God "Geeks" Easter's Transformation

Over the past year, the Online Computer Library Center (OCLC) has been running a public awareness campaign called Geek the Library . The campaign’s tag question: “What do you geek?” By turning the noun “geek” into a verb, the OCLC has made it cool to be so interested in something that you’re willing to seek the subject’s frontiers, read, talk, write about it and live it.

The other day, I found myself pondering this Lenten question: What does God geek? There could be a million answers, of course. But I’m thinking a pretty good one is this: transformation.

From the turning of the seasons, to butterflies that dance in the breeze, to the recurring miracle of Holy Communion, to ordinary men and women who find themselves becoming fathers and mothers, priests and nuns, it seems clear: God geeks transformation. To participate in His call for us, we have to be willing to invite outrageous change into our lives.

Why, then, do we struggle to keep things even and easy? Why do we hedge our willingness to help others? Why do we give a lukewarm commitment to our ministries? Why do we only sign leases with potential spouses, instead of opening ourselves fully to the sacrament of marriage? After all, when Jesus approached Simon-called-Peter, he didn’t tell him to keep a couple of small nets in the water. He didn’t give Peter Mondays off to pull in a few tilapia, just in case the ministry didn’t work out. Peter was expected to completely walk away from his wet livelihood to add muscle to the work of God. He didn’t know what would happen if he did that. How could he have imagined it? Yet he went anyway. We are all called to trust in God that way.

Each year, as we enter Holy Week, I find myself thinking about all the different ways that Jesus was willing to break apart for God. It renews, in me, a resolution to let the Holy Trinity transform me, even if I don’t even understand what it is God is asking me to give up for Him, even if I think my original idea might be better—or at least less frightening.

Jesus was willing to walk the miles, do the happy, joyful work of preaching and healing people, and, when things were grim and sweat rolled from his brow, he stuck with that calling. Then came shame and torture. He had been wearing a robe that was so fine, even the cruel Roman soldiers couldn’t rip it apart. But that was yanked from his body before a mocking crowd. Jesus could hardly manage the weight of the cross he knew was made to end His life, but He kept walking. Hours later, His heavenly blood spattered the upturned dirt beneath His feet. He had nothing left to give. And then His calling was fulfilled. In his last breath, even He had to admit: “It is finished.”

But for God, that awesome expert in transformation, it was only the beginning. We are still a living, thriving part of His Easter plan. It's time to let Him in.