Looking at Jesus

Once when we were praying,
I could do nothing but cry for my friend,
Could see nothing but swirling blackness.
It wasn’t empty
Or scary. It was just black, the way I imagine
The Spirit moving on the face of the waters.
Perhaps like a birth, or like being
A channel, healing flowing through.

“I saw you in my memory.
You were looking past me,
And when I turned to see
What you were looking at,
There was Jesus.”

Oh, that I might be looking at Jesus at all times.
Oh, that others might look at him, too.