“It would be a good sign of our spiritual well-being if, when asked to describe a moment we felt close to God, we said, ‘When I loved another.’”
– Philip Gulley, Unlearning God: How Unbelieving Helped Me Believe

“Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me.”
– the King, speaking to the sheep, as told by Jesus in Matthew 25:40

Intimacy with human beings is intimacy with God. When I interact with the “least,” I connect with God. This is humbling. This is not light beaming from heaven, or a pipe organ in a cathedral, or gallant green trees, or even my favorite books. Yes, God is in those things. But He makes a point to tell me He is in the least.

Who are my “least”?

My bickering, balking, button-pushing children.

Friends I avoid because they are “too Christian.”

The folks I pay money to—cashiers, wait staff, contractors, plumbers, produce stand vendors.

People asking for money at the entrance to the Walmart parking lot or sleeping in shop doorways downtown.

I’m good at hiding—behind a smile, a book, “safe” sharing. When I tap my credit card, I don’t have to see the person behind the counter. When I’m on a phone call—to the bank, dentist, tax office—I hide behind the professional relationship. I scurry down the soup aisle at the grocery store to avoid greeting an acquaintance. My kids get the short end of the stick as I shield myself with anger and control at home. I give money to charities because it’s easier than being charitable.

Then again, I keep bags, packed with snacks, water, and toiletries, in my car, and hand them to folks on street corners. I give a stranger a ride home. I pray with the cashier at the grocery story. I forgive my children before they ask.

I don’t know if I’m a nice person. I lean in; I pull away. Does this mean sometimes I have time for Jesus and sometimes I don’t?

Are there tally marks in the Book of Life?

Does it matter?

Human tally marks are about control, about externals. If there are tally marks on the cosmic whiteboard, they’re a kind I’ve never seen before. If God is measuring, let Him measure. I wouldn’t know what to measure anyway.

How well am I loving Jesus in the flesh and bones before me, wearing leggings and sweat and weariness? I do not think God is worrying about this. He is busy inhabiting arrogant leaders and polarizing politicians; beggars and cheaters and liars and beaters; starving children and sex slaves; and that guy who drives too fast down my street at 10pm most evenings. God is holding hands with humble pastors and hardworking husbands, earthquake victims and suicidal teenagers, relief workers and therapists, and mothers worn so thin you can see the light through them.

I rest assured that I will find Jesus today—at lunch with girlfriends, at school pickup, in text messages and emails, at the dinner table, and while the kids brush their teeth before bed. Intimacy with God is built into my existence. Intimacy with God is the breath of life in my own warm body.

The world is pulsing with light—a heat map of warm bodies—in the layers of houses I can see from my front window, the drivers of cars, the shoppers and walkers, glowing. Everywhere, God is glowing.