Often, actually, Jesus isn’t hollering at us.

I worked at a camp one summer when I was in high school. I’m not sure, exactly what I did. I think I was a cabin counsellor. And I was part of the work crew.

What I do remember is sitting on the dock early one morning. The lake was calm, the camp was quiet. Just the staff was there. And I was reading from the Gospel of John. I got to the end of the second chapter.

“But Jesus would not entrust himself to them, for he knew all people. He did not need any testimony about mankind, for he knew what was in each person.”

It jumped off the page to me. Jesus knew what was in each person.

It wasn’t a “He knows I’m awful” moment. The Santa Claus sense of, “He sees you when you’re sleeping.” Not at all.

Instead, it was a sense of Jesus being remarkably aware of us, of how we are, of how we respond, of how we think and feel. It was a realization of the implication of the incarnation, which is our fancy way of talking about Jesus putting on a body and being a human person.

That moment was one of several moments in my life where I’ve thought, “God. You are pretty remarkable.”

They weren’t preaching moments, they weren’t teaching moments, they weren’t big miracle moments. Instead, they are noticing moments.

Noticing moments are when we look up and realized that Jesus is there, watching us, open for conversation and relationship.

It’s what happened one day after Jesus got back from his forty days in the wilderness.

Jesus found where John was, and stopped in the distance, unobtrusive. John looked up. And noticed him. And John turned to his own followers and pointed to Jesus.

“Behold. The lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.”

And then John tells them about the moment when Jesus came for baptism.

And Jesus goes on his way, and John goes back to work. A quiet moment, meant for a handful of people on the whole globe.

A noticing.