The Real Jesus
Jesus on the radio, Jesus on a late night show
Jesus in a dream, looking all serene
Jesus on a steeple, Jesus in the Gallup poll
Jesus has His very own brand of rock and roll
Oh, can anybody show me the real Jesus?
— “The Real Jesus,” Downhere
“I think I am Jesus-repressed,” I announced to Drew over waffles on a recent Saturday morning. “I’m really comfortable with God the Father/Creator and the Spirit, but when it comes to Jesus, it is harder for me to relate.”
Drew sat blinking owlishly at me as I quickly assured him, “I know what I’m saying is heresy or something. It sounds bad. Maybe I’m less aware of Jesus because Jesus is most present to me—so present I hardly notice him. . .” My words trailed off as I failed to reassure us both of my orthodoxy while articulating a 10-year perplexity I’ve rarely acknowledged aloud: Who is the real Jesus? This question has been a constant, quiet ache in me since my 20’s, when it became apparent that the Jesus our American culture portrays—especially the Jesus the American church conveys—does not tell the whole truth of who Jesus is. While pursuing my religious studies degree in college, I wrote my senior thesis paper on the question Who is the real Jesus? Hours of discouraging research spent trying to untangle Jesus from cultural Christianity made me wonder: Is it even possible to know Jesus apart from what we’ve made him?
In the church’s attempt to make Jesus relevant and accessible to all, have we lost the real and true Jesus along the way?
Feeling the ache of these unresolved questions, I tried to explain again, “I think it’s this: until recently I’ve only been taught about Jesus from powerful white men whose definition of Jesus sounded a lot like them. And I haven’t realized how much that has hurt me until now. Their representations of Jesus have made me want to stay away from Jesus to keep myself from getting hurt.” And it’s true. Jesus felt so close and clear throughout my childhood up until late high school. After that point, it’s as if the Jesus of my childhood faith slowly faded into the background as layer upon cultural layer was painted over him, making him unrecognizable to me. It became nearly impossible for me to read the Gospels apart from those truth-obscuring layers, so I stopped. I didn’t want to be disappointed with Jesus—he didn’t deserve that. Looking back, I wish I had kept pressing in—that I had refused to let other people define Jesus for me. But it is difficult to discern truth from fiction when you are sitting in a church pew, listening to someone in authority who seems to have all the answers about who Jesus is. And those depictions of Jesus have varied drastically depending on denomination, area of the country, and the person preaching Him.
My southern Bible Belt pastor with a propensity for hellfire preached a legalistic Jesus who simply would not stand for less than rule-following perfection. My west coast mega-church pastor preached a Jesus who was cool—like L.A. cool, cool enough for celebrities, who all but guaranteed heavenly blessings if we gave money to the church, while another Seattle mega-church pastor preached a Jesus who was tough, who likely drove a Harley, who scoffed at softness and was a hardliner when it came to obeying church leadership—which, of course, meant male leadership. My seminary-trained former husband was very enthusiastic about a Jesus who encouraged unquestioning female submission in the home and at church at all costs.
Is it any wonder many American Christians find church a difficult place to be?
I imagine I am not alone in receiving mixed messages about Jesus that have slowly warped my sense of truth over time. Perhaps this is why my experiences worshipping with the global church have been some of the most meaningful spiritual encounters of my life. Worshipping with other believers in a hidden upper room in China made me want the kind of faith that risks defying a powerful government for the sake of gathering together in Spirit and truth. Singing in a train station room with a small group of believers in the highly secularized city of Prague filled me with hope for what God can do with a faithful remnant. Every time the room shook with the force of a passing train, the Spirit shook the room up a little bit, too. Praising Jesus in yet another upper room at night with formerly-trafficked women in the red-light district of Angeles City, Philippines showed me what the True light can do to the most insidious darkness imaginable. Jesus seems to like upper rooms and unlikely places. The Jesus of plastic chairs and Chinese prayers, of faithful Czech worship and rattling trains, of Filipina courage and red lights turned to purest daylight—this is the strange and glorious Jesus I believe and trust. This is the Jesus I need to remember when I start to forget, becoming weighed down by a Jesus made in our own image.
I need more of him.
I need a weirder Jesus than the nice man with a staff and blue sash who regrets to inform us that most of us are going to hell if our skirts aren’t long enough or the cool bro who can hang with us and shoot hoops or the moody, on-edge Jesus who is always ready to flip a few more tables in a fit of rage or the Jesus used by husbands to manipulate their wives. I need the Jesus who breathed on his disciples as a divine impartation before his ascension—the Jesus who walked through walls just to be with his friends. I need the Jesus of John’s Revelation, with the sword in his mouth and seven stars in his hand. I need the Lamb who was slain yet reigns on the throne—the sacrificed One who gives light to all who dwell with Him in eternity. I need the Jesus who does not look like the people in power—the Jesus of the oppressed, the poor, the outcast. I need the Jesus who called broken women friends.
Perhaps most urgently, I need a Jesus who does not look like me.
I need a Jesus who looks like Jesus—utterly other, yet recognizably human. Where can he be found? I don’t have the answers yet, but the desire to keep pressing in, to keep discovering the real Jesus has re-surfaced in me. And this time, I don’t want to repress it.
I want to lean in.
Going Deeper: Listen to “The Real Jesus” by the Canadian band Downhere. The ache and truth of this song is just as powerful as when it was released in 2006.
Jesus started something new
Jesus coined a phrase or two
Jesus split the line at the turning point of time
Jesus sparked a controversy
Jesus, known for His mercy, gave a man his sight
Jesus isn't white…