catapult magazine

A difficult man

by Zena Neds-Fox

I’m waiting to read words that Jesus said that seem reasonable, that seem doable.  I have yet to find them.  He asks too much every time — his example unattainable every time.  What has Jesus asked that seems beyond me?  Every single thing. 

I flounder along behind him.  Maybe the apostles weren’t such a bumbling group of buffoons.  It would be like golfing with Tiger Woods.  They hung out and tried to do kingdom stuff with Jesus, his every move a manifestation of the veil torn.  Comparatively our attempts blare like car horns: sinner! 

There is none righteous, no not one.  He calls us holy and he tells us we’re his brothers and sisters and that we’re friends and that we’ll do even greater works.  Sure, collectively and over hundreds of years with heinous sins thrown in for good measure.  We’ll get some things accomplished that he couldn’t quite fit in during those three years of changing history.

What does Jesus ask me to do that is too hard?  I’m not going to lie to you.  I need a Holy Spirit shoulder-tapping every time another person stands in front of me.  “Consider them better than yourself.  Yes them.”  Whether it is my child, my husband, my neighbor, my mail lady, my mother or the person bagging my groceries.  Yes, them.  With all this eye-turning from myself to him to them and you would think muscle memory would kick in.  But no.  Every request is a mountain to climb according to my weak frame, my weak heart. 

He rains on my parade.  He points out what I haven’t done.  He never lets one sin slide, not even the tiniest most unnoticeable, unknown one that I again, have to confess in the morning.  Such an impossible taskmaster.  But there he is on the hill with the world on his shoulders bending down like a strong man to bring it all up renewed.  I’m in love with this impossible man.  He thinks I’m capable of so much more than I am.  I’m in love and so I listen to him tell me one more time that I can heal the sick.  I hear him say that I can love the poor.  He says I can give up the seat of honor and wait to be made a big deal of by the host.  Okay, Jesus.  Okay.  Whatever you say.