Jesus had an eventful last year of life - a year that made his life. Who he was before few cared about; who he was afterward started a movement. That's what really fuels my faith. As a human, his accomplishments were simply amazing, and I don't mean the miracles. While raising stinking Lazarus from the dead impressed the everyday witness, I have always known that's what Jesus was supposed to do. I mean, in Catholic school, Jesus Christ was a real superstar. He might as well have been a magician. Loaves and fishes. Water into wine. Life of the party. Catholic school didn't really focus on that other Jesus, though. The one that flipped tables in the temple. The one who sat with society's wretched BY CHOICE. The charismatic soul with no job, 12 followers (who weren't exactly pillars of the community), an affinity for women, a problem with hierarchies, and no incredibly substantial relationship with anyone but God (who just happened to be...Himself...). That's the Jesus that has always fascinated me. The one who understood a lifestyle littered with single-serving friends...and didn't mind.
Fight Club gave me the term, "single-serving friend" (alas I cannot take credit for its genius), but it applies so well to the examined life, especially if one believes in God. You learn early in life where or if you fit at all. Contexts change; the questions don't. Do I fit? Am I supposed to? What happens and what do I do when/if I don't? With all the church-going folk I have always found myself around, they never had anything to offer but common sayings that one would find in Christian fortune cookies (if they existed). "Find yourself a good church." "Pray about it." "Be thankful/it coulda been the other way." "Be happy you woke up this morning." What happens when that doesn't work, though. What happens when you don't fit this paradigm?
About a month ago, I wrote a poem after sitting across the table from an empty chair at my parents' anniversary dinner (a fifth wheel, now that my brother is in love again). At that moment, I was post-thaw after having endured a long deep-freeze of trying to deny that I even wanted companionship. And I had just figured out I had walked into yet another "it-just-ain't-meant-to-be" situation with another guy who wouldn't care if I walked away and would never hurt for companionship. The next day, I didn't want to get out of bed...didn't know what to do or how to make it better.
Well...WWJD? Flip tables. Tell the hard truth. Here goes...
I can count my friends on one hand (maybe three fingers, actually...) I have a great heart, but there's a piece missing. Part of the missing piece is where the writer me belongs. I'm supposed to be much more to me than this. The other part is all the love I have to give to a man I want to love, for no other reason than I love him. (I've never said that to anyone before.) I'm passionate about art and living life. I want to live mine, but I often volunteer it to make others happy. (I fuckin hate that I do that.) Because I do it, I have made a lot of single-serving friends who hang around too long because they are more enamored with my energy than they are interested in being the person on the other end of the tough questions. (I really fuckin hate that I do that too.) I curse a lot because I'm angry that I don't make difference in the world. I just make more people depend on me. I have done many great things, most of them professional. Personally, I feel like a failure - nothing but fleeting moments of butterflies. Love only rents here; it's only the name on lease, actually. Who knows who is actually occupying that space. My sarcasm is strong. It's the only real defense I have against the crafty, self-serving agents in this sick, sad world. When I'm at work I walk a tightrope between being an agent and being a defector; I understand why they need school, but I also understand why they don't like it. I'm not impatient; I'm just ready to live. That tends to happen when you've never fit, and your mother told you to wait until you were older, and you're older and still don't fit. Still don't have a dedicated group of friends. Still feel like you give way more than you get. Except now you're coasting on fumes...and people are calling you impatient like they know your story. *eye roll* I'm tired. I'm tired of waiting on my adventure.
Truth. "The truth shall make you free." I think that's what worked for Jesus. I think He got tired of playing small. I think he got tired of seeing and never saying anything. I think He flipped that temple table because He wanted everyone to understand that He wasn't a joke or a novelty...or a magician. He felt like He had something to do. So He upset the status quo; challenged the establishment. Walked on water. Asked tough questions. I admire that courage to live the way He wanted - inspiring to some and blasphemous to others. I understand why He took his love and kept it moving.
I'm still a bit weirded out about being 33 already, but I think I'm ready to live it out loud, like He did. I'm no one's savior, of course. But I'm not willing to give up on the chance that the greatest adventure might be just ahead.
Wish me luck...
No comments:
Post a Comment