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.