The Same ... but Different

Do you remember Anaglypta wallpaper?  It was designed with an embossed pattern, so that redecoration could be achieved by applying a fresh coat of paint, instead of stripping off and replacing the paper.  The new décor was the same as the old ... but different.  The same paradox faced the Jews when Jesus tried to explain his heavenly mission to them.  “Is this not Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know?” they asked (John 6:42).  They couldn’t get their minds round the fact that, although He looked normal, and had grown up among them, just like any other young man, He was none other than the Son of God.

I remember a couple of events some sixteen years ago that fit the same pattern.  It was during a period when I belonged to both the Church of England and the Methodist Church.  I had earlier sought a Reader’s licence to help with my then parish during the vacancy between two vicars, but had expressed anxiety that I should still be able to worship with my Methodist friends.  I attended a Methodist circuit meeting where I had exercised my right to vote on the motions being discussed.  At the end of the meeting there was a topic called ‘Anglican news’, and I realised that I was aware of the identity of  our new vicar, but was reluctant to announce this because of some feeling of disloyalty.

I discussed these feelings briefly with our curate, who instantly reassured me of my full rights in both places as a member of each church.  As I recorded these matters in my diary, I recalled the circumstances when I had joined the Methodists some years earlier.  I had just married a Methodist woman and couldn’t reconcile loyalty to her with my existing duties to my then Anglican parish; as a result I clung to the former and relinquished the latter.  That same reassurance by the curate applied there, too.  I was a member of the church I was leaving just as much as I was a husband in my new marriage: two roles, each completely valid, each entitled to fulfilment.

That chapter of John’s Gospel also brings us the story of Jesus walking to his friends across the sea (John 6:16-21).  The disciples were afraid of capsizing in the storm, but calm came with Jesus’ arrival.  Given his powers, we must assume that Jesus could have achieved the end of the storm and secured their safety from the shore but, by making it clear that He was the source of the calm, He also showed them His authority: how He operated at a level beyond the extent of human experience.

Let’s pray that, whether we encounter Jesus through the written word, through the teaching of the church or in the lives of those around us, we may ever be aware that He is fully God as well as fully man.