You Are My Beloved

by Lori Wilson

I have been sitting with a question lately, the kind that won’t let me go.

In Matthew 16, Jesus turns to his disciples and asks, "Who do people say that I am?" The answers come quickly. John the Baptist. Elijah. Jeremiah. One of the prophets. But then Jesus narrows it, makes it personal: "But who do you say that I am?"

Simon Peter answers without hesitation. And in return, Jesus tells Peter who he is. You are Peter. On this rock I will build my church.

I love that exchange. Jesus asks a question and then answers one in return.

When I sat with this passage in Lectio Divina, I heard that same question land quietly in my own heart. Jesus asks me, “Who do you say that I am?”

I answered honestly, “You are my constant companion. The one who is present when others aren't. The one who sees and understands what I can't share out loud. The one who senses my pain before I do.  The one who never leaves.”

And then, I'm not entirely sure where the boldness came from. I turned the question back to Jesus, “Who do you say that I am?”

The response came immediately, without hesitation. “You are my beloved.”

I stopped. That word is not my word. I don't call my children my beloved. I have never called anyone "beloved." I say, “You are my heart.” I say, “I love you to the moon and back.” But never beloved. It’s not me.

And yet, I knew. I knew it was Jesus who called me this.

A few days later, I was checking in with a holy mentor of mine, Brother Dave Cooney, a Marist Brother of deep prayer and profound goodness, who has since returned to God. When I answered his telephone call, his first words were, "My beloved sister! I'm so glad we have time to talk."

It brought tears to my eyes. Dave asked me what was happening. For me, that was confirmation. Jesus had really called me his beloved. And Love had found a way to say it twice.

I have wondered since then whether anyone on this earth will ever call me their beloved other than Dave. I hold that question gently, without needing an answer. But I know this: when I hear that word, in prayer, in song, in the voice of someone who loves well, I hear God saying something underneath it.

I see you. I know you. I love you.

Recently, I heard Sarah Kroger's song Belovedness, and it brought me to tears. It felt like an echo of that moment in prayer, of my mentor's voice, of something I am still learning to receive.

I invite you to listen: Belovedness - arranged by Todd Rice and sung by Cheryl Mayeran at Holy Cross Lutheran Church on Good Friday.  https://youtu.be/HByNU13CICU

For Your Reflection:

• When Jesus asks you, "Who do you say that I am?" — what is your honest answer today?

• Have you ever turned the question around and asked Jesus, "Who do you say that I am?" What do you imagine — or have you heard — in response?

• Is there a word or name God might be offering you that feels too intimate, too unfamiliar, too much to receive? What would it mean to let it in?

A Closing Prayer

Beloved God, 

You see what I keep hidden, you know what I cannot say out loud, and still you call me yours.

Teach me to receive that. Teach me to rest in being known without needing to explain myself, without earning what you have already given.

When I forget who I am, remind me whose I am.

And let that be enough.

Amen.