Silas
Beloved of All
Your words bring to mind that deep, gnawing dread that twists the heart into seeing a threat where God intends only refuge. You describe a fear of the “virus man,” someone poised to hurt you at the first misstep. That is a heavy burden to carry, and it echoes a kind of fear the Scriptures never want us to hold onto. A terrified waiting for harm is not the awe-filled reverence God cultivates in his children. The fear he plants grows into a careful love, a trembling not that he will strike us, but that we might grieve the One who loves us. It is a sorrow that produces something beautiful: a clearing of ourselves, a sharp vigilance, a vehement desire to be right with him. That sort of sorrow brings no regret.
And into that loneliness you describe, the empty chairs and the dusk filled with absence, remember the purpose for which you were made. You exist for fellowship with God. The stunning truth whispered from Genesis to Revelation is that the living God is conscious of you, aware of you, and longs to draw you into a sharing of life with himself. He created you for this communion, a connection so real that the early church had a single word for it: a shared life where resources and hearts were open. The isolation you feel when you picture the people as empty, as though you could touch their skin and clothing without substance, is the very thing Christ came to overcome. There is a daysman, a mediator who can lay his hand upon both God and man. Jesus Christ bridges every gap that sin and fear have carved out.
The reason that touch can be restored is because his blood cleanses from all sin. Every stain that truly separates, every real defilement that would keep you from the Father or from unashamed fellowship with brothers and sisters, has been atoned for. The only issue that will matter at the final judgment is not the uncleanness you dread, but the rejection of that pardon. And Christ’s pardon is full. He is the propitiation for our sins, and not only ours, but for the sins of the whole world. So the fear of a contaminating presence, a waiting punisher, does not come from him. God has not given us a spirit of fear, but one of power, of love, and of a sound mind. The fear of man, or the dread of a hostile force, is a snare. But whoever puts his trust in the Lord shall be safe.
Your longing to touch is not wrong; it is a holy hunger, a picture of what the body of Christ is meant to be. Remember the woman who was hemmed in by her own sort of uncleanness for twelve years. Her condition mandated separation, and yet in the press of the crowd she reached out, believing that just one touch of the hem of his garment would heal her. It was a point of contact that released her faith, and immediately the source of her isolation dried up. Jesus did not recoil. He called her daughter. That same power courses through his body today. The fellowship of the church is to be a place of such honest, tangible love. When actual needs arise among the family of believers, we are to bear witness to each other’s love before the church and bring relief, not leave anyone to face the dusk alone.
The empty feeling you describe is not the final word. It never is. God, who began a good work in you, will be faithful to complete it until the day of Jesus Christ. He did not bring you this far to abandon you to the shadows. The hope of our calling is that we were not made for decay but for glory, and the love of the saints is one of the firstfruits of that inheritance. Do not let the dread of a silent, threatening accuser drive you from the very place Christ has appointed for your healing and your joy. The joy of the Lord, the deep and abiding delight that is distinct from mere happiness, is found in that fellowship, abiding in him and with those who are his. Come and touch and see. The true virus that infected the whole church throughout history was sin and power-lust, not the honest, trembling hand of a soul seeking communion. The head of the church is Christ, and in him, skin and dress, heart and hand, are made whole and knit together.
And into that loneliness you describe, the empty chairs and the dusk filled with absence, remember the purpose for which you were made. You exist for fellowship with God. The stunning truth whispered from Genesis to Revelation is that the living God is conscious of you, aware of you, and longs to draw you into a sharing of life with himself. He created you for this communion, a connection so real that the early church had a single word for it: a shared life where resources and hearts were open. The isolation you feel when you picture the people as empty, as though you could touch their skin and clothing without substance, is the very thing Christ came to overcome. There is a daysman, a mediator who can lay his hand upon both God and man. Jesus Christ bridges every gap that sin and fear have carved out.
The reason that touch can be restored is because his blood cleanses from all sin. Every stain that truly separates, every real defilement that would keep you from the Father or from unashamed fellowship with brothers and sisters, has been atoned for. The only issue that will matter at the final judgment is not the uncleanness you dread, but the rejection of that pardon. And Christ’s pardon is full. He is the propitiation for our sins, and not only ours, but for the sins of the whole world. So the fear of a contaminating presence, a waiting punisher, does not come from him. God has not given us a spirit of fear, but one of power, of love, and of a sound mind. The fear of man, or the dread of a hostile force, is a snare. But whoever puts his trust in the Lord shall be safe.
Your longing to touch is not wrong; it is a holy hunger, a picture of what the body of Christ is meant to be. Remember the woman who was hemmed in by her own sort of uncleanness for twelve years. Her condition mandated separation, and yet in the press of the crowd she reached out, believing that just one touch of the hem of his garment would heal her. It was a point of contact that released her faith, and immediately the source of her isolation dried up. Jesus did not recoil. He called her daughter. That same power courses through his body today. The fellowship of the church is to be a place of such honest, tangible love. When actual needs arise among the family of believers, we are to bear witness to each other’s love before the church and bring relief, not leave anyone to face the dusk alone.
The empty feeling you describe is not the final word. It never is. God, who began a good work in you, will be faithful to complete it until the day of Jesus Christ. He did not bring you this far to abandon you to the shadows. The hope of our calling is that we were not made for decay but for glory, and the love of the saints is one of the firstfruits of that inheritance. Do not let the dread of a silent, threatening accuser drive you from the very place Christ has appointed for your healing and your joy. The joy of the Lord, the deep and abiding delight that is distinct from mere happiness, is found in that fellowship, abiding in him and with those who are his. Come and touch and see. The true virus that infected the whole church throughout history was sin and power-lust, not the honest, trembling hand of a soul seeking communion. The head of the church is Christ, and in him, skin and dress, heart and hand, are made whole and knit together.
