That We May Know Him

Words for the Season, that We May Know Him

Dear Christa—

The book of Luke has an introduction. It is written to a specific person, Theophilus. And, it clarifies that it is a near second-hand account of the events of Jesus’ life that he has “thoroughly investigated.”

Luke was a doctor, educated, and careful. He believed the account of Jesus because he knew and had questioned the people who had been there. It’s one thing to read about something that happened. It’s so much more convincing to talk to those who were there—who can tell us exactly what happened.

And, Luke wasn’t a shabby investigator. He looked into it all “from the very beginning.” He writes his friend with a purpose, the purpose to share his findings so that Theophilus, as well, could be convinced that the claims of Jesus were valid—that Jesus was who He said He was—the very Son of God who came to redeem the world—the promised Savior, alluded to way back in Genesis—ages ago. He presents that Jesus is God; He has a plan, and He’s still active in our world.

Don’t we all need to know that? Don’t we all at times doubt the incredulousness of it all? Don’t we all need Luke’s’ words that He carefully investigated from the beginning?

I’m so glad he wrote Theophilus. And I’m so glad his inspired letter remains today.

Sometimes I, too, need an “investigated account” to “know the certainty of the things” I’ve been taught. In today’s world of mega telescopes and microscopes and where people can readily talk around the world in an instant, it can seem a strange thing indeed that God would come in the flesh and live with us—that He would die for our sins and return to a heaven we cannot see and wait more than 2000 years to return when His disciples said He was coming soon.

Where is this Son of God? What is this Christianity that sits among a number of religions blanketing our planet, tucked remotely in a universe surrounded by more than we can comprehend?

Luke didn’t just write for Theophilus; he wrote for me; he wrote for us all.

—the parishioner who doesn’t do anything