Immersed

Luke 10: 38-39 

The pungent smell of roasting lamb mixes with the subtle notes of earth and sweat, such as comes from a group of men who have spent the last few hours walking in the intense summer heat. A casual observer might wonder what brought such an eclectic group together. Several are dressed in simple and rugged attire, such as might fit a humble fisherman. One member of this category compulsively taps his right foot against the dirt floor. The relentless movement evidently irritates his neighbour, a short man with a slight perpetual scowl. Although his dress is also relatively simple, a confident demeanor set off by the flash of two golden rings on his right hand suggests a more ludicrous profession- perhaps a lawyer or even a tax collector. Two men bearing a close resemblance sit side by side in the corner of the room. Even if they did not share common features, the way they constantly bicker suggests a kind of close rivalry typically shared by siblings. Although the space is small, it hosts a multitude of diverting details and interactions. However, all of this is completely lost on one lone figure, anchored silently to the floor directly in front of the Teacher. The circus of activity settles into a profound stillness as she absorbs His presence. The chorus of sounds fades into obscurity as she fixes her complete attention on His every word.

What does it look like to be fully immersed? Are there any memories or images that come to mind when you read this word? Perhaps a deep conversation with a soul friend, a really good book that temporarily transported you to another universe, or a clear starry night far away from city lights. When I reflected on my focus word for 2026, I came back to Luke’s depiction of Mary sitting at the feet of Jesus. This passage has always had a very special place in my heart. I remember as a young girl, my dad holding me on his lap and explaining that my two names Jisca (to behold) and Maria (Mary) were inspired by this encounter. He would often pray that wherever life would bring me, I would always find my home at the feet of Jesus. This passage has become a kind of anchor for me through many seasons, but has taken on a new meaning as I step in a new year. 

I think I have a little more empathy for Martha than I used to. Life with two-year-old Aurora and four-year-old Ana is a deeply challenging, refining, rewarding, and sometimes chaotic ride. Between putting paw patrol bandaids on little mosquito bites, finding creative ways to promote eating vegetables, washing ketchup stains out of clothes, and trying to find answers for every “why” question under the sun, many days I do not find much time to eat or drink, much less immerse myself in anything. 

Add in the world of social media, where everything comes in shiny bite-sized packages, encouraging quick consumption much more than mindful digestion. In five minutes of mindless scrolling, I could easily watch a collection of reels on mindful running, how to build a ukulele from scratch, the importance of active listening, and a flash mob choir singing out of apartment windows downtown Madrid. And yet, curiously when I put my phone down I find myself feeling no more mindful, creatively inspired, or connected. If you are anything like me, you may have moments or seasons where the word “immerse” automatically brings underlying feelings of defeat, guilt, or annoyance. 

Being fully present is hard. Full stop. Actively listening to a friend without mentally checking out or jumping ahead. Regularly sitting with God in prayer. These things are not automatic, and can take a great deal of intentionality. And yet, as I read reflections by individuals who learned to foster meaningful lives and deep relationships, I am increasingly convinced that this practice is essential. Living in a world where we constantly juggle many things like Martha, and yet learning to sit immersed in the presence of Jesus and others like Mary. 

Psychologist Carl Rogers left a wealth of research on the value of simply being present with another person. He once wrote these words: 

“When a person realizes he has been deeply heard, his eyes moisten. I think in some  real sense he is weeping for joy. It is as though he were saying, ‘Thank God, somebody heard me. Someone knows what it’s like to be me.’”

There is a time for advice and for relating personal experience. However, I think it is so easy to underestimate the power of simply experiencing another person with undivided attention. Mitch Albom highlights this when recounting his final memories of sitting with his dying professor Morrie Schwartz:

“Those who sat with him saw his eyes go moist when they spoke about something   horrible, or crinkle in delight when they told him a really bad joke… I believe many visitors in the last few months of Morrie’s life were drawn not because of the attention they wanted to pay to him but because of the attention he paid to them. Despite his personal pain and decay, this little old man listened the way they always wanted someone to listen.” (Tuesdays with Morrie)

I am often reminded of this simple truth as a parent. The best instagram pictures might come from trips to the safari or the beach. But the best real-life moments are often utterly ordinary. Times when I am fully present with the girls- traveling with Ana through her imaginary mermaid kingdoms and delighting in the way Aurora kinkles up her nose every time she gets into mischief.

The experience of being seen, heard and known by another can be deeply moving and healing. But all humans are limited and biased. As a therapist and as a mother, I am often reminded that even with my very best effort, I can only partially know and understand another person. This makes me wonder, what would it be like to regularly sit in the presence of the only One who fully sees, hears and knows me? David often explored this question in the Psalms, expressing a deep longing to be immersed in the presence of God in passages like Psalm 27:4:

“One thing I have desired of the Lord/ That will I seek/ That I may dwell in the house of the Lord/ All the days of my life/ To behold the beauty of the Lord/ And to inquire in His temple.”

David frequently expressed the deep joy, healing and peace he discovered in this place:

“You have put gladness in my heart/ More than in the season that their grain and wine increased. I will both lie down in peace and sleep/ For you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.” (Psalms 4:7-8)

During His life on earth Jesus was the perfect teacher, imparting many transformative words of truth. But He was also the perfect therapist, taking the time to see, hear, and fully know the people He came in contact with. Before teaching the woman at the well about living water, He explored her failed marriages and painful attempts to find love (John 4:1-42). Before speaking the words that would bring Lazerus back to life, Jesus took time to deeply mourn and grieve with his family (John 11:33). I wonder if at some point these individuals wept for joy as they internalized some form of Carl Roger’s words: “Someone knows what it’s like to be me.” 

In his book The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry, John Mark Comer writes “Hurry and love are incompatible.” Take a moment to read this sentence again. The act of being actively present with God and others is not a disposable luxury. It is not a noble concept created for another time. It is the currency of love. Sometimes I wonder what happened next, when Mary got up and resumed normal life. Maybe she had young children to care for. Or maybe she went back to cooking lamb, washing dirty feet,  and sweeping the floor. Either way, I imagine that nothing appeared quite the same after being immersed in the presence of Jesus.