Pharisee
Oh, Jesus.
His name shouldn’t make people roll their eyes.
I wonder how he’d respond if he saw people rolling their eyes when asked if they know Him.
I wonder how he’d handle celebrity. Because everyone would know him. I wonder if we’d treat him like we treat other celebrities. He was a celebrity in his day. Crowds came, everyone knew him, and everyone wanted to see him. I wonder if people ever came to check him out and got bored and dismissed him as a nut. I’m sure some people did. I’m sure some people checked him out and thought he was a dangerous nut. They’re the ones who put him to death.
I wonder what kind of people would flock to him today and think he was a dangerous nut.
Sometimes I wonder how a lot of Christians would react if they heard what Jesus was teaching, if maybe the way they see him might somehow have strayed so far off course that if they actually sat down and listened to him that they might then be the ones that thought of him as a dangerous nut. Maybe there are Christians who would crucify him again.
Is that wrong of me to think that?
But, maybe he was such a caring, compassionate, loving being that you couldn’t help but like him and maybe you’d never think he was a nut. Unless of course, you were absolutely convinced you were right and he spoke something that disagreed with how right you were, then he’d be dangerous. That’s what the Pharisees did. They killed him.
Who would be a Pharisee today?
I wonder if I’d hear him speak and he might say something that is contrary to what I’d learned growing up in my house, in my school, in my church, and my pride would be insulted and I wouldn’t be able to like him anymore. Or maybe I just wouldn’t like how right he was, and how smart he was, and I’d get jealous because he’s smarter and righter than me. Maybe I would have talked to him once and he would have put me in my place, and I’d get mad. Maybe he’d be shorter than me, and kind of ugly, and I’d mutter things under my breath at him. And maybe one day while walking through town, I’d see him getting whipped and I’d join in the mockers and maybe throw a stone or two.
Maybe it’s not so hard to believe that they put him to death.
And the worst part about all of this is that he went willingly, and though my shriveled, sinful little heart enjoyed sending him to his grave then, he went because he loved me. Though I would have been there, jeering him, mocking him on the cross, cussing, power-tripping, laughing, he would still have hung there alone, in excruciating agony, with inconceivable compassion and unreasonable love, as the pain slowly ushered in his final breaths and at last he slumped his head a final time as thunder struck.
He would have died for me.
He died for me.
His name shouldn’t make people roll their eyes.
I wonder how he’d respond if he saw people rolling their eyes when asked if they know Him.
I wonder how he’d handle celebrity. Because everyone would know him. I wonder if we’d treat him like we treat other celebrities. He was a celebrity in his day. Crowds came, everyone knew him, and everyone wanted to see him. I wonder if people ever came to check him out and got bored and dismissed him as a nut. I’m sure some people did. I’m sure some people checked him out and thought he was a dangerous nut. They’re the ones who put him to death.
I wonder what kind of people would flock to him today and think he was a dangerous nut.
Sometimes I wonder how a lot of Christians would react if they heard what Jesus was teaching, if maybe the way they see him might somehow have strayed so far off course that if they actually sat down and listened to him that they might then be the ones that thought of him as a dangerous nut. Maybe there are Christians who would crucify him again.
Is that wrong of me to think that?
But, maybe he was such a caring, compassionate, loving being that you couldn’t help but like him and maybe you’d never think he was a nut. Unless of course, you were absolutely convinced you were right and he spoke something that disagreed with how right you were, then he’d be dangerous. That’s what the Pharisees did. They killed him.
Who would be a Pharisee today?
I wonder if I’d hear him speak and he might say something that is contrary to what I’d learned growing up in my house, in my school, in my church, and my pride would be insulted and I wouldn’t be able to like him anymore. Or maybe I just wouldn’t like how right he was, and how smart he was, and I’d get jealous because he’s smarter and righter than me. Maybe I would have talked to him once and he would have put me in my place, and I’d get mad. Maybe he’d be shorter than me, and kind of ugly, and I’d mutter things under my breath at him. And maybe one day while walking through town, I’d see him getting whipped and I’d join in the mockers and maybe throw a stone or two.
Maybe it’s not so hard to believe that they put him to death.
And the worst part about all of this is that he went willingly, and though my shriveled, sinful little heart enjoyed sending him to his grave then, he went because he loved me. Though I would have been there, jeering him, mocking him on the cross, cussing, power-tripping, laughing, he would still have hung there alone, in excruciating agony, with inconceivable compassion and unreasonable love, as the pain slowly ushered in his final breaths and at last he slumped his head a final time as thunder struck.
He would have died for me.
He died for me.
posted by gamble at 2:39 PM
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