6.17.09

I’m wresting again today with teaching the Gospel. By “again” I mean I still don’t have it all figured out, like it wasn’t an overnight change. Go figure.

I talked with a lot of students today about who Jesus was and is. And I didn’t talk to them in class either. They all approached me during the interval breaks, asking really good questions about how to relate to Jesus. One girl asked the question if we are to be like Jesus, and Jesus hung out with sinners a lot, how are we to hang out with those people immersed in sinful lifestyles and not be pulled down in our faith as a result. What a good question. One I didn’t have the answer to. Another student asked if Jesus lived a life of generosity, how can we learn the balance of being good stewards of our money, specifically in saving to go to university. Again, I didn’t have an answer. And it felt really good to not have to have the answers. It was so refreshing to say, Well, here’s how I’m guessing Jesus would live in that situation, but the guy lived a life that surprised everyone (especially the religious) by demanding high sacrifice from His followers (like sell everything you have, give it to the poor and then follow Me) and by giving an unlimited degree of grace (like asking the woman caught in adultery everyone wanted to stone, “where are those who condemn you?... go and sin no more”).

Another conversation came today. In this one I did have the answer to the student’s question, but not to her problem. Sandfrii is the hardest student I have ever met; “hard” in reference to her countenance, her heart. She lets no one in and gives nothing out, and now I don’t blame her. She came to me this morning before class and asked if we could talk about something personal that had to do with our last class (the non-churchy Jesus, the One who loves sinners and eats with whores).

“I was wondering, Miss Amy, do you think, if Jesus loves sinners, that He could love rape victims, too.”

Everything she said resounded with every hurt she didn’t. She told me about being raped last year and how her father, her only male advocate, died this past April. Like I said, I knew this theological answer, but I had no answer to fix the deeper issue. I gave the “answer” that yes, Jesus absolutely adores rape victims, has deep hurt and anger over what happened to them. I also told her I didn’t know what else to say, that I couldn’t fix this for her. I knew the One with salve for the wound, but I’m not the Doctor.

So we sat and cried. Together. Then the bell rang. We dried our eyes and went to class.

I’m not used to this. Saying that I don’t know, I mean. I usually have the answers, or at least pretend to. I’ve been taught to have all the answers. It’s what I’m studying to do at Moody, isn’t it? I’ve been taught to answer with systematic answers. You know, plug in the problem to the “theology equation” and out pops the answer. But Jesus, the Being we are learning to have a restored relationship with, wasn’t systematic (makes me wonder where we got the idea of “systematic theology”). I’ve been treating theology (and sometimes, I’m ashamed to admit, the Bible as well) like a vending machine. I’ve traded spitting theology for giving the hungry bread. I’ve traded it for the silence and appropriate to situations like Sandfrii’s. I’ve traded it for Jesus Christ, Himself.

This is so different for me. I’m so different. I can’t explain how it started or what provoked the change, but here it is. I’m not always right, a harsh word has no place on my tongue, I know I’m loved for who I am, the pride in my heart is melting into compassion for the outcast, I don’t always know, I’m learning to be teachalbe, my faith is not programmed … all because this Jesus is not the same man I knew before. This God is not the god of organized religion that I have worshiped for so long. There aren’t words for the sensation in His throne room, now that I’m encountering Him outside the confines of my tradition.

I’m scared to be on this journey I’ve started. There aren’t railings along this trail. This path isn’t paved or well worn. This way not comfortable, nor is it safe. It’s among the trees and thorn bushes and along the streams of water and through fields of overwhelming expanse.

But that’s the adventure of Jesus, right?

“I need to be reminded of who I was when I took that first step out the door. All I said, now follows me around. I’m reminded I’m not like that anymore. I uprooted, and miles behind me are the faces and the home I love.

You’ve brought to my attention I’m slowly changing and becoming who I wanted to start. And isn’t that just like You.

I find I [set] out with such righteous indignation, and now I’m at Your feet. Could You look at me with some imagination.

Remind me why You woke me up and why You wake me every morn.

…

Just stay close, stay close, because I know my own mind. I set out with a righteous indignation so when I’m at Your feet please look at me with some imagination.”
(Bethany Dillion lyrics)