So
you’re confused. Tired. Exhausted. Longing for more or something different but
never really sure what that looks like. You’re done with trying, running,
longing, serving, giving and making a new hundred-and-one resolutions to be
better than who you are right now. Suffocating in religious legalism. Trying so
hard to be average and yet constantly drowning in dreams to be
larger-than-life. Stumbling along by experiencing Jesus only occasionally. Its
like we’ve been going to school for a decade and yet remain illiterate. Or
referring someone you love to a doctor and yet despite treatment they not only
failed to recover from cancer but contracted HIV, hepatitis, and gangrene. A
system of falsehood that disappoints frustrates and leaves you limping down a
road of endless works. Consumed with a nonstop performance-orientated
existence. Manipulated by preaches on faithfulness and commitment that has
wound you into pleasing man for years by a good attendance schedule. Craving a
genuine heart-altering life of impact. A life where people see Him and not you.
A life where His life flows tangibly in and through you. You’re sick of the one
stringed guitar, the note being banged out for years. The religious fog of a
two-dimensional Jesus who is portrayed by a chorus of unanimous voices we no
longer argue with. Our pet hamsters have more personality than the Christ we live
for. Love and compassion are virtues that turn sickly sweet, soft and limp.
We’ve created a vacuum in which we misunderstand him. Despite the vandalizing
of Jesus Christ by religion and the world, he is still alive and very much
himself. Jesus has a tone of voice, something deep in his eyes, the lift of an
eyebrow, a suppressed smile, tilt of the head, an unflinching gaze. He is
playful, cunning, fierce, impatient with all that is religious, kind, creative,
truthful, blunt, emotional, nonmanipulative, sensitive, generous, compassionate,
irreverent, intentional, funny, frequently embroiled in conflict – most of
which he provokes himself (healing on the Sabbath). He’s found on the beach,
catching his boys fishing, filling their empty nets and then having them to
breakfast. The relief comes in like a sea breeze on a muggy summer day
suffocating with the smell of mud and dead fish. Because it’s an answer to a
question we didn’t dare ask – that God himself knows how and when to be
playful. With us. He isn’t some religious, ethereal, ghost-like personality
gazing off into realms unknown, the image of Christ conjured up by so many
paintings and Sunday School art. He isn’t a bizarre interpretation. The Gospels
are filled with beautiful and haunting descriptions of the humanity of Jesus. He
is one mighty happy man. He is a man on a fire. He is a man on a mission. He is
a man who needs to get away and have room to grieve. Life affected Jesus. He will
always stop whatever he is doing to attend to someone in need. He never did
anything halfheartedly. He is the man who conquered death, ransomed mankind,
been restored to His father, his friends, and the world he made. He was the
hunted who became the hunter, as Jesus was crucified and descended into hell
personally to demand the keys from Satan. He faced a creature way more
terrifying than anything you’ve met in your nightmares and makes him bend the
knee. He is the afterglow of the greatest triumph of the greatest battle in the
history of the cosmos. And he created laughter. Isaac means “laughter”. God
gave that name to the son of the arthritic patriarch and his wrinkled wife.
We
don’t need any more speculation and debate.
We need the power of his indwelling
life, shaping our personality, healing our brokenness, enabling us to live as
he did.
We
need Jesus himself.
And
you can have him.
Really.
(Inspired by John Eldredge's book - "Beautiful Outlaw")
