“There were so many other things that Jesus did that if all of them were to be written down, I think not even the whole of the universe could hold all the books that could be composed. Amen” (John 21.25).
The current estimate is that the universe—the vast expanse of stars, galaxies, nebulae, and so much else—stretches out to a diameter of about ninety-three billion light-years. A light-year is about 5.9 trillion miles.
And that’s just what astronomers call the “observable universe.” That’s as far as light could have travelled to reach us in the almost fourteen-billion years of our universe’s existence. It’s likely (though we can’t prove it) there are whole star systems we aren’t even able to see; because the universe continues to expand.
The universe, then, is huge. Beyond conception big. So large that I doubt the author of this Gospel had any idea how enormous a library they were talking about.
Personally, the idea of a space of such incredible size filled to its brim with books is…well what I hope some portion of Heaven is like. Add in one of those rolling ladders attached to the shelves and comfy chairs and you’ll know where to find me the first two or three millennia of eternity.
Now, I imagine that even the most literal of interpreters see this language as hyperbole. This isn’t a factual statement about what would be required to record everything Jesus did. Even if you were to record everything Jesus did during the years of his ministry—every meal, every time he brushed his teeth, every time he put his head in his hand and shook his head because of something the disciples said—that would probably fill a small section of the smallest library.
But, what if the author really did mean it like it’s written? What if we really are meant to take this idea at face value?
I know, I’m saying that right after saying that even if you wrote down everything you would have nowhere near enough books to occupy a significant part of a small town much less the cosmos around us. Human lives, even that of God Incarnate, can only encompass so many activities. Much of our time here is spent asleep. And we all spend much of our waking hours waiting, standing in lines or checking to see if the water has boiled.
It’d be great if we had more about Jesus’ life. As an itinerant minister, he spent much of his time on the road. What conversations both meaningful and mundane passed between he and his followers as they moved from town to town? Did he tell jokes and about silly things he’d seen along the way around the fire at night? I’d love to have those.
But none of that is the doing, the deeds that Jesus did. Sure, there were many dinners and crowds that didn’t make it into the four Gospel accounts. Still, none of it could possibly add up to so many books about this one man that they’d fill a universe.
Unless it wasn’t just about him. Least, not about what he physically did.
Jesus told a story about when all is said and done and everyone gathers before God. Those who acted kindly toward another—giving food, water, a warm blanket—are told that they were sharing that love with Jesus, as though in our dealing with one another we’re also encountering the Risen One. We’re all, in a sense, Jesus to one another.
That, of course, runs both ways. As you treat me as though I’m Jesus in need, I am receiving love, kindness, and caring from Jesus who is acting through you. It’s that mysterious way that even without being here, our Beloved is always present, continuing to move amongst us.
Which means the record of Jesus’ deeds isn’t complete. The grand statement at the close of this Gospel account isn’t the last word on the things Jesus did in this world; because, those actions are still underway. The record of all that Jesus has done is still being written.
And we can be part of that record. One whose volumes will outnumber the stars.
Ever-living One, may we be part of your continuing work, agents of the love that encompasses the whole of the cosmos.