“What the Hell is Water?”
How to See Jesus in a World Drowning in Distraction.
The following short story was the beginning of a speech given by the late David Foster Wallace as the 2005 commencement address at Kenyon college:
There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says “Morning, boys. How’s the water?” And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes “What the hell is water?”
I share that with you because I have yet to find a more accurate illustration of one of mankind’s greatest plights: the inability to see Jesus.
Unfortunately, we’re no different than the two younger fish. “Conventional Wisdom” drowns us in the depths of distraction, disregard, and dissatisfaction, where the darkness keeps us from reaching the surface and seeing the light — keeps us from seeing that He is.
He is what?
He is omnipresent.
He is the rising sun that looks like a molten coin in the chartreuse colored sky…He is the mother finch who works tirelessly building a nest in the wreath ornament on your front door, so you can rationalize why you’re that neighbor who still hasn’t taken down their Christmas decor…He is the wind that blows you phantom kisses against your cheeks on your morning walk…He is everywhere the eye can see — and where it can’t — including where our fish friends are in the sea.
He is.
That’s real wisdom.
I understand for some, the message “He is’’ might be more esoteric than efficacious. Keeping that in mind, I’d like to offer you a “map” of sorts, or a GPS — a God Positioning System, if you will.
But before I make waves, Dear Reader, it is not my intent for this compilation of words to come across as The Holy Gospel According to Hunter. On the contrary, it is only my intent to row with those who wrote the Gospels (in this case, Matthew and John) so the message can swim instead of sink.
Speaking of words…
“The Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us.” — John 1:14
“The Word became flesh,” means “to become human.” So, if you’re wanting to see Jesus, the first step is to look no further than the eight beatitudes:
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness.” — Matthew 5: 3–12
What does the beatitudes have to do with seeing Jesus? As Jonathan Roumie says in his portrayal of Jesus in The Chosen, “If someone wants to find me, those are the groups they should look for.”
But what do we do with those groups?
Excellent question, and the answer is simple: give them the gift(s) you’ve been given — that’s the second step.
How can I make such a claim? I have no way of proving this to be true, as I can only speak anecdotally about it, so I guess you will just have to take me at my word, and have a little something called, “faith.”
My gifts are the written and the spoken word. I have the blessing to manifest the former into a message for you, Dear Reader, (i.e. the pure in heart, because you wouldn’t be reading a blog on where to find Jesus if your heart was cold and granite) and I have the privilege of using the latter to help those who’ve succumbed to self-sabotage, (i.e. the poor in spirit) at Mel Trotter Ministries in downtown Grand Rapids, MI each month.
My first speech at Mel Trotter was in front of a group of four individuals, and while I’m confident I connected with all of them, there was one gentleman in particular — let’s call him, “Ronald” — who stood out among the rest. Ronald is well into his twilight years, way past retirement age, and had what I surmise were harsh lessons in maturity lining his face.
Of the four, Ronald was the one I thought would be the least likely to engage with my story — I was wrong. Not only was he engaged, he clung onto every word as if it were the Word of God, (hard for me to write, believe and forgive me, Dear Reader, but I failed to find a more effective metaphor).
This is interesting to me in reflection even now as I write this; of course the least likely of the four was the one who connected with me most deeply — just as each and every one of Jesus’ apostles were the “least likely” to be considered as such, and yet they were. Something to consider for those who think they’re unworthy of seeing Jesus, much less, being chosen by Him.
Anyway, back to Ronald. When I “give a speech” I’m actually having as many individual interactions as I’m able while simultaneously staying in the overall narrative transportation, (i.e. storyline) so I don’t damage, or disfigure the discussion the group — large or small — is having collectively.
How this typically works is as follows: I’ll fix my gaze on one individual in my audience, and as the words are coming out of my mouth, I’m studying their micro-expressions to see if what I’m saying is taking root, or being rejected.
In the case of the former, I’ll know that individual and I have a nice little garden started; that particular seed I sowed has potential to grow — I know I can and will come back to water it when the topic and/or subtopic sprouts up later in the speech.
In the case of the latter, I don’t change the soil, but the seed; I’m careful to curate my message, articulating it in a way that may be more acceptable to the individual.
In either case, I can’t hold eye contact with any one individual in the crowd for too long; people like to be admired, but after a while it gets awkward — seeds don’t grow any faster the longer you stare at them.
What does this have to do with Ronald? You might be wondering, and fair enough. In that particular speech, while I was “tending” to four separate gardens, if you will, Ronald was tending only to me for ninety minutes straight. His head swiveled left and right, mirroring my pace on stage like a sentry — the intensity in this man’s eyes was in this world, but not of it.
“The eye is the lamp of the body. If your eyes are healthy, your whole body will be full of light.” — Matthew 6:22
What am I trying to say?
“I see Jesus in every human being.” — Mother Teresa
Voila! That is step number three, Dear Reader.
I didn’t realize it until later that night as my wife and I were on our way to the Cheesecake Factory, (because what says “Jesus” better than cheesecake?) but it hit me like a cold knife against the nape of my neck.
“I think I saw Jesus today,” I said, my knuckles turning white as a sheet as I gripped the steering wheel and ten and two.
“Tell me,” my wife, Tiffany said.
I licked my lips, and began: “You know how Mother Teresa once said…” then I finished her quote. Tiffany nodded, and I continued: “Well, what if I saw Jesus through Ronald today?”
Tiffany’s eyebrows spiked with curiosity. “Which one was he?”
“He was the older gentleman in the back, right in front of where you were seated. His eyes were wide with cat-like fervor the entire time; his gaze was fixed on me. What if…” I said, pausing to gather my thoughts so whatever came out of my mouth next sounded coherent instead of crazy. “What if Ronald’s stare was actually Jesus admiring me? Not ‘me’ but the work I was doing? Or maybe it was me — who effin’ knows. Maybe that’s why Ronald was trained on me like a sentry; Jesus was trying to make it blatantly obvious that He was saying, ‘I see you, my son. I see you, and I’m proud of you.’” If that’s the case, then his ninety-minute leering admiration was the furthest thing from awkward.
“Well that makes sense,” Tiffany said, her eyebrows softening. “I forget who said it, but they said: ‘When you’re helping the poor, you’re helping me, (Jesus).’ And you were helping Him today as much as you were those men.”
“The Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us.” — John 1:14
I agree with John, The Word does become flesh. The Word makes His dwelling among us. As I mentioned before, the gifts He’s given me are the written and spoken word, (more specifically, the Logos and the Rhema, [the written and spoken Word of God, respectively]) and after my experience with Ronald, I suspect that maybe, just maybe, “my” words that day made Him become human.
Now, make no mistake, I am not the one writing the Word, nor am I the one who speaks it — to say otherwise would be self-righteous at best and blasphemous at worst. I am merely an instrument for Him; I am His pen, I am His phone. He picks me up when He needs to breathe — either onto a blank Google doc or onto an audience. There’s a word for that sort of thing, it’s called inspiration.
“Conventional Wisdom” would tell us this just isn’t natural, and that’s correct. It’s not natural — it’s supernatural, like some kind of divine duality. As I speak the Word, it becomes human so I, the speaker, may be a witness to His glory and truth. I become a witness to His personage in the stories I share transmuting into the person or persons in my audience while simultaneously participating in the transmutation myself as the Word becomes my flesh, so the audience may also witness His personage through my person.
That’s deep. “What the hell is water?”
After that revelation, every speech I’ve given since then, there’s been one “Ronald” in the audience, and their admiration isn’t awkward — I know it’s Him saying, “I see you, my son. I see you and I’m proud of you.”
Which begs the question: if you want to see Jesus, are you seeking Him in the “map” He shared in the beatitudes? What gift(s) has He given you? Are you an inspiration for Him to help others breathe instead of drown? If not, then I implore you to use the GPS outlined above so you can wade through the water rather than being left in its wake.
And if you do, (soon) you’ll be so paradoxically enfolded in the vast expanse that is Jesus, you’ll see Him everywhere. Never again will you drown. No. Instead, you’ll grow gills and drink Him in, breathing Him in and out as He does the same, filling you with both inspiration and real wisdom. You’ll see Him both in the sea and as it, because He is.
So much so, when the older fish swims by next time and asks about the water, you’ll say: “What the hell is water?”
