My Jesus

During the service at church today, Pastor Troy was talking about how we sometimes chose to create our own Jesus, our own version of God. We like to look at certain aspects and create a savior that does what we want, and is how we want him to be. I pondered this for a bit, at first it sounded a bit ludacris, “creating my own savior?” No. Never…. right? Looking at an example taken from Will Ferrells hit film Talladega Nights, during a family dinner, Ricky Bobby (Ferrell) prays to “The Lord Baby Jesus”. A harmless baby, one that at this point has not done and is unable to do anything for the world. It is followed by Ricky’s young son saying that he likes to picture Jesus as a ninja – fighting off evil samurai. This sacrilege continues as his best friend says that he pictures Jesus in a tuxedo shirt – because he wants to be formal, but likes to party. We all go see these movies and laugh at how funny it is that someone would define how they view Jesus – and what he is to them. I never really allowed the hammer to hit the nail on the head, until now, were the writers ever meaning to point out how hypocritically we act as Christians? We say we believe in the one Lord Almighty, but then we all have a different view of who he is? Since when does this make sense.

As I look at the God of the New Testament, and I see him battered and bruised, bleeding and dying for the actions that I have done, it was I that nailed him to that cross. I look at a man that spent his days next to sinners like me. As I sit the song “My Jesus” by Todd Agnew flows painfully through my mind.

Pretty blue eyes and curly brown hair and a clear complexion
Is how you see Him as He dies for Your sins
But the Word says He was battered and scarred
Or did you miss that part
Sometimes I doubt we'd recognize Him
Cause my Jesus bled and died
He spent His time with thieves and the least of these
He loved the poor and accosted the comfortable
So which one do you want to be?

Cause my Jesus would never be accepted in my church
The blood and dirt on His feet would stain the carpet
But He reaches for the hurting and despised the proud
I think He'd prefer Beale St. to the stained glass crowd
And I know that He can hear me if I cry out loud

It brings me to tears to think of all of the times that I imagined the way I think Jesus is, I create mental image of what he is to me… Is that right? Am I the same as the boy who prays to Jesus thinking that he is a ninja? To what extend do we do this daily? Do we constantly make Jesus into something that he is not, or focus on only one part of this life? How many days would I rather pray to Jesus as a perfect child, or a baby laying in a manger – with the eyes of the world upon him. How many times would I rather not think of Jesus as the one who died for me – for all of these times that I want to ignore the pain he went through to save me.