There is so much to know about Jesus, so much more than we could ever know. The scriptures, for all of their accounts and stories of Christ, only capture but a sliver of His Personhood.
He is infinite. He is immeasurable.
And yet, I so often wonder about Him, as a boy, as a young man, as the Lamb. I wonder about His humanity, instead of always trying to grapple with His divinity.
I imagine Him as a child hiding behind His mother’s skirt. I picture Him in fields, running alongside His brothers being soaked in the sunlight. I see Him laying down to bed, praying a prayer to His Father–a prayer filled with gratitude and intimacy.
Of course, while there is so much more to know of Him, we have to be content with the little details we hold now, knowing too that His work on the cross is neither tarnished nor undermined by our lack of details regarding His life.
Somewhere along the way, in our politically-correct, touchy-feely, walk on eggshells, be-tolerant culture, it stopped being okay to hate. The word “hate” has actually become a banned word. No, there hasn’t been an official ban on the word, but no one is walking around talking about the things they hate.
We can be opposed to something. Resist something. Object to something. Politely disagree with someone. But what we cannot do, what we are told is unconscionable, is hating anything, because hating something means we are operating in black and white. Right or wrong. Good or evil.
The problem, however, is less and less people believe in the idea of good and evil. Black and white makes them uncomfortable. Truth makes them squirm. The in-betweeness of gray, is a much more comfortable place to dwell–the uncertainty of life, as it were.
But, I believe in right and wrong, Light and darkness. Good and evil. I believe in God and God hates. Oh, we don’t like acknowledging that fact. We would rather run a thick, black, permanent marker over those passages of scripture.
In general, I like to avoid writing about divisive people. I find no joy or profit to be had in writing about someone with whom I theologically or fundamentally disagree. I don’t like to pick fights, as it were. And, as I’ve said before, I never want to stir up controversy for controversy’s sake (despite what some might believe).
But recent events have driven me to take notice. What I once shrugged off as Christian banter, I now recognize as something much more. I now know that Mark Driscoll has a lot of enemies, those who would desire to see him fail, be fired, or worse. And well, I just wanted to let Mark Driscoll know that he is my new best friend. You see… Continue reading Mark Driscoll is My New Best Friend
The other day, I was relating a story to my husband about something great God had done. “Yeah, and then God did this and then He did that. He healed them. He saved them! It was awesome. You know, God is good. Blah, blah, blah.”
My husband immediately caught my slip and burst out laughing. “God is good. Blah, blah, blah?” he asked.
I hadn’t even realized I’d said it, but I had meant it. I had be re-telling a story about God’s awesomeness, His power, His redemption and I just reduced His goodness to “blah, blah, blah.”
A couple of months ago, I wrote a post called The Twitter Gospel. I asked people, if they had to share the Gospel in 140 characters or less, what they would say. I loved reading the unique, thoughtful, concise, yet powerful responses roll in.
More recently, my husband and I have begun discussing what it would look like if you had to describe your faith in one word. That’s it. No flourishes. No explanation. Just one word.
And then last week, a video called Why I Hate Religion, but Love Jesus, began to make its way around the Internet, primarily bombarding Facebook and YouTube (Here it is, in case you are one of the 11 million who hasn’t seen it).
The hubster and I took the bait, like so many others, and pressed play on said video. I grumbled a few times. “That’s so not true,” I exclaimed. “I totally disagree.” But, by the end of the video, I shrugged my shoulders and thought, yeah, I get the point he’s trying to make, even if I don’t agree with each and every word.
Then I watched and read, as some bloggers, Facebook friends, and others either passionately agreed or vehemently disagreed with the message of the video. Some thought it was pitch perfect, a well-done representation of the Gospel. Others, thought the films creator Jefferson Bethke, was a little too careless and flippant with his words, substituting soundbites for Truth.
Yet, after considering both sides of the argument regarding this video phenom, I realized that it all comes back to one word. If I had to describe my faith in one simple word, what would it be? If I wasn’t able to present a polished and produced video or a lengthy, articulate speech regarding my faith, what would I really say?
If I could utter but one word to describe my Christian life, walk, faith…what would escape my lips?
Because at the end of the day, it isn’t about religion, or orthodoxy, my theology vs the guy’s down the street. It isn’t about dogma, or traditions, rituals, or denominations. It is about one very simple, yet simultaneously incomprehensible, vast, and complex person: Jesus.
So, if I were left with nothing left to say, but one word…it would be His.
Now for the obvious question. What ONE word would you use to describe your faith? It could be Jesus, or it could be something else….grace, hope, joy, peace, redemption. You name it.
I have often felt that I work for God, which isn’t entirely wrong, but also not entirely correct.
I have awoken far too many mornings feeling like I need to put on my interview suit and best shoes in order to gain access to God.
I have positioned Him as the ultimate employer, who is only willing to hire me if my resume is exceptional. Do I have all of the necessary credentials to apply for the job of Christian? And not just Christian, but “super Christian”?
I list all of my qualifications before God. I tally my moments of service, my hours of reading the Word, my number of disciples.
Let me start this post, by stating emphatically that I love my life, like love it. I love my husband. I love my kids. I love my God. I even love the towering piles of laundry that never seem to completely vanish and the dust that seems to settle on every surface of my house after only one day.
I love the curves that my hips have formed from carrying not one, not two, but three children in my belly. I love knowing that I might never look the same, that the stretch marks on my body exist to prove my love for those children. I even love the way my fatigue from a newborn has made blogging seem less important, less notable, because well, it is.
But still.
Sometimes these days, only sometimes, I dream of being away. Somewhere, anywhere, that is free. Free from incessant, often piercing toddler tantrums. Free from middle-of-the-night baby cries that pull me from a deep sleep only to leave me laying awake in a warm bed, remembering what real sleep once felt like.
I dream of being free.
Free from insurmountable amounts of housework, that not even a pioneer woman could deplete. Free from the wildly surging hormones that rush through my body, desperate to make me cry and laugh at the same exact time. Free from the pressure I place upon myself to write, to be creative, to do it again and again.
Yet, I know, that deep down, leaving these things behind wouldn’t actually make me free. And it’s not so much that I want to leave them, as much as I want to be alone. Continue reading These Days…
Last Thursday, I posed the question: Who Has Most Influenced Your Walk with Jesus? Many of you left such inspiring answers, from grandparents who taught you what living for Jesus is really like, to pastors, teachers, friends, authors, and parents.
I had one commenter ask me if I was going to share my influences, as well. I hadn’t thought about it upon asking the question, but as I began to read everyone else’s answers something became very apparent.
I didn’t really know how to answer the very question I had posed to all of you. Truth be told, I was jealous of most people’s answers, because the reality is, I don’t really have an answer.
You know I’m all for conversation and debate, so today I’m posing one titillating, stirring, mind-bending (or, if I’m being honest, semi-mediocre) question for you to mull over and answer. Play nice. Be respectful. And most of all, be honest.
Some days I wake up feeling sorry for myself, but I shouldn’t…
…because Christ is never sorry for me. He never sighs and shakes His head and thinks, “Man, saving Nicole…what a waste.”
No. He sees me and thinks, “There she is, my beloved. My daughter. How I love her.”
And I don’t know about you, but it can be so easy for me to forget who I am, to wallow in self-pity, to revel in my mediocrity…
But, if I really know who I am, who He says I am, well, that kind of thinking should be impossible. If I stopped to ask myself, “What does God really think of me?” I might be surprised by the answer.
There is so much to know about Jesus, so much more than we could ever know. The scriptures, for all of their accounts and stories of Christ, only capture but a sliver of His Personhood.
