, that looks a lot like Peter Pan, with the ability to lift off whenever I please, zooming and swirling around in the air, light and free. But in reality, my love of flying looks like sitting in a cozy airplane window seat.

I won’t lie - I don’t love everything about that kind of flying. The airport security line sometimes makes me nervous and if there is a significant delay, I’ll most likely get frustrated. But generally speaking, I love it. An airport is my ideal setting for people-watching and the reality of being among the clouds, tens of thousands of feet above the world below is fascinatingly beautiful. 

So, while traveling last week, I was on cloud nine. Quite literally. I flew out to Kansas for another in-person residency class. When I arrive, one of my favorite things to do is set my phone aside. I leave it in my room while I’m gone most of the day and only glance at it once or twice. I’ve found it to be unbelievably freeing. I could go on about that, but I’ll save it for another episode.

So while my phone was an afterthought all week, I spent time connecting with a community of wonderful people, collectively learning, growing, and being challenged in new, sometimes uncomfortable ways. The whole week felt like one long-awaited deep breath, and I’m grateful.

When it was time to head home, I felt ready. I was looking forward to taking what I learned and exploring how I might begin to implement it in my actual life. That’s the point, right? But when I settled in during an airport layover and had some time to myself, I pulled out my phone to catch up on all I had missed throughout the week. And I quickly learned that while I was away, the world just continued to break my heart.

It didn’t take me long to discover that in the span of six days, there were seven mass shootings. Daunte Wright was shot and killed by police during a traffic stop, adding his name to a list that is already far too long. A friend lost her dad to COVID-19. Even the Queen of England was mourning the loss of her husband of 73 years. The same vitriol and polarizing rhetoric was taking over my screen. So, needless to say, I put my phone away.

While I sat on the flight that would inevitably bring me home, I stared out the window and tried my best to focus on the clear blue skies and cotton ball clouds. But I knew reality was catching up with me. And soon we started to descend.

As we sank beneath the blue skies and fluffy clouds, I realized we were quickly inching toward an actual dark storm. I was seeing exactly what I was feeling. It didn’t take long before the baby behind me could sense the shift in altitude and began to cry. Her screams sounded about right. While we continued to descend, the rough turbulence hit and I officially felt overwhelmed. I wanted so badly to stay up in the clouds, wanted to stay disconnected from reality, in my own safe, privileged little bubble. I didn't want to land. I didn’t feel ready to meet the heaviness waiting below.

But in all of my internal resistance, I forgot that God meets us on the ground. 

We read in the beginning of the gospel of John about the Word made flesh. John 1:14 says,

“The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.”

I don’t know about you, but for me, it’s easy to stay focused on the Word becoming flesh, on God becoming like us, accepting the limitations of our humanity. And it’s easy to stay focused on that because, well, it’s kind of a huge deal. I mean, it isn’t easy to dismiss or move on from. But it’s important to finish the sentence. God became like us to BE with us, to set up camp on the hard ground. And in doing so, Jesus makes that ground holy. 

There’s a story Will Willimon shared almost 30 years ago about his first trip to the Holy Land. He had high expectations for his experience and was prepared to be in awe of the landscape and backdrop of Jesus’ life on earth. However, he was completely taken aback by what he encountered.

The streets were lined with trash and overwhelming poverty was on full display. Tensions were high with civil unrest and armed military personnel patrolled the cities day and night. It all felt so suffocating. Will continued to share that the most unimpressive stop during his trip was the town of Nazareth, the town where Jesus spent most of his life. The buildings were dull, grey squares, cold and uninviting. Even the church that’s built over the home where they believe Jesus grew up is anything but spectacular. 

As he walked around inside Jesus’ childhood home, Will admits he felt disappointed, let down, uninspired. Basically the exact opposite of what he had expected. This land he was visiting didn't feel very holy. But as he was leaving this ancient home, he saw a message inscribed in the wall right by the door: The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.

And in that moment Will knew, yes of course. Of course this is where Jesus dwelled. In the middle of the humble, unimpressive, unjust, broken, dirty, heart-wrenching mess of the world. 

Will Willimon remembered that God became like us, stayed with us and continues to be with us through the Spirit, in the middle of it all. 

Dr. Larry Crabb once wrote,

“God meets us where we are, not where we pretend to be.”

And along those same lines, I’d like to offer that God meets us where we are, not where we’d rather be.

When we’d rather hide away, stay away, turn away from the pain, injustice, unrest, suffering, violence, grief, hate, and sickness all around, God meets us on the ground. When we’d rather live in counterfeit peace, maintain a safe distance, keeping our heads and hearts in the clouds, we find that God meets us on the ground, in what feels like rock bottom.

God doesn’t try to escape, but chooses to enter in, meeting us in unexpected ways, in unexpected places, and that is good news.

In The Message version, Eugene Peterson translated John 1:14 this way:

“The Word became flesh and blood,

    and moved into the neighborhood.

We saw the glory with our own eyes,

    the one-of-a-kind glory,

    like Father, like Son,

Generous inside and out,

    true from start to finish.”

In Jesus, God moved into the neighborhood. And not just the “good” neighborhoods, but the ones on the other side of the tracks. Into the Title One schools, the soup kitchens, the bus stations. God moved into the ICU hospital rooms, the prison cells, the mental health clinics. God moved into the hospice care facilities, refugee camps, and the kitchens of single moms working three jobs to make ends meet. God enters into the tough conversations, the honest prayers, and the silent cries for help. 

It’s not that God isn’t in the easy and pleasant and comfortable as well. But God leans into the hard, holy ground and whispers, “This is where I do my best work.”

As followers of Jesus, we’re called to that same path, that same trajectory. When given the choice between playing it safe and comfortable and entering into the pain and hardship of others, we enter in. When given the choice between flying away and choosing to land, we land. Because we know Who meets us there. And we know that ultimately, we’ll be standing in the presence of God on solid ground.

Today, if you feel overwhelmed by the brokenness of our world, remember, God meets us on the ground. In Jesus, God became like us and God chose to stay with us exactly where we are. May we choose to follow Jesus, leaving our comfort zones behind, entering hard spaces, willing to descend into the pain of those around us. May we sense, know, and share God’s tangible presence and abiding love in the middle of it all.