We would see Jesus

“Sir, we would see Jesus.”

Their voices rose in John 12, a cry from hungry hearts.

Not for spectacle.

Not for signs.

But for Him.

Only Him.

There’s a clarity in that desire—

piercing, holy, desperate.

We would see Jesus.

Because only Jesus satisfies.

Only Jesus speaks to the soul’s ache.

But where is that hunger now?

Where is that ache in the ordinary?

Where is that fire in the folding of laundry,

that reverence in the grocery store aisle,

that holy expectancy in the car rider lane?

Where is Jesus

—in the spilled juice and the sink full of dishes?

—in the weary breath of the overworked parent?

—in the clumsy prayer muttered before sleep steals the day?

Do we still want to see Him there?

We would see Jesus,

in the peanut butter sandwiches,

in the diaper changes,

in the homework battles,

in the quiet fights behind closed doors,

in the soft sighs of “How did I get here?”

in the whispered, “Lord, is this all I am?”

We would see Jesus,

but most days…

we don’t look.

We scroll.

We post.

We binge.

We hustle.

We perform.

We produce.

We see headlines and hashtags.

We see what’s new, what’s now, what’s next.

We would see anything but Jesus.

Because Jesus slows us down.

Because Jesus rearranges.

Because Jesus confronts and consumes.

And so—we trade Him.

We trade the Person for the performance.

We trade His presence for polished services.

We trade intimacy for industry.

We sing songs about Him,

preach sermons in His name,

and leave without having seen Him.

We’ve made seeing Jesus optional—

a Sunday luxury,

a revival week indulgence,

a summer camp souvenir.

We’ve tamed the Lion of Judah into a decorative emblem, a line in our planner,

a footnote in our theology.

And we wonder why we’re still starving.

But He waits.

Jesus waits.

In the ordinary.

In the undone.

In the quiet corners we overlook.

He waits to be seen in the child’s laughter,

in the tear that slips down without notice,

in the tired hands doing thankless work,

in the silence between our sentences.

He waits to be wanted.

To be seen.

So let us rise, with the hunger of the desperate and undone—not for ease,not for signs,

not for answers.

But for Jesus.

Only Jesus.

Ever Jesus.

Always Jesus.

“Sir… we would see Jesus.”

Let it not be a line from an old gospel story.

Let it be the cry that shakes us awake,

that burns the apathy from our eyes,

that leads us back to love,

back to awe,

back to Him.