What Does Jesus Look Like?

 

Almost every parent has favorite pictures and memories of their children when they were babies, toddlers, and young children. Every family get-together has shared laughs and sighs when remembering things like first words, steps, sports participation, and the like. I'm no different than most, except that my son grew up far from my family, so they can only laugh when I recount some of his exploits (and disasters), not participate in remembering them.

My son was a chubby little cherub with blonde curls and big blue eyes. Granted, he was a bit too chubby as an infant but evened out as he grew into a toddler. Still, he was so cute and so clever. He's all grown up now, but I'm still in love with the little boy he was.

I wonder if Mary looked at her adult son and saw him as a baby, a toddler, a child, or a teen? Did she see him play with his friends and hold her breath if he fell down and scraped his knee? Did she remind him to be careful when he went out to play or went to work with his earthly father, Joseph? Did Mary wish she could keep him a little boy for longer than his growing up allowed?

It's easy to think of Jesus as a child, probably nearly perfect in every way, kind, loving, obedient, and clever. He would be pictured as a cherubic little being with chubby cheeks, big blue eyes, and, quite often, blondish curls, much like my own little boy. We get that picture from all the western European art produced over the centuries that pictured him as Western Europeans would expect to see him. Mary and Joseph would wear robes and mantles, but they would probably have light skin and medium-brown hair. Again, the view we get is from the portraits and paintings we've grown up seeing. I remember the painting of Jesus as an adult, standing next to the Jordan River, that covered the wall behind the baptistry in our church when I was growing up. He was painted as fair-skinned, blue-eyed, and had light brown hair with golden highlights.

What a shock it was to realize that all the images of Jesus I remember seeing as I grew up were, in fact, fiction. Of course, part of the fiction was that there weren't any pictures of Jesus when he walked on the earth. Hence, artists used either the sponsors of the paintings or some other human being as the model, hair, skin and all.

I remember seeing an image of Jesus as a Middle-Eastern man with dark skin, hair, and eyes for the first time. It took me a few minutes to take it in, but it somehow seemed more realistic than all the images I'd seen while growing up. Of course, it made sense that he would be Middle-Eastern in appearance since that was where he was born and grew up. Since then, I've seen Jesus as an African, a Native American, a Hispanic, an Asian, an Inuit, and from various parts of the Middle East. Remarkably, people can see a figure of Jesus that speaks to them and their race, culture, and ethnicity. I wonder if Mary would see those images and recognize her own little boy all grown up?

I think it is essential to recognize that for all his divinity, Jesus came as a human being, to live as one, and to learn to understand humanity from the inside out, as it were. He probably got into mischief when growing up – what child doesn't? Jesus knew what feelings were and how to respond to them in himself and others. He expressed kindness toward others that he wanted them to see and imitate. He studied scripture, as a good Jewish boy would, to better understand what God wanted and how to present that to the people of the earth.

Many of those with whom Jesus came in contact were not ultra-pious Jews but were Samaritans, Romans, and other Jews. Still, he treated all of them as God's children and, as such, his brothers, sisters, and neighbors.

How do you see Jesus? Looking somewhat like your own child as an infant or toddler? Like a little Black baby you saw in the grocery store? Perhaps as a Navajo girl holding a young lamb? An Asian child riding a carabao, pulling a cart full of reeds or rice? An Arab child sitting in a pile of rubble? A homeless child from possibly any city in the world? 

Perhaps we need to look for Jesus in every other person on earth, whether we like them or not. While Jesus was divine, he was also human, like any of us. He chose to live as he did because it was God's will. Perhaps we need to look at ourselves a bit deeper than someone in competition for limited resources and learn to see ourselves as living the life Jesus taught about and lived himself.

Originally published on Episcopal Café as part of Episcopal Journal, Saturday, August 27, 2022.

Balancing

 

There's not much more agitating than the sound of ker-THUNK, ker-THUNK,  the washing machine walking across the floor because it's unbalanced and unhappy. Usually, it happens when I'm up to my elbows in something else, so it's either let the washer continue to suffer or drop what I'm doing, wash my hands, and rush to push the magic pause button and try to redistribute the load, so it purrs more like a happy cat than a raging bull. Such noises bother me.

I know what it feels like to feel unbalanced, like the washing machine but without the wet clothes. I've had balance problems for some years now, and even walking down the street can make it look like I've been on a 2-week bender even though I never imbibe in alcohol. I can trip over my feet and pretend there's a crack in the sidewalk or something on the floor that made me fumble-footed. It doesn't work. I still feel clumsy and concerned I'll fall and break something, namely a hip.

There are times when life itself seems unbalanced, clumsy, anxiety-inducing, and unpleasant. I can really empathize with the washer, but I wish I could resolve my issues without having to pull things out, dripping all over the floor, and rearrange them, so things go correctly. I guess I could try to load my life more carefully, ensuring balance in every part of the circle. But when life throws a curve ball, it can mess up the whole thing.

Sometimes rebalancing can be simple, as simple as making more time for this activity and spending a little less on another. I could walk a bit more since I need to exercise more, but at 100°+ and higher-than-usual humidity, I don't really want to do that. If I wait until it gets dark, I don't feel safe wandering around, and the time before sunrise is the time I want to maximize my sleep. I live in a small place, so there isn't much room to walk around or use exercise equipment. Now, if I were the size of a cat, that might work. So here we go with unbalance again.

I usually do my main prayers in chunks. My primary time is just after I go to bed, and I often spend 10 minutes or more just reciting my prayer list before I try to get in other things I want to ask or give thanks for. During the day, arrow prayers get sent up when I see something on Facebook, in an email, or on my EfM group page. I seldom need my keys anymore, so my arrow intercessions to St. Anthony are fewer and far between. Pain prayers when my joints lock when I get up from bed or a chair are getting more frequent, as are pious words when I jam my toes or feel like I'm going to fall. I try to pray when I do my knitting at night since I'm mainly knitting shawls for people who might need the prayers, which works too.

Sometimes it's easier to connect with my best friend than with God, but on the whole, I think it pretty much evens out. If I were a nun in a convent or monastery, I'd have my time set for work, worship, study, meditation, and prayer. Living as I do, I can control my time pretty much as I want, so I probably should do more praying for the ambition to get up and do housework instead of sitting to finish a book I've been reading or a pattern in my knitting. Perhaps I need a more scheduled lifestyle, with so much time for this at such-and-such time of day and so forth. I tend to do certain chores on certain days, so maybe I'm in the process of doing that. Perhaps I need to fiddle with the schedule to add a little more study time and slightly less nap time. Maybe I can go back to a school-like schedule where I have an hour for this, followed by something else, and so on until I finish the jobs and the day is over.

It's all a matter of discipline, and I know I had it when I needed to when it came to getting work done. Maybe it's time I took it out of the closet, dust it off, and use it to my advantage. Perhaps my spiritual and prayer lives will benefit as well. I guess I won't know until I try, will I?

The Gift of Choices

 

I sat there, eating a bowl of cereal and reading a book when I ran across a conversation between two characters that made me stop and think about what was said. The main character had told a subordinate about making choices and how everything came down to what they chose. It made me think that I had the option to sit in my rocker rather than at my desk, have cheese toast instead of cereal for breakfast (or even dinner), and select that particular book because it was a favorite of mine. I had made those decisions before I read the discussion. After reading it, it suddenly made me think about how many choices I have and make every minute of every day.

I have made some bad decisions in my life; most of us have, I suppose. It's how I react to my choices that make a difference. Even my reactions to those decisions result from how I feel about how I came to choose one thing over another. If I decided on the wrong thing or path, I had the option to feel bad about it, ignore it, or make a promise to choose differently next time. Alternatively, I could learn from it and grow wiser, maybe not happy about how things turned out, but at least somewhat pleased I had a guide on possible other ways to handle something differently.

At my age, there are many things I have no control over, like my aches and pains, the cost of living, and even the ability to keep driving or give up that mode of transportation. Some aches and pains I can choose to try to alleviate with various medications, while some others I simply accept as a price of growing older. I can't control the cost of living, but I can be grateful to have a roof over my head, food for me and my boys (the cats), lights, running water, books, and knitting supplies to keep me busy. As I get older, I find I really want less and less anyway. As for transportation, donating my elderly vehicle to charity freed me from license fees, taxes, insurance, and gasoline, thus giving me extra money for groceries, utilities, and the like.

Then I started thinking about God and choices. God could have made us to be like little robots, every one exactly the same, following the same orders, doing what they were told without any recourse to selecting an individual path or action. While many parts of our lives are controlled by internal or external forces like our heart beating or being born somewhere in the world where life is more demanding and living conditions harsher, we could consider ourselves fortunate to be in a life and an environment where choices abound. I have to thank God for that.

I think about how some people can choose to believe in God while others either pass on the opportunity or never have a choice. I think I even have the option of the kind of God to believe in. Some seem to want to put God in a box and define God according to their wishes and thoughts. In contrast, others choose to believe in a God of infinite patience, kindness, justice, and mercy. The God I believe in lets me be me, faults and all, and allows me to trust that God will be with me, no matter what. Even when my faith is shaky, I still choose to believe in God; I have that choice.

Each day I make choices, including believing God loves me enough to let me make good or bad choices. I can share what I believe or keep silent about it. To testify to God's love and mercy, I don't have to mention God in every sentence (or even paragraph or page). I don't have to carry a Bible around with me all the time to impress people or identify myself as Christian. How I choose to act in any given moment or situation takes care of that. That is how I choose to demonstrate the impact of following Jesus's way of living and loving in my life.

I'm glad I have choices. It's so much better than being a puppet or a robot or stuck in a religious style that seeks to control my thoughts and behaviors directly. It all goes back to the simple choice of picking an apple or not.

Choice – what a concept, and what a gift.

Originally published on Episcopal Café as part of Episcopal Journal, Saturday, August 13, 2022.

Transfiguration of Jesus

Now about eight days after these sayings Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, 'Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah'—not knowing what he said. While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, 'This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!' When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen.        – Luke 9:28-36

The story of the Transfiguration is one of the familiar yet mysterious tales of Jesus. He had done a lot of teaching, preaching, and prophesying throughout his ministry. However, this time was one of the Gospels' more spectacular and mystical stories.

Jesus had gone up a mountain to pray, and the disciples longed for sleep. Although they had fallen asleep at other times, this time, they stayed awake and were amazed by what they saw. Jesus's face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly, two men, identified as Moses and Elijah, were there in conversation with Jesus. The disciples must have been almost speechless, seeing their beloved rabbi and the two greatest prophets and leaders in Jewish history glowing with God's glory and power. It was worth staying awake for, no doubt.   

The transfiguration was the visible change in the appearance of Jesus, the facial appearance, and the dazzling white garments. White garments were not unheard of, even in the clothing of workers and itinerants. Still, in a hot, dusty climate where the garments were worn daily for more than a day between washings, the white would probably appear to be more of a sandy tan. I've heard people wonder how those clothes got so clean. It's a distraction, but one that seems to pop up.

Back to the Transfiguration, however. It marked an outward and visible change, not to be confused with a transformation defined as making an inward change, perhaps something more like a metamorphosis than a transfiguration. I have heard clergy make the case that while Jesus was transfigured, the transformation took place inside the disciples, making them more aware of who Jesus was, if they had needed any more convincing than Jesus had already shown them. If their eyes hadn't seen enough proof, having God's voice coming from out of a cloud recognizing Jesus as God's Son should have shaken them to their cores and convinced them that this wasn't some dream or delusion.   

I can't say I've ever seen a transfiguration, but I have witnessed transformations. One experience was meeting a Russian Orthodox priest in a dimly-lit nave of our church and undeniably feeling and, I'm sure, seeing a kind of aura around him that fairly rang like a church bell as to his authenticity as one of God's special chosen ones. It was an extraordinary meeting, with no words exchanged since he spoke no English and I spoke no Russian. Still, it didn't need words, Moses or Elijah. It was awesome, just as it was.

I've seen transformations in people when behaviors that were harmful to them and those around them have changed. I've seen a shift in myself where I know I've changed in ways I would never have thought, both in habits and beliefs. I've seen a kind of transformation in people when suddenly a new thought or idea changed their mind about something they felt strongly about, only to find the new way was better, more just, and more like what Jesus taught.

I wish there were a way to transform the world instantly, but I feel that is almost a non-starter. Climate change, unbearable heat, constant rain and flooding, sinkholes, and raging forest fires all tell us that the earth is damaged and needs help to revive itself. Person-on-person violence and global warfare are becoming all too common, and the innocent are often the ones who pay the price. We need a global metamorphosis, a transformation to bring about what God originally intended for us.

Maybe what we need now is a Transfiguration and a voice from Heaven.

Originally published on Episcopal Café as part of Episcopal Journal, Saturday, August 6, 2022.