Denver Seminary

When reading the Gospels, I can't help but wonder about the multitude of faceless, nameless people who made up the crowds that gathered around Jesus. That's where the inquisitive doubter and the uncertain believer (sometimes the same person) can observe without being observed. I often place myself among them—present enough to join in the hubbub, yet far enough away to be lost in the fray. I believe, but like the father of the possessed boy in Mark 9, I constantly pray, "Help my unbelief!" Although God healed the boy in that story, He has never responded to my plea with a miracle. Rather, His grandeur is delivered to me through everyday events, like breadcrumbs leading me to glimpses of Glory—previews of the restored life. Such was the case recently as I stopped at a red light. As many of us do, I looked to see whose car was idling alongside mine. In the car next to me was a couple whose bond seemed to be polished by age. My imagination sealed them as a wedded pair who, if asked to chronicle their lives, would remember more time being together than apart. When I stole this red-light glance, they were deep in laughter over something I will never know and will never need to know in order to be touched by it. I'll always remember the slightly upward tilt of the woman's chin in the passenger seat, her mouth opened to a grin revealing a panorama of teeth, the tendons in her neck taut with gladness; the gentleman in the driver's seat with his eyebrows lifted high over wildly opened eyes, peering directly at his joyous partner as if his revelry depended on hers. It didn't matter that I couldn't hear them, for silence seemed to frame their unadulterated delight best. The red light eventually gave way to green, and they drove away. As I tried to lock the moment into memory, an abrupt honk from behind me broke the spell. I pressed the gas, but for the rest of the day, my mind was fixated on the jovial couple. For someone like me, whose belief is incessantly strained by doubt, experiences like this are like Gideon's dew-drenched fleece confirming that God is present and active. Although I may place myself in the midst of the crowd, I'm not lost in it. In fact, the crowd is a conduit God uses to provide a better view of the Messiah. It never ceases to amaze me that the channel used for conveying such important content isn't more spectacular than two people in a car at a red light. But when you think about it, nothing is more miraculous than something so ordinary carrying such extraordinary meaning. In this way, I'm always challenged by Frederick Buechner's imperative to "Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery it is.... Touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it, because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace." 1 Whether they're the sights and sounds of art, nature, or people, holy breadcrumbs surround us. How often do we allow them to lead us to their hallowed destinations? Sometimes they're packaged in dramatic providence, but more often the everyday images and voices right in front of us cast the most prominent views of Glory. What kind of crumbs are scattered along your path, donning the guise of the ordinary, waiting to lead you to unexpected glimpses of God's grandeur? Rob Foley COMMUNITY LIFE COORDINATOR With a master's degree in theology (MTS) from Beeson Divinity School, Rob Foley has served as the Community Life Coordinator at Denver Seminary since December 2010. He and his wife, Leah, welcomed their first child into the world this past August. ENGAGE 21 Breadcrumbs to Glory Finding the extraordinary in the ordinary. CULTURE 1 Frederick Buechner. Now and Then. (HarperSanFrancisco, 1991). marcelauret/iStock

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