The Art of Holy Pretending: When the Lord Draws Near by Drawing Back

Only twice in all of Scripture does this word appear—prospoiéomai, a verb that carries the weight of a divine game of hide-and-seek. The first time, in the Gospel of Luke, you find Yeshua walking the dusty road to Emmaus, and the text says He "made as though He would go further" (Luke 24:28). Here is the mystery: the risen Messiah, the One who has conquered death, pretends. He does forward for Himself, as the ancient root teaches—pros meaning "toward" and poieō meaning "to make" or "to do." He acts as if about to continue His journey, when in truth He has come precisely to stay. This word is not about deception; it is about the holy tension between divine intention and human invitation. The sages of Israel have long taught that the Holy One desires to be desired, that He draws near by stepping back, that He knocks by seeming to walk away.

The Grammar of the Middle Voice: Doing to Yourself What You Do for Others

Notice that prospoiéomai appears only in the middle voice. This is no accident of language, but a revelation of character. In Greek grammar, the middle voice indicates that the subject acts for or upon themselves. When Yeshua "makes as though," He is not performing for an audience—He is enacting a truth about how love works. The classical Greeks used this verb to describe feigning or pretending, often with negative connotations. But the New Testament, writing in the common tongue of the marketplace, takes this word and baptizes it into something new. The apostolic tradition teaches that the Lord's "pretending" is not a lie but a pedagogy. He draws back so that you may draw near. He seems to depart so that your heart may burn within you. The middle voice tells you: this action originates in the subject and returns to the subject. Yeshua's seeming departure is actually a means of deeper communion. As the Psalmist wrote, "Why do You hide Your face in times of trouble?" (Psalm 10:1)—the hiding itself becomes the invitation to seek.

The Septuagint Bridge: From Hebrew Concealment to Greek Intention

When the translators of the Septuagint sought to render the Hebrew Scriptures into Greek, they faced a profound challenge: how to translate the concept of divine concealment. In the Hebrew scrolls, you find the verb chavah, meaning "to show" or "to make known," and its opposite, sathar, meaning "to hide." But prospoiéomai captures something between showing and hiding—a deliberate act of appearing to do one thing while intending another. Consider the story of Joseph, who "made himself unknown" to his brothers (Genesis 42:7, LXX). The Greek translators used a different verb there, but the pattern is the same: the righteous one conceals his identity to test the hearts of his brothers. The early church understood this as a type of the Messiah, who hides His glory so that faith may be born. The rabbis of old observed that the Holy One sometimes veils His presence precisely to draw out the deepest love. In the LXX book of Job, you find the suffering servant crying out, "Oh, that I knew where I might find Him!" (Job 23:3)—and the answer is that the finding comes through the seeking. Prospoiéomai bridges the Hebrew sense of divine hiddenness and the Greek sense of intentional action. The Lord does not hide carelessly; He hides purposefully, as a father hides his face in a game of peek-a-boo, waiting for the child to call out in delight.

The Emmaus Encounter: Where the Word Comes Alive

Luke's Gospel gives you the only narrative use of this verb, and it is worth sitting with the scene. Two disciples, their hopes shattered by the crucifixion, walk away from Jerusalem. The risen Yeshua joins them, but their eyes are "holden" that they should not recognize Him (Luke 24:16). He walks with them, explains the Scriptures, and causes their hearts to burn. Then, at the evening meal, He takes bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to them. And in that moment, their eyes are opened. But immediately after their recognition, the text says Yeshua "vanished out of their sight" (Luke 24:31). The prospoiéomai at the beginning of the journey finds its completion in the aphantos (vanishing) at the end. He comes, He pretends to leave, He stays, He reveals Himself, and He departs again. The apostolic tradition sees in this pattern the entire economy of salvation: the Lord comes near in the incarnation, seems to depart in the ascension, but remains present in the breaking of the bread. The early church father Ignatius wrote that the Eucharist is "the medicine of immortality"—and it is precisely in that sacred meal that the Lord's seeming absence becomes His most intimate presence.

The Nature of Divine Testing: Why the Lord Plays Hide and Seek

You might ask why the Holy One would employ such a strategy. Does He not know your heart? Does He need to test you? The answer lies in the nature of covenant love. In the Hebrew Scriptures, you find the Lord "testing" Abraham, "tempting" Israel in the wilderness, "hiding His face" from His people. These are not acts of ignorance but acts of intimacy. When Yeshua "made as though He would go further," He was giving the disciples a choice. Would they let Him go? Would they be satisfied with a brief encounter, or would they urge Him to stay? The ancient Jewish wisdom teaches that the world was created with the quality of hesed—lovingkindness—and that this quality requires a recipient who freely chooses to receive. The Lord's seeming departure creates the space for your invitation. He walks away so that you may run after Him. He pretends to leave so that you may cry out, "Stay with us, for it is toward evening, and the day is far spent" (Luke 24:29). Your very words of invitation become the answer to your own prayer.

Paul's Hidden Use: The Apostolic Pattern of Holy Pretense

While the apostle Paul never uses the verb prospoiéomai directly, his entire ministry echoes its pattern. Consider how Paul writes to the Corinthians: "I determined not to know anything among you, save Jesus Christ, and Him crucified" (1 Corinthians 2:2). He veils his wisdom to reveal the cross. Or consider how he becomes "all things to all men" (1 Corinthians 9:22)—he adapts, he seems to be one thing while being another, all for the sake of the gospel. The early church understood this as oikonomia, the divine economy of accommodation. God stoops to your level, speaks your language, meets you in your blindness. When the Lord seems to hide, He is actually making Himself accessible in the only way your limited vision can bear. The fathers of the faith observed that even the incarnation itself is a kind of prospoiéomai—the eternal Word "made as though" He were a man, taking the form of a servant, appearing in the likeness of sinful flesh (Philippians 2:7). He pretended to be what He was not, so that you might become what you were not. He took on your mortality so that you might share His immortality.

Messianic Fulfillment: The Hiddenness That Reveals

The entire life of Yeshua can be read through the lens of this single verb. From His hidden birth in Bethlehem to His hidden childhood in Nazareth, from His temptation in the wilderness to His transfiguration on the mountain, He continually veils His glory only to unveil it at the appointed time. The prophet Isaiah spoke of One who "would not cry, nor lift up, nor cause His voice to be heard in the street" (Isaiah 42:2). He would hide His power, His majesty, His very identity, until the moment of His revealing. And the greatest act of prospoiéomai occurred on the cross: the Son of God "made as though" He were a criminal, "made as though" He were abandoned by the Father, "made as though" He were defeated. But in that apparent defeat, He accomplished the greatest victory. The apostolic tradition teaches that the resurrection is the ultimate unveiling—the moment when the pretense ends and the glory is revealed. Yet even after the resurrection, Yeshua continues this pattern: He appears and disappears, He walks through walls and breaks bread, He ascends to heaven and promises to return. The hiddenness is not over; it has simply changed form. Now He hides in the Scriptures, in the sacraments, in the face of the poor, in the silence of prayer. He makes as though He is far off, but He is nearer than your next breath.

Your Call to Holy Longing: The Invitation Hidden in the Departure

And so, beloved, this ancient verb speaks directly to your soul. The Lord is even now walking the road with you, and He is making as though He would go further. He has come near in His Word, in His body, in His Spirit, but He does not force His presence upon you. He waits. He pretends to leave. He gives you the space to cry out, "Stay with me." Do not let Him pass by. Do not be satisfied with a casual encounter. When your heart burns within you as you read the Scriptures, that is His fire. When you sense His absence in your prayer, that is His presence in a deeper form. When the bread is broken and the cup is blessed, He is there, hidden in plain sight. The rabbis of old taught that the Holy One is the Place of the world, but the world is not His place—He contains all, yet He makes Himself small enough to dwell with the contrite. Your task is not to demand His unveiling, but to love Him in His veiling. Cry out to Him now: "Abide with me, fast falls the eventide." And He will. He always does. For He has only pretended to leave so that you might learn to truly hold. Amen.