grace given me

Have you ever noticed how differently two people can describe the same thing? I’m sure you’ve heard examples like when a couple was asked to describe a home across the street, one said it was tall and white while the other only mentioned the landscaping and large green trees. Neither is untrue, just incomplete, or from a limited perspective. I recently asked a handful of people to describe me in a number of words. By some I was described as bubbly, happy, and approachable whereas at work I have been called measured, serious, and tough. By some I was described as nurturing and helpful, yet I’ve been advised I need to work on including and bringing others along. Several described me as empathetic but my mom has laughingly told my sisters and I that none of us got her sympathy bone.

In a new book I am reading, The Jesus I Never Knew, Philip Yancey describes the Jesus he was introduced to as a child: “someone kind and reassuring, with no sharp edges at all.” He explains that as a child he felt comforted by such a person. I think many of us started out with a Jesus like that, but then life got real. As we became adults, life turned out to be complex and the world grew tumultuous. That Jesus wasn’t all that helpful when attempting to build a life in a demanding world. That Jesus wasn’t as reassuring as I had hoped when bad things were happening around me. That Jesus certainly wasn’t very fun as I pursued the pleasures of life.

Yancey goes on to describe different versions of Jesus he became acquainted with over time: the ‘cosmic Christ’ he was urged to develop a friendship with, the radical revolutionary Christ his social justice friends wanted him to know, the studied, scrutinized Christ he was encouraged to dissect but ultimately left him feeling distant. It got me thinking about other versions I have known or heard of: the teacher Christ who imparts good lessons, the healer Christ who performs miracles ‘in revival-like settings,’ the Father Christmas Christ who brings gifts and good cheer, the anti-materialistic Christ who wants everyone to be like Mother Teresa, the anti-hypocritical Christ who can’t possibly have followers who are hypocrites, the pro-love Christ who accepts everything, the pro-peace Christ who wouldn’t condone confrontation.

In the Bible, Jesus asked his disciples, “Who do people say I am?” They reply with some names of people Jesus has been mistaken for. He then asks the disciples, “But what about you? Who do you say I am?” It got me thinking, if he were standing before you right now, asking you that question, who would you say he is? 

How much do you know about him? Would your description be based on the Jesus you became familiar with as a child? Would it be influenced by what other people have told you about him? Would your description be determined just by Christmas? Would it be tainted by your troubles and hurts from this world? You might be surprised. He might be coming up short because you have inadvertently painted him as an ineffectual “soft guy” unable to help you in this hard world. He may be letting you down because you thought him to be a genie in a bottle and you are still waiting for your wish. He might be looking limited and powerless because you have put him into a neat little box. I am reminded of Talladega Nights when Ricky Bobby prays, “Dear eight-pound, six-ounce, newborn infant Jesus…” and then goes on to say, “Well, I like the Christmas Jesus best and I’m saying grace. When you say grace, you can say it to grownup Jesus, or teenage Jesus, or bearded Jesus or whoever you want.” Which Jesus are you saying grace to?

What we have known about Jesus and then what we have experienced in life can leave us in a blur. One of my favorite authors, Donald Miller, said that when he was lost and confused about who this man really was, he read the Gospels only (Matthew, Mark, Luke, John in the New Testament) ten times to grasp Jesus—fully man, fully God. Yancey says, “… with great consistency I found that whenever I returned to the Gospels themselves the fog seemed to lift.” The Gospels clearly provide an anchor, yet they can also be a riddle. At points, even the disciples question who Jesus is. There is no airtight proof of Jesus’ identity. Yet this vagary is the very thing he risks to invite us into a fresh, real, powerful relationship with him. There is this foundational truth that is offered and yet you have to connect your own dots. 

Lord, I want to know you, really know you. I want to shed outdated notions of who I thought you were and the limitations I put on you. I cherish that you risked being misunderstood, mischaracterized, and mislabeled for something so much greater. It can be scary but I love that you are not formulaic. Without your revelation, our finite minds just cannot fully comprehend you. Please bring us personal, unique, vibrant revelation. Help us to surrender to and embrace this larger than life love you have for us. Amen.