I am a Christian, but …
… I have a hard time saying that lately, because I know what you’re probably thinking about me the moment I do. You watch the news and you see what’s happening in America, and you have an image in your mind of Christians, which I fear you probably automatically lump me into by default.
I understand why. I know that the loudest voices often carry the greatest weight, and right now those voices speaking for my faith tradition are heavy on acrimony and painfully short on compassion. Those voices reek of bigotry and entitlement and manufactured martyrdom. They speak with cruelty and malice and malevolence—but they do not speak for me.
I absolutely don’t believe they speak for Jesus either.
I need you to know that what you witnessed outside the courthouse in Kentucky and everything that has paved the path here in America does not represent me or millions of people like me. I need you to know that Mike Huckabee and Kim Davis and FoxNews and Donald Trump do not speak for us or for the Christianity we have devoted our lives to. They do not reflect our hearts for all people, or many of the things we aspire to do and be in this world.
I really miss my Kid Christianity.
I was raised on the stories of Jesus. They were the sweet milk of my childhood. Long before I ever knew what a political party was, before I ever heard the words Conservative or Liberal, long before I knew what denominations or media bias or culture wars were, I had this Jesus:
He was the one who was born into barren smallness, amidst the smell of damp straw and animal dung.
The one who called people to leave security and home and livelihood behind, in order to model the truly blessed life together.
The one who lived in homeless humility, living off the generosity of those whose thankful hearts gave a home to his words.
The one who defied rules of decorum and purity and tradition in order to bring healing and comfort and hope.
The one who spoke of relentless forgiveness for wrongdoing, of praying earnestly for enemies, of lavishly loving the least, of radically showing mercy.
The one who fed thousands of strangers on a hillside, not because they were deserving or morally fit, but because they were hungry.
