The Invitation: A Story for Holy Week

This story dramatizes the quality of Jesus and function of his atonement that I most admire.

The Invitation

By his knowledge shall my righteous servant justify many
– Isaiah 53:11

Amanda opened her eyes without sitting up and stared for a moment, confused by the cabin’s wood-paneled ceiling. The details of her dream melted in the late morning light. She’d actually set no alarm for the first time in as long as she could remember. Where was her phone? Didn’t matter. Delighted by that thought, moved and troubled by her dream, Amanda exhaled and closed her eyes to make sense of it.

The dream had begun simply enough: she was sitting on her couch, scrolling through posts, when who should stroll into the living room but Jesus himself, looking a bit like every painting she’d ever seen of him. He opened his arms toward her, his face radiating happiness. She couldn’t help smiling in return as she stood to greet him.

“Amanda.” That was the first word he spoke, embracing her like…well, like an older brother she hadn’t seen in years. There was joy, almost laughter in his voice, a love of saying her name that made it sound holy. Hallelujah. Hosanna. Amanda.

She’d never actually dreamed about the Savior before, but it made sense here and now. A week alone at this rented cabin was Theo’s present for her birthday last month. You’ve been saying you feel a little disconnected from God, his card read. I hope this time and space will help. Well, so far the good Lord seemed to be wasting no time.

In her dream, she and Jesus sat down on the cabin’s rustically uncomfortable couch. Still smiling, he got straight to the point. “I’d love for you to know me a bit better.”

Her brow wrinkled. For some reason seeing him didn’t surprise her, but this request did. “Don’t I already know you pretty well?”

“Yes, and I’m grateful for that. Tell me, though,” he said, leaning back. “How do people become friends?”

“Well, I guess they just...enjoy doing things together, right?”

“Sounds good,” he said. “Let’s meet for lunch tomorrow night.” He chuckled at his little joke, stood up, and gave Amanda a wonderfully warm smile and parting nod, the last thing she remembered before waking up.

The rest of that day Amanda read through old journals, writing in their margins, archived photos on her computer, and just sat and thought. That night, sure enough, she dreamed herself into the delightful café she and Theo had eaten at in Bologna, one of her favorite cities from the trip through Europe they’d taken before the kids came along. Jesus was sitting at a little table on the sidewalk.

“Nice choice,” he said. “And please thank Theo for giving you this time. I really like that guy.”

Amanda laughed. “Me too.”

The bruschetta arrived, smelling and tasting just as heavenly as Amanda had remembered it. As they ate, Jesus asked what she liked about the city, about travelling, about her life in general.

At first she gave polite, measured answers, instinctively mindful of—as she’d felt her whole life—How Busy God Must Be. But this didn’t seem to be a worthiness interview or quiz about doctrine. The Savior’s questions became more specific, more insightful. They made her stop and think, laugh, wince, wonder, and respond with what she genuinely thought and felt.

After a good long conversation Jesus glanced at the sun and said, “Our time’s up for now. Anything you’d like to say before we go?”

“Um, I can’t think of anything else. Thanks, though.” Amanda felt a bit embarrassed to realize she hadn’t asked him a single thing about himself.

He grinned, reading her thoughts. “Tomorrow I’ll let you start with the questions.”