“Mom, I don’t wike Jesus,” my three year old announces,
having just wandered into my writer’s shack for a visit and climbed into my lap
at the desk. Sometimes he escapes Dad’s watch.
“Really?” I inquire, studying his contorted face. His huge
chocolate eyes are fixated on a three-inch, turquoise, wooden cross hanging
over my shack doors. Of course, being someone who quite likes the fellow Jesus,
I am a little shocked. After all, from every story I’ve heard, Jesus was a fine
lad – loving, true, brave; he fought for justice, he healed the sick, turned
water into wine; what’s not to like? So I ask him, “Why don’t you like Jesus?”
He climbs down from my lap, peers around the shack a minute,
then just stands there like a cowboy, ready for a fast draw, wearing nothing but Spider Man underwear. “I just don’t wike her.” (I note that Jesus is a girl).
“Well, I like Jesus,” I say. "I think Jesus is quite nice.”
“Where is she?” he asks, glancing around, as if daring me to
pull Jesus out of my desk drawer.
“Jesus is in heaven and…in your heart…in the trees, in the
wind, and even in the sea shells,” I say, lifting the shells from my desk for
him to touch. I'm making it all up as I go along, of course.
“She doesn’t live in the sea shells,” he says, like I’m
definitely misguided, or maybe even an idiot. “She doesn’t.”
“You don’t think so?”
He’s silent a moment.
He cranks his head off to one side. “Is she wittle?”
“No…not really….well – big and little, I guess…because Jesus
is everywhere in everything.”
Maybe it’s the red spider man underwear, or the dried up
chocolate pudding around his cherry lips, but he commands such wonderful
authority standing here, fearlessly stating his position on the lady Jesus, and
furthermore challenging me to define God on a moment’s notice – an impossible
task with any length of notice.
Later I will ponder the significance of our conversation –
how children not only say the darnedest things, but are such magical creatures,
brimming with an inborn wisdom. Being a fan of God myself, of course, I hope my sweet son discovers the joy of a life with God; but I’m not concerned. I think we
all shy away from things we don’t understand. It’s not uncommon for us to
rashly decide we don’t like something simply because we are baffled by it…or
because it presents a challenge to us or even frightens us. It is, after all,
much easier to dismiss the things that scare us than to dive in and swim around
in the messy unknown – so much easier to pass quick judgment. But rich is the
journeyer who keeps asking the questions, even if she needs to keep a loose
hold on judgment or fear along the way. Eventually, we ask enough questions to
let go of what it is we were afraid of, and what it is we did not understand.
And new understanding sets us free.
Since God is a forever unknown, so mysterious, so beyond the
scope of the mind with its tiny little compartments, my three year old reminds me to
delve into the mystery of spirit life anew. He reminds me to state my questions
and proclaim my thoughts in bright red underwear. He challenges me to figure
out more of who Jesus is during this Advent season – and to eat more chocolate
pudding while I’m at it.
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