The question caught me by surprise and I probably let out a little chuckle at the very thought. The little guy who asked it was part of our church’s day care next door to our house. Part of our back yard was their playground, and he was there as I came out our back door. I quickly realized that he was asking because of the sandals I was wearing, and in that question probably revealed how little he had been exposed to the Bible and the Gospel in his short life. But the question he was asking was far more profound than either of us knew that afternoon.

In fact, the question has stayed with me all these decades since. Are you Jesus? In one sense, nothing could be easier to answer. Jesus lived centuries ago, walking the dusty roads of the Middle East. He was the Son of God, sinless in all He said and did, with incredible powers to work miracles and to influence people. Of course I’m not Jesus. The very idea is indeed laughable.

But I don’t get off that easily. In fact, as I think back, knowing a little of his community and the possibilities in his life, he might not have had a lot of exposure to Jesus in his young life. I hope he had seen Jesus in Ted, the school’s director, in his teacher and other school staff throughout the day, and yes, just maybe in me.

And so I think of others . . . have I been Jesus to my wife, my kids? To the man or woman who walks through my office door, calm and smooth and maybe even celebrating on the outside, but full of struggles and uncertainties and questions deep inside, am I Jesus? To the clerk at the store, whom I often fail to even see as an actual person, am I Jesus?

And sometimes, I can say yes . . . for a brief moment I was Jesus to someone. But during this season of Lent I am far more aware of the times I’ve failed and have been far less than Jesus in someone’s life. And in this period of self-searching I realize it’s really up to me. Centuries ago, in a lonely garden outside Jerusalem, Jesus settled it, made up His mind that He would be Jesus in me or anyone else who would share His life. And at that I can only marvel. But the closer I live to Him, the more I spend time with Him; the more I become Jesus. (And even as I write that I cringe at the audaciousness of that thought.)

“Are you Jesus?” For more than 40 years that question has kept interrupting my thoughts. I hope it always does.