Back in August of 2000, I traveled to the country of Estonia for the purpose of representing the Western Pennsylvania Annual Conference at a World Methodist Evangelism conference. While in Estonia, I was invited to preach at a Methodist church in the city of Varna, which is right on the border between Estonia and Russia. This particular church offered two Sunday morning worship services—one in the Russian language, the other in the Estonian language, since those are the two primary languages in the Estonian network of communication. My preaching in that context demanded the presence of a translator, which was a new and humbling experience for me. I describe it as humbling because, somewhere in the middle of my sermon that day, it occurred to me that, no matter how clever I might try to be in my articulation or imagery, anything meaningful that might be communicated through my preaching that day would be entirely dependent, not upon me, but upon the work of the translator and, of course, the work of the Holy Spirit.
I preached that morning, with gratitude and humility, in the presence of my brothers and sisters in Christ at the Varna Methodist Church. I would preach a sentence or two. Then, I would pause in order to allow the translator to do her important work. The entire sermon was grounded in this cooperative litany of preaching and translation.
Following the sermon, we celebrated the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper. The pastor of the church consecrated the elements and held the bread. He asked me to hold the cup. People came forward, broke off a piece of bread, then stepped over to me where they would dip the bread into the cup. For each person, I offered the familiar words of institution: “The body of Christ broken for you, the blood of Christ shed for you. Eat drink and be thankful.” The translator, standing right next to me throughout, would then re-communicate those words to the people either in Russian or Estonian.
What made that experience even more meaningful for me were the words of one of the Estonian woman who came forward that day. She appeared to be in her seventies and wore on her face an intensity that led me to believe that she had not had an easy life. As she came to where I was standing, she paused before dipping the bread, long enough to look into my eyes and speak a few sentences to me in Russian, which, of course, were unintelligible to me. I turned to the translator. “What did this woman just say to me,” I asked. “It is too hard to translate,” she responded. “We will talk about it after worship.”
About fifteen minutes later, when worship had concluded, my curiosity compelled me to seek out the translator. “You have to tell me,” I said, “what did that old woman say to me before she received communion? I have to know, because she seemed so serious about what she was saying.”
“I don’t know if it will make any sense in English,” the translator said, “But I will try. The woman was saying to you that, when Jesus came to us as a baby long ago, it was God putting himself under our skin. She said that it was very important to her to tell you this. She wanted you to know of her belief that Jesus was God putting himself under our skin. Does this make any sense to you in English?”
“Yes,” I quickly answered. “It makes all the sense in the world.”
That Estonian woman had never met me. She didn’t know anything about me. But, before we experienced the Lord’s Supper together, she wanted to communicate to me that she knew the biblical truth about Jesus’ identity.
As I continue to meditate on the question of what constitutes authentic discipleship to Jesus Christ, I find myself thanking God for that Estonian woman (and hundreds of other saints like her) who creatively taught me the biblical message that life and discipleship, ultimately, are all about Jesus. Life and discipleship, in other words, are all about our willingness to honor the Lordship of the Incarnate God, who gets under our skin in all the right ways.
Very interesting way of describing the Incarnation!
On the one hand, I think the traditional meaning of “under my skin” is something negative. That is, when someone says “You’re getting under my skin,” that usually meant “You’re persistently irritating me” or “you’re making me very uncomfortable!”
By the time you got to Cole Porter’s song, “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” meant that the other person has so identified with me as to become literally a part of who I am.
Maybe our understanding of the Incarnation, and of Incarnational Ministry, should incorporate both aspects: Fully embracing humanity while making humanity uncomfortable and thereby challenging it to change!
Anyway, that Estonian lady was a darn good theologian, if you ask me!
Did you get that tatoo at General Conference?
You have been to many wonerful places. I am so glad you found your way to our home.
I pray that Jesus gets more and more “under my skin”.
awesome story, thanks!
But I am humble enought to mention that I have been “under your skin” when we share a meal with real silverware instead of plastic!
(spoken with a proud spirit, knowing you love it!)