Afternoon sun rays creep toward the horizon; footsteps wax and wane as people advance toward the temple gate. In the midst of the steady trickle of people passing by, a man, carried by another, is seen approaching the gate. He is lowered to the ground, the cool of stone beneath his feeble body sending a shiver down his spine. He places a hand on the granite, feels the solid ground beneath his body.

For a moment, his mind dances along the edges of hope, daring to dream what it would be like to feel that same ground solid beneath his feet. But this is something he has never known. He has never known the tension of bare feet hitting the ground as he runs, never known the pressure of his feet solid against the earth. For as long as he can remember, as far back as when breath first filled his lungs, his feet have failed to carry his weight, failed to walk and run and dance. 

The sun inches closer to the horizon, teasing the last bits of warmth from daylight. Snapping out of his wishful thinking, the weary man remembers why he is here. He lifts his tired hand, calls out to each passerby hoping to receive a little money, hoping to earn his keep off the pity of each passerby. Some brush past without much of a glance in his direction. Perhaps stigma has forbidden the pious Jew from stooping to offer hard earned wealth to one considered ‘less than’. Others let pity take the place of piety and quickly deposit a small coin in the palm of his outstretched hand. Eagerly he folds his fingers around the cool metal, at last believing he has gotten a taste of what he needs. Slipping it into his small leather bag, he pulls the strings tight and secures his treasure. 

Once again he glances about, his eyes catching sight of more sandaled feet advancing toward the temple gate; he dares not to lift his gaze. Calling out after the two figures, he begs for a little more of what he believes he desperately needs. The two men have already caught sight of this man sitting helpless on cool stone. Their eyes have locked on his face and they follow his gaze to their dusty feet. The beggar reaches out his hand expecting more of what he has come to get. But in the midst of his gold-seeking desires, he hears the voice of one of the men speaking as they near him. 

“Look at us!” the men call out. They ask for his attention, for his eyes to meet theirs, for his presence. 

Slowly, the lame man raises his eyes, dares to let another look into his soul, to see deep into his vulnerable self. 

The two men stand in front of him, the truth spilling from their lips. “We don’t have silver or gold,” the words come quick. The lame man’s outstretched arm droops as discouragement darkens his face. 

“But, what I do have, I will give you” one of the men promises. “In the name of Jesus, rise up and walk!” He stoops toward the beggar’s crumpled form and reaching for his outstretched hand, he grasps the man’s arm and pulls him to his feet.

A bolt of electricity seems to descend down his body to the very soles of his feet. The beggar stands stunned—for the first time, he feels the cold stone solid beneath his feet, feels the weight of his body being held by his legs. For the first time, he is eye-level with another soul, he is able to view the world through eyes that see from a new height. With a yelp of joy, he turns with the two men towards the temple.

Hardly able to contain his excitement, he jumps and leaps and runs; for the first time, he feels the air rushing past his arms and face. For the first time, he walks on his own two feet through that temple door, gratitude overflowing from his heart. 

We too, may often find ourselves unable to walk, unable to feel the soles of our feet pressed solid against the ground. Perhaps anxiety and fear have made us lame, made us weak and unable to move. Perhaps addiction has taken away the last of our strength, cut our circulation, left us lame and unable to rise. Perhaps pride has prohibited Christ’s life-giving blood from being pumped through our weary body. Perhaps bitterness has numbed our limbs, kept our feet from being able to support our weight. Perhaps shame has kept us pinned on the cold ground, limp and lame.

And in our deep lameness, we stretch out our hands, desperately reaching for more of what we believe we need. We sit stiff on hard ground begging each passerby for a piece of something that we think will make us happy. And in the middle of our gold-seeking, there appears a Man walking towards where we lie.

Anxiously, we cry out after Him, attempt to catch His attention, and yet, we dare not look into His face. We call out after Him, afraid of not securing what we want. Yet this Man has already placed His attention on you, on me. His eyes have long before caught sight of our weary form slouched on hard ground. He walks up beside us, and even as we are hoping for more of that gold-colored stimulant, He calls to us and asks just one thing—He asks for our attention.

There is no gold, no glitter, no shine. But there are also no demands, no shame, no overstimulation.

There is just a simple request for our attention—for us to dare to make eye contact with Him. Because right here in this simple request lies the miracle that every beating heart is desperate for. In a world that is in competition for our attention, His gentle voice is heard requesting our presence, our attention.

Because that’s where the miracle is.

He doesn’t ask us to get up off the ground alone, doesn’t ask us to hold ourselves up on our lame feet. He doesn’t ask us to cure our own soles, doesn’t ask us to somehow get those legs to move. He only asks for our attention, asks for glazed-over eyes to meet His.

And when our eyes meet His, when we allow Him to see through to our broken soul, when we give Him our attention—the miracle happens. He reaches down toward us, toward our very hands that are outstretched, greedy for something that satisfies, and pulls us to our feet. In a moment, strength saturates our sickly frame. A bolt of electricity seems to descend down our body to the very soles of our feet.

And right here, Love meets our soul need.

For the first time, we feel the cool ground solid beneath our feet, feel the pressure of the ground beneath our toes as we walk, feel the air rushing by as we run. For the first time, we feel that steadiness, feel that peace and fulfillment of being able to walk side by side with Jesus. 

As our eyes meet His, He reaches low and lifts us up, plants the soles of our feet solid on the ground, and cures our deep soul need. There is no want for more, but simply an overwhelming joy,

for Love has lifted us up.