Part of my first world privilege is that I have passes to airport lounges. Frankly, at some airports the public spaces are more lovely than the private ones. Just so you know.
When I checked into the lounge at SFO for my loooooong wait, I told my tale of mild woe to the man at the service counter. He was kind.
Four hours later, as I left the lounge to walk to my gate, he called out to me and asked how I was doing. He took it upon himself to check and make sure a better seat hadn’t opened up. So kind.
I looked at his name tag—Jesus. We had a little chat about his name, and he said how great it was to look in the mirror each morning and think, “Wow! I’ve seen Jesus!”
I could have gone off on a theological discourse about serving Jesus in others (which he had done) and Jesus being in all of us (the back and forth of seeing Jesus in everyone)—and the like, but a line had formed behind me. I had been the center of the world for long enough.
I circled back in line so I could leave him with my card—offering the invitation that a prayer was only a text or email away. He thanked me.
I left my wait with a smile on my face and, yes,prayers of thanks in my heart with special prayers of blessing for Jesus.
I’d been with Jesus. In every theological way.