Icons of Christ

This article was published in the September to December 2026 edition of Rapport magazine.

Christie:

The coastal path from Lynmouth to Lee Abbey Devon rolls and climbs the way the Exmoor cliffs do – relentlessly, gloriously and steeply – enough to make a middle-aged body rethink its choices. Our little family of three had set out more than five hours earlier, on what was meant to be an afternoon walk. We’re the kind of family that says ‘yes’ to a long hike, and Jeff (dad, husband, chief route-planner) had taken us five miles on each of the previous two days, so when he said this one would be ‘a beautiful walk’, we assumed he meant five miles long. We should have wondered why he didn’t tell us the distance as we were leaving.

We were nearing the nine-mile mark as we passed back through Lynmouth from Watersmeet. My legs were burning. My 50-year-old hips were protesting. And the beloved, trusted father of our children, with his cheeky smile, was losing his appeal. He was starting to look like someone whose legs I’d quite like to – ever so gently – cut off, just so he might share in my suffering.

In the garden

Which is, of course, almost exactly what Peter did – not on a coastal path, but in a garden.
Tensions had been mounting for Peter: he knew the shame of not being able to support his Rabbi in prayer, and now these arrogant men were arriving on the scene, with Judas leading the charge. Swords and clubs were carried under the cover of darkness. Peter felt the betrayal alongside his friend as Judas’ kiss prompted the fury of a staged arrest. He drew his sword and slashed off the ear of the guard nearest to him. His actions, understandable to us, must have grieved Jesus on top of the rejection he was already feeling. Hadn’t he told them – hadn’t he modelled the posture of the new kingdom enough? ‘Love your enemies’ (Luke 6:27). Relational presence in the face of pain – a new way.

Look at the contrast. As Judas approached for that pivotal kiss, Jesus called him friend – a reminder, even now, of the relationship that reigns over betrayal. ‘Put away your sword, Peter’ (Matt 26:52). Where Peter’s instinct to slash and dash reigned supreme, Jesus held the line of relationship, always considering his Father, always considering the other: bringing healing instead of retaliation, prophetic questions in the face of injustice. ‘Am I some dangerous revolutionary? Why didn’t you arrest me in the daylight of my everyday temple teachings?’ (Mark 14:48–9, paraphrased)

The same offence. Two men. Two responses: one reached for the sword, the other reaches for the man.

A window, not a painting

In the Eastern Christian tradition, an icon is an image meant to be a window that draws the eye through the image to the One it reveals. Paul says in essence that our sanctification is our becoming an icon of Christ – one who reveals his image: ‘And we all, with unveiled faces, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another’ (2 Cor. 3:18). In the garden, Jesus modelled the essence of his nature: One who loves even his enemies. To handle conflict like Jesus is to become, in small and ordinary moments, a window through which others glimpse him.

Why we slash

Unfortunately, we are often more like Peter – even those of us who have been following Jesus a long time. In the face of conflict or trigger, we slash instead of love. Researchers who study how our brains handle threat have noticed a pattern. When we feel attacked, betrayed or pressed past our capacity, a small relational engine in our brain can switch off and move us into what Jim Wilder calls enemy mode.¹ The people we normally enjoy begin to look like enemies we want to defeat, avoid or attack. We lose flexibility, patience and curiosity; cravings rise, self-control flies out of the window. In this state, we lose the ability to see the person in front of us as someone we care about. The sword comes out.

Chris Coursey, in Transforming Fellowship,² describes the alternative: staying relationally online – anchored, curious, still able to feel warmth toward the person who has just disappointed us – still able to see them as a who, not a what.

This is what Jesus modelled in the garden. His relational switch never flipped. Even as Judas approached with a kiss, Jesus was still relationally present to him – still addressing him as friend: himself anchored deeply enough in the Trinitarian community of love to stay open under the worst possible provocation.

Becoming the icon

To be an icon of Jesus is not to be impressive. It is not to be perfect. We will still feel the sword-hand twitch, like I did that day above Lynmouth. It is, instead, the power of Jesus’ Spirit in us, helping us choose the way of Jesus. We choose to stay relationally online – loving the person in front of us, trusting that the Father will hold us in our own emotional pain.

The path to being an icon of Jesus is not white-knuckled willpower. It is the slow, gentle work of letting ourselves be loved by the One who first called us friend: remembering, in the heat of the moment, whose we are. The path to this Jesus way of living begins simply by being aware of when our circuits have gone offline, and quietly, without shame, finding our way back.

Jeff:

I grew up in a sports culture where enemy mode wasn’t a glitch – it was the point: beat the other guy, dominate, win! Decades on, I still feel it on the basketball court. Christie and I co-founded Bicester Badgers five years ago – a community club aimed at forming young men who have healthy bodies, minds and spirits: kingdom culture on the court – that’s the vision. And yet, in the heat of a match – embarrassed by an opponent’s clever play, frustrated by my own poor form – enemy mode switches on. My elbows get sharper. My words become unloving. The friends I came to love and serve start to look like obstacles in front of me. What pulls me back is rarely my own willpower. It’s usually one of the other Christians on the court – a glance, a quiet word, my name spoken. They are slowly rewiring me, helping me remember whose I am: loved by Jesus, called to make him visible – even here.

We are being changed from one small degree of glory to another, into the image of the One who, in a garden full of swords, chose friendship over retaliation. This change begins and cements itself within a Jesus community, with others on the same journey.

We would love to welcome you to spend a week with us at Lee Abbey this October, learning to live more deeply in the ways of Jesus in the warmth of Community on the North Devon coast. And if Jeff invites you on a walk, ask how far he intends to go.

Jeff and Christie Lothamer

1. Escaping Enemy Mode, Jim Wilder, Ray Woolridge et al. (2022: Moody) ↩︎
2. Transforming Fellowship, Chris Coursey (2016: Shepherd’s House) ↩︎