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Wednesday, February 17, 2010

What kind of Jesus?


This past week has come and gone with out a blog post and I had to realize that I would come up with a million reasons why I didn't get to it; poor Internet connection, too many appointments, went to bed early, the Olympics began (I'm sure to have a post about them), blah, blah, blah. So, I've picked something that has been rattling around in the recesses of my brain for the past week or so. I call it "What kind of Jesus".

A couple of weeks ago I was in my Wednesday night book study at church and our leader said that everyone has a different picture of Jesus in their minds. When he pictures Jesus he sees Him picking up a child into his arms and giving a bear hug. And knowing what little I do of his childhood it's not surprising. Immediately after he made his statement, I began daydreaming and pondering how I and others view Jesus and what that says about my or their relationship with Him. I missed what happened the next ten minutes in our class, but I had a better understanding of who Jesus is to me.

I assume Mel Gibson pictures Him on the cross, revering his savior whose passion for the world lead him to self sacrifice. I think my dad would see him as the father running to his prodigal son, relishing in the offering of unconditional love, forgiveness and second chances. I wonder if Billy Graham sees him preaching on a hillside, awed by the droves of people coming to Him. Who is Jesus to you? How do you envision Him? I see Jesus walking on sea. The God of the impossible, calling me to get out of the boat. And I, like Peter, want desperately to experience the thrill of walking on the water. And, like Peter, I often get distracted by the waves around me, but I'm ok with that. I'm human, after all, and He is still right there to steady me or grab me before I go under. I've seen him perform miracles, equivalent to hydroplaning, time and time again. And I anticipate there will be many more in my future. I pray that each time I hear Him call my name that I will not hesitate to swing my legs overboard. I hope that eventually I'll kick the habit of panicking in the midst of what He is doing. But even if I freak out everytime until the day that I die, I'd rather be a wet, believing Peter than a dry and doubting Thomas anyday.

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