I reckon living with Jesus could at times be a major headache.
I think we have a fairly idealised view of what Jesus was like, and by extension, what life with him was like. I can think of at least two factors that fuel this fairytale notion (I’m sure there are more). First, the childhood image of “gentle Jesus, meek and mild” still persists somewhere in our psyche. Second, in evangelical circles at least, we often have a romanticised view of Jesus. We sing love songs to him as though he was our boyfriend, and we imagine and describe him as someone who always makes us feel good and is just dedicated to making our life as wholesome and awesome as possible.
But what was life really like for those who lived and breathed with the walking, talking Jesus in first century Palestine?
My hunch is that Jesus consistently confounded the expectations of even those closest to him.
Consider Peter. We are well acquainted with his faults, chief among which were his rashness and his tempestuous temper. But we also know that this is the same Peter who was perhaps the first to see Jesus for who he really was, and who Jesus commended and called out as the rock on whom he would build his church. Pretty heady stuff.
Peter had given up his livelihood – indeed, his whole life as he knew it – to follow this wandering prophet-teacher. He had no doubt endured at least some degree of hardship and scorn as a result. It would not be unreasonable to assume that he must have felt pretty good following Jesus’ accolade. Perhaps he felt some satisfaction that all his sacrifice was at last beginning to be rewarded. Perhaps his nagging doubts about whether it had all been a monumental mistake finally began to dissipate. Perhaps his heart swelled with gratitude (and maybe even a touch of pride) to have been recognised by the Teacher as the one who had received special revelation and the one to whom the keys of the kingdom would be given.
We don’t know whether it was part of the same immediate conversation, or whether it was shortly afterwards, but scripture tells us that Jesus very soon put Peter in his place. As Jesus began to speak of his impending suffering and death, Peter, no doubt feeling some responsibility as the recognised visionary and “chosen one” of the group, took him aside and told him to stop talking that way. Jesus responded with characteristic bluntness: “Get behind me, satan! You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.” (Matthew 16:23).
To say this stinging rebuke must have felt like a slap in the face for Peter is surely an understatement. I imagine he must have been left reeling. All his questions, doubts and fears must have come rushing back with a vengeance.
My point is that even those who were handpicked by Jesus to breathe the same air as him, witness his miracles first hand and share in his most intimate moments could not work him out. Even those whom he designated as the ones who would go on to turn the world upside down through the gospel never quite knew what he would say to them or how he would deal with them from one moment to the next.
I’m not suggesting that, as followers of Jesus, we should live in a state of perpetual unease and edginess. But it seems clear to me that whenever we think we have Jesus all worked out, whenever we think we can predict with certainty exactly what he would say and do, we are at the very least being highly presumptuous, and at worst setting ourselves up for a mighty fall. (Which, perhaps, is just what we need at such times.)
Jesus was known as the friend of sinners, and it is our privilege to know him as a friend. But let us not presume to have dissected, analysed and neatly categorised him. The day when Jesus can no longer speak a word that shocks us to the core is the day when, just maybe, we have replaced the real, raw Jesus who is the Lion of Judah just as much as he is the Lamb of God with a softly-spoken, all-affirming Jesus of our own making.
[ Image: James Shepard ]
