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I Want to Know

I want to know the real Jesus. Not the super photogenic, passive aggressive, untouchable Jesus. I want to know the Jesus that had dirt under his finger nails and corns and calluses on his feet from walking every where.  Not the 6ft 2,  reverently sexy looking Jesus who never sweated, never stubbled his toe, never had gas or morning breath, never had a sore throat or a tooth ache. Not some candy coated Jesus, who walked around holding two fingers together for no reason, making crosses in the air and teaching Sunday school. 

I want to know the Jesus whose eyes were tired from getting up too early to pray; whose body was sore the next morning from building furniture and lifting sheep in his arms and bringing them back to the fold; whose hands were sweaty from lifting a prostitute off the ground; the Jesus who had tears and saliva stains on all his clothes from hugging the nasty people too tightly, who had body odor from casting out demons and raising folks from the dead.  I want to know the Jesus who grimaced at good people who got all the answers right and laughed at the dinner table with criminals.

I  could go on and on, but I guess at the end of the day, I want to know the Jesus who didn't want to be pushed around, scratched, scarred, "showered in spit"(thank you Brennan Manning) flogged, cursed at, lied on, beaten, humiliated, crucified and separated from his Daddy for my selfishness, white lies, lust, greed and profanity...but did it anyway because he loved me so much. I would rather know that Jesus and be terrified, than to be friendly with a Jesus that never existed. 

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