Responding in the Moment as Jesus Would

“Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth, in my life, as it is in heaven.” Wouldn't it be a relief to respond to life, to this situation, as joyfully and immediately as the angels in heaven?

Too often, by the time I think to rely on his Spirit, everything is already in flames. How long, Oh Lord, before my natural response, the words that come tripping off my tongue, the subtleties of my body language, the surface tension of my emotional tidal pool, will be quite naturally those of Jesus?

“Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth, in my life, as it is in heaven.” Wouldn't it be a relief to respond to life, to this situation, as joyfully and immediately as the angels in heaven?

Too often, by the time I think to rely on his Spirit, everything is already in flames. How long, Oh Lord, before my natural response, the words that come tripping off my tongue, the subtleties of my body language, the surface tension of my emotional tidal pool, will be quite naturally those of Jesus?

“And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another” (2 Cor. 3:18).

God intends to make us, as Dallas Willard has said, the kind of person he can set free in his universe with the power to do whatever we want. Because what we want will be what he wants.

In the meantime, though, what can I do to make my natural responses more like Jesus? Paul’s words give more than a hint: “And we…beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed…” I may not be able to naturally respond with the mind and heart of Jesus every time, but I can choose to “behold the glory of the Lord”—daily renew my mind with his word and walk prayerfully close to him.

“Beholding” really is transforming. A long, intimate look at Jesus in his Word, seeking him in prayer, changes my natural response to disappointment. Case in point:

I attended a fundraising event where, as a donation to the silent auction, I had contributed my services as a speaker. When the time came to be seated for dinner there was “no room in the inn.” The front table seats the hostess thought she had reserved for us were nowhere to be found. Red faced and stammering, she showed us to a table on the very back row of a very large ballroom.

As we introduced ourselves to the guests there, they recognized my name and face from the picture on my donation to the silent auction. My husband was a former president of the sponsoring organization. “So why are you here in the cheap seats?" they quipped.

And instead of gently suppressing a tiny little huff or whine, I had been beholding the glory of the Lord that morning—specifically Jesus’ disgust with the Pharisees: “Woe to you. For you love the best seat in the synagogues.” Lord, teach me not to love the seats of honor, I had prayed.

And here, just hours later, was the opportunity for a heavenly natural response.

As we took our seats I prayed, Thank you, Lord, for the fresh picture of what you love. Surprise us with warm conversation. A meaningful and delightful connection with people we don’t know.

And of course he did. And I had the joy of Jesus’ natural response.

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