Dirty Jesus

I think I have seen Jesus three times. Once in a a dive bar in Monte Rio. Monte Rio, California that is, on the Russian River. It's called the Pink Elephant and it is a great place to do, what my sister Shari affectionately refers to as, the hippie dance. She catches a star and puts it into her pocket, then sways to the feel of the music. Leather jackets, bandannas, drunken slurs in abundance, the night we were there held much promise. And it did not disappoint for half-way through our cup of spiced cider, we saw him. There, at the end of the bar, was Jesus.  Slouching over the leather rimmed top, hand absentmindedly on top of an emptied glass, long disheveled, half-dreaded hair in front of face, sat the man from Nazareth. "Look," I interrupted Shari's star catching, "It's Jesus." I swayed my head over my left shoulder in beat to the music. Shari gasped. I turned to see Jesus making-out with a woman who looked about fifty for the years of the streets reflected in her face, her messy hair and his all tangled into one. She could barely stand on her feet as she leaned into the sloppy interchange. "Dirty Jesus," I chastised. We laughed and put the stars in our pockets.

The other two times I saw Jesus were not as interesting. Once, when we were leaving the gas station, he was standing at the entrance with a blanket wrapped around him and a Bible in the envelope of his arm.  The other time was just today in Starbucks but it really doesn't count as I didn't verbally point it out to friends who were with me. I just couldn't decide if he looked like Jesus or Bob Dillon. He was a tall man with an untucked, oversized flannel shirt and jeans, very long unkempt hair, who oddly enough, was wearing a brand new, tag still attached, pair of yellow oven-mitt gloves to hold his coffee.  As I contemplated if he resembled the Son of Man or not, I started to think about how I determine if a man looks like Jesus or not. What is my criteria based on?

Jesus tells a parable about those who stand before him in judgment. He tells the righteous that when he was hungry, they fed him. When he was thirsty, they gave him a drink. "When did we see you Lord?" they insist. "When you did so unto the least of these," he responds.  So is Jesus the poor, the discarded, the ignored? Or is Jesus everyone who has need? And that means everyone, right?  In every situation, right?  From the biggest to the smallest. The glass of water in the middle of the night for my husband and the well dug for the people in the middle of Malawi.

I can see Jesus more clearly in the unruly hair than the clean cut shave of the business man. And culturally and contextually, yes, there is reason for this.  But I do this with the parable as well. Sometimes, for me, those that we have come to define as the "least of these" are easier to give to. But maybe this is just the starting point. This, in the very least, is what I should do, how I should see. Whatever form Jesus takes I want to be able to see Him wether that is at a run-down bar or at a gas station or in an over-priced coffee house. There is no criteria. There is only Jesus...everywhere.

Time in my Pocket

All the time in the world. I love this phrase. Does that include the past, the present, the future?  All the time in the world tied up and put in my pocket? Can I have it, really? Can I? Can I? But do I want it? That's a lot of minutes to account for.  Right now Ben and I do have mostly all the time in the world.  My mind for the first time, in a long time, has nothing to fixate on besides myself (which I do fixate on a lot anyway) and Ben (God help him). No lesson plans to prepare, papers to grade, presentations to make, studies to follow, lists of people to call, ministry to focus on, overwhelming inbox of emails, or wedding to plan. So what am I to do with all this time? I know people tell themselves over and over again that they would do this-or-that if only they had more time so what would I do? The answer is really I don't know what to do. With all the time in the world before me, I can't remember, for the life of me, what I have said I would do and I honestly really don't know what I want!

The pressure is almost unbearable but thankfully the the local massage therapy school offers free bio-mat sessions.  ( Side note: to make the most of our first year freedom and to build a strong foundation, Ben and I have been watching www.sonomaonthecheap.com.  Today's event: the bio mat! Tomorrow, Denny's free grand slam breakfast!)  Ben has picked up Biblical Greek and is enthusiastically studying like it is his job.   If it is not for a class though, I just don't have the motivation to discipline myself like that.  I think I would like to study Chinese more but when it comes down to it, I don't.  How about exercising? And the truth is that I just don't want to and on top of that I don't like to.

I have therefore come to the conclusion that we are all disillusioned. I know that it is a big statement, but I believe I do mean all of us.  If we had more time, we really won't do all those things that we say we would do because when it comes down to it, if we really wanted to do those things, we would do them. We would make time for them, somehow, someway.  (Maybe those with children are an exception to the "all" assumption I have made above. Children change everything including theories.) So this is what I have done with this gift of time so far: I have begun to write more, read more, respond to friends' emails  and phone calls quicker. I cook with Ben, we go to museums and city events, I have signed up for a writing workshop, we watch a lot of movies, we discuss and discuss and discuss, we take road trips, hike when the weather is nice, watch the sunset, invite friends over for dinner, and when I am not obsessing about the responsibility of time, Ben and I are simply together, fully together. Free of any time constraints, my mind is truly not wandering to all the things I should be doing or could be doing for there is nothing and we can truly engage! When I release the obsession with time equating to money and allow myself to simply be (I still am trying to figure out how to do that), Ben and I are together. This is my favorite thing that all this time has allowed, we get to be together. Really together and that is worth all the money and all the time in the world.

Maturity

Ben had just made the bed. In response, I immediately marched across the top of it and stared him in the face (a rare occasion as my husband is 6'5"). My playful eyes were met with a highly annoyed yet handsome hazel pair, only furthering my delight in my deviousness. "Why do I find immaturity so much fun right now?" I laughed a laugh of a young girl caught between princess and witch.  I kissed him, jumped off the bed, and hopped back to the kitchen where I resumed my grown-up duties.

Tuesday was the free day at the De Young museum in San Francisco.  My cousin James joined us. As we walked among the art and the artifacts, our conversation moved us through our own personal time-lines as well. We stopped in the sculpture garden and sat in a rounded room reminiscent of Star Wars, the home where Luke grew-up. James spoke of the design of the structure allowing for relationship between the horizontal and the vertical. I have always appreciated our talks. At lunch, over smoked turkey sandwiches and minestrone soup - a great deal for six dollars, we ventured into the topic of maturity. James' artist friend had joined us; he spoke of how he honestly feels "retarded in the maturation process" at least in the terms set by society.  The lifestyle that the professional artist often must succumb to before his/her endeavors are meet with financial recognition does not allow for one to put away money for retirement, make a down payment for a home, or even just pay off one's loans for that matter. Does a job that makes such an adequate income equate maturity?  If so, Ben and I are definitely immature as well.

I shared that as a woman coming into my thirties I felt that I too felt impeded in my maturing process. Not yet married as I left the twenties and not having any potential prospects at the time, I wondered how I would define that next stage of my life. No, I do not think that marriage equates maturity but this is what I was sensing around me.  Without marriage, what was the next marker in my life as a woman? (I know many very mature single women and I wonder how they would answer the question.)  James spoke of our natural physical development as well and how that plays into maturity. It was noted too that marriage does cause one to constantly think of someone other than oneself so this brings on a forced maturity in some.  Not to mention having children, the full responsibility of another life...We talked about equating maturity with the degree of responsibility you have.  Our conversation was very brief on the subject but it did leave me wondering about how we define maturity.

In my undergraduate studies, I focused on early adolescent development, ages 12-14 - the middle school years.  I think we go through a similar cycle with more developed variations again in our late twenties, a second adolescence of sorts,  or maybe the process has just been retarded. (I don't know where I heard this but it is said that today's thrity-year-olds were a few years ago twenty-year-olds in terms of level of maturity. Maybe it was just a group of moms who came up with this in order to understand why their boys were still living at home.) I also have recently been thinking about spiritual development, by this I mean how we come into our understanding of God and who we are in relation to him. Perhaps the growth in spiritual understanding can be parallel to what we experience as adolescents.

Early adolescents tend to identify themselves by their surroundings or rather who they surround (or don't surround) themselves with.  Moving away from the identity of "I am so-and-so's child",  they move towards "I am So-and-So's friend."   This is why adolescent groups are so strong and very cruel at times. They define themselves by saying "I am like you" and "I am definitely not like you!"

I see Christians doing this as well with their Christianity,  including me. Ben and I recently had a conversation with someone who no longer calls herself Christian because she does not see herself matched up to her parents' Christianity.  She also points to others she is not like. And eventually, I am sure, she will find a group that she is like. "This is me!" she will conclude and through it she will find her own understanding. When I first started thinking about the adolescent development in parallel with spiritual development, it was right after Ben and I had breakfast with her. As I shared my thoughts with Ben,  he asked me about the next stage, the final stage of development. According to the studies, adolescence ends around 21. In this stage, they may now seek their parents advice and even begin to relate to them more as friends. Their peer group becomes smaller with a few close friends.  They have answered the "Who am I?" question.  It is almost as if they now have a true sense of belonging for they can belong without that desperate need to belong for one's own self preservation - with their parents or with their peers.  And maybe this is the way with my relationship with Christianity. When my faith moves away from self-identiy and survival and acceptance, maybe I am on my way to maturity and I can relate to God as my friend and love others who are not like me rather than be threaten by them....

But these are just the beginnings of these thoughts and the topic is making me just want to go jump on the bed again. Maybe I will do it just to test Ben's grace towards me.  Perhaps my marriage needs to go through a process of maturing too.