Then [Jesus] led them out as far as Bethany, and, lifting up his hands, he blessed them. While he was blessing them, he withdrew from them and was carried up into heaven.

 — Luke 24:50-51

I find it noteworthy that Jesus didn’t withdraw his blessing from these friends that failed him. No, he didn’t withdraw his blessing, he withdrew while blessing. 

I suggest you read that again. Let it sink in a moment or two. Personally, this statement hits me like a punch in the gut. Leaves me breathless and doubled over by the sheer force of it. What kind of love is this?

Jesus was well practiced at blessing, which might explain his ability to end like he did. Throughout the Gospels we find him, with great regularity, blessing the Father, the food or the flock that was his. I suppose this final act should come as no surprise then. Heart and hands wide, words of love on his lips. But still, it leaves me in a puddle on the floor. 

To bless can mean to praise or to speak well of. It also means to confer what is beneficial upon another. We’re told to do it to those who oppose us, as well (Matthew 5:44). 

Most of Jesus’ blessings involved his hands, which I picture as the large, strong hands of a carpenter, but with a tender touch. I see his hands placed over the eyes of the blind, on the sweet heads of children, or pressed against the exposed skin of the leprous ones. I see them reaching down to raise and release an adulterous woman, stretched out to receive a drink from a Samaritan outcast, or used to restore the ear of the (perceived) enemy’s servant. 

And I see Jesus’ hands holding ­Judas’ feet — oh, friend — washing and wiping them mere moments before his betrayal. I see them breaking bread and passing the cup, all for the life of others and us. 

While Jesus sought to bless, there was often countermovement from others, some in his own tight-knit Twelve, who sometimes served more as bodyguards and bouncers than blessers. 

How often we do the same. We position ourselves as patrollers and policers, seeking to protect. But who and what are we protecting? Surely not Jesus. More likely than not, it’s our own agendas or theologies, our ways, wants or wishes. 

We don’t always get this right. Two (out of many) scripture stories illustrate this for me.  

In the first story, the disciples were preventing children from coming to Jesus to receive his blessing. They physically stood between him and the children. What a terrifying visual! 

Eugene Peterson put Jesus’ response to this occurrence in no uncertain terms: “The disciples shooed [the children] off. But Jesus was irate and let them know it: ‘Don’t push these children away. Don’t ever get between them and me’ ” (Mark 10:13-14, Message). 

“Don’t ever get between them and me.” 

Let us be careful, friends, where we position ourselves. Jesus doesn’t need bodyguards or bouncers who keep people out. He needs openers and ushers who bring them in. If we’re going to position ourselves between others and Jesus, we ought to be opening the door, not closing it.

That thought leads to the second story where some bold and brave ones got it right. A group of friends carried a paralyzed man — who knows how far? — to where Jesus was (Mark 2:1-12). Unable to draw near because of the crowds, they were undeterred. They climbed to the roof, cut a hole, hoisted their friend up and then lowered him down, right at the feet of Jesus, right in the path of blessing. How pleased Jesus must have been!

It’s here I pause to ponder: What prevents us from coming to God? What stands between us and him? Is it a person, place or thing? Ideology or theology? Rules or regulations? Policies or protocols? Shame, fear, pride or pretense? 

All I can tell you is I keep hearing ­Jesus say, as he did concerning the children: Let them come to me. 

“Anyone who comes to me I will never drive away” (John 6:37). 

We’re told Jesus is the intermediary, standing between the Father and us. Not as a bouncer to keep people out but a door to usher them in (John 10:7). 

I am not the determiner of who God chooses to spend time with, lay hands on and bless. May I open the way, not stand in it.