READ John 20:19–23
When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”
MEDITATE
I’m pretty skilled at some things—like keeping God at a distance. It’s really not such a difficult skill to develop. After all, God the Father has the ring of authority. God the Son takes us to a distant time two thousand years ago and a teacher who certainly wasn’t cozy; there’s nothing cozy about the command, “Take up your cross and follow me.” But I’m always pulled up short in my attempt to keep God at arm’s length by God the Spirit. I feel the ruach-wind. I inhale and exhale the ruach-breath. I live the ruach—period.
You don’t have to look very far to discover inhaling and exhaling in this vivid scene from the Gospel of John. It’s intimate from the start—a stunningly private scene that occurs behind locked doors among dear friends. The scene begins with a friendly greeting and involves a private glimpse of Jesus’s wounds. Then Jesus does something odd, even shocking: he breathed in them. Um, excuse me? We know that Jesus could get involved in shocking situations. He spit on the eyes of the blind, laid his hands on the sick, had his feet caressed with hair and washed with tears, and even washed his disciples’ feet. But nowhere else does Jesus breathe in someone.
He doesn’t do it here, either, you might say. He breathed on them—not in them. But translators usually avoid the appalling intimacy of inbreathing by saying that Jesus “breathed on them,” in the way, I suppose, we might breathe on our glasses or a mirror before cleaning them with a rag. This is a mistake. The Greek verb for breathe in is used first in the Bible of God’s breathing in Adam at the birth of the human race (Genesis 2:7). It is used again when the prophet Elijah lies sprawled out on a dead widow’s son, face to face, and breathes life back into him (1 Kings 17:17–24). It is used still again when the prophet Ezekiel, in the passage we reflected on yesterday, describes the inbreathing of the dead and dried bones that rattle back to life when the Spirit enters them (Ezekiel 37:9–10). In each case, Spirit-breath enters into a body to bring it to life. Adam, once dust, now pulses with life. The widow’s son, once dead, comes alive, turning a mother’s bereavement to delight and praise. Israel, once a hopeless heap of bleached bones, turns into a nation looking to its future. And finally, in a private upper room, it occurs again. This time, Jesus gives to his friends the newfound authority of the Spirit, to forgive or not—but not from arm’s length. The very personal act of inbreathing turns into a fresh call for his frightened and timid friends.
Breathing into someone is more intimate, more intense, more indiscreet than breathing on could ever be. Why? Because breathing in looks very much like a kiss. Not a kiss on the cheek, like Judas’s kiss, but a kiss square on the mouth. Jesus’s relationship with his dearest friends runs deep, and his final gift to them, the Spirit, is deeply intimate, sealed, as it is, with a kiss.
When our daughter, Chloe, was just a toddler, she would climb onto my lap and perch on my thighs so that we were face-to-face. Then she would land her lips square upon mine—and blow. My cheeks bulged out. I felt her sweet, sour breath puff out of my nose and leak through my eyes. We both melted into belly laughter. The moment was intimate, indulgent, and inspiring. Like Adam born from dust. Like the widow’s son come alive. Like sun-bleached bones bursting back to life. Like Jesus’s dearest friends in the embrace of their risen Lord.
Intimacy can be embarrassing, but it can also be enthralling. If you can, put aside your embarrassment for a moment and reflect on the Spirit-breath of Jesus entering you in the embrace of a kiss, lavish with life.
REFLECT
BREATHE
Holy Spirit
Closer than my breathing
Nearer than my heartbeat
When I tuck myself away for fear of life
And hide from threats real and imagined
Consider my lost call, my vanishing purpose
And fill me deep
Like my dear friend’s kiss
Face to face with Jesus I’ll receive you
Heart to heart with Jesus I’ll breathe you in
Amen