There is a mystery in Christianity, which moves if you look at it too closely, which shifts in surprising ways. I guess that is why they call it “the mystery of Christ”. It is like one of those trick pictures, the ones with the young girl, then if you look again, it is an old woman, then a young girl, then an old woman, back and forth but never both at the same time and never perfectly clear which is the right one (because they both are right). For instance, the Trinity, the three-in-one God, is something that cannot be nailed down. It is the best metaphor for the unchanging God we long for, the personal God we seek, and the Spirit which we find in our seeking. But, it’s not something you can nail down. Then, there is the incarnation, the God-made-man, holy word encased in flesh, fully-human-fully-divine. I can understand the historical Jesus. I can worship a God that gives up his life for us. But, I can’t quite hold them both in my mind at the same time. I get one in my thoughts and then the other image comes around and shifts the whole scene. Just because I can’t nail them down doesn’t mean they aren’t absolutely true, or at least the truest version I know. Still, it’s slippery, isn’t it?
Another thing that is kind of slippery is how we relate to other Christians. Recently, I’ve seen some articles posted around Facebook about Christians behaving badly: not tipping waitresses in the name of the church, condemning the LGBT population, yelling at people in car crashes. The understandable refrain, from Christians, atheists and other people is, “That’s not very Christian of them!” I agree absolutely. How does stiffing waitresses, condemning our neighbors and screaming at accidental mishaps resemble the words of Christ? Not very much; not at all, actually. No one wants to be associated with “those type of Christians”. I sure am grateful to not be like them.
Whoa, something feels slippery to me here. Something seems too easy and too satisfying about my train of thought. I was just about to pray, “Thank you, God, for helping me to be understanding, kind and tolerant of those with differences. Thank you for giving me patience and generosity and thank you for helping me to be a good tipper.” Wait a minute? Isn’t that dangerously similar to the Publican who prays in the temple, “God, thank you that I am not like that other guy, that I fast and I tithe”? Remember him? Remember the hero of the story, the sinful tax collector who just prays, “God be merciful to me, a sinner (a poor tipper and a homophobe)” Oh boy--what the heck am I supposed to think now? I know that we’re supposed to love our neighbor and our enemy, so what if our neighbor and enemy are not loving others? How are we supposed to love hateful people and still stand on the side of love?
I am asking this question honestly, not rhetorically. I do not know the answer. I am a newly renewed Christian; living into this faith and trying to love instead of judge is a new thing for me. It seems like the minute I feel like I’m understanding something, I fall into pride and congratulate myself, and then I’m right back where I started. If some lady with a Jesus fish on her car cuts me off in traffic and then flicks me off, am I supposed to yell at her for being a hypocrite or pray for her? Or both? These are the things I think of while driving to work. (I know, I have been told I think too much.)
The disciples are the most direct models for followers of Christ that we have. They are the first generation, the eye-witnesses. I know they did not actually write the Gospels, but the Gospels are still our best evidence. Did the disciples act “very Christian”? Well, sometimes, but they certainly had their bad days. They fought with each other over seating arrangements, they wondered who would get the best reward in heaven, they misunderstood him, they denied him and they (one of them did) betrayed him. And they actually hung out with the guy in person! If they screwed it up, what hope do I have at all?
Maybe the answer is in the relationship with others. If my best friend is having a bad day and goes off on someone who cut her off, would I condemn her? No, I would sympathize with her frustration, without letting her off the hook for being a jerk. I would try to help her see things differently so she didn't treat people so poorly in her anger. What would it be like to treat all the people I encounter in my life like I treat those dearest to me? Is it possible to love a nasty person without validating their nasty behavior? Is that the point? I better not get too excited about my hypothesis, because I’ll get it wrong soon enough.
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