Jesus and Me

originally published on my 'Mal's Murmurings' blog in September 2005

Jesus transformed my life but, perhaps, in turn I changed his. His

story has been transmitted to us via faith communities and, to

some extent, each believer adapts this person to their own needs.

The power of symbols is simply amazing. One time, I entered into

a personal relationship with Jesus and, my God, was it hard. It’s

strange how he expected me to take on the comfortable lower

middle-class lifestyle of my peers in the faith. Some of them knew

no better, they’d grown up with him as had I but, they’d never seen

the need to rebel.

Rebellion, now there’s a pain, one may even have to start asking

and, even worse, answering questions! Me and Jesus got along fine

for quite some time, we shared all these intimate conversations but,

no … he wasn’t prepared to back me whatever I chose to do; the

pastor knew best on that score. God, how I loved Jesus social

conscience and his love of the company of outsiders to the faith but,

according to the pastor, it was only because he was divine that he

couldn’t be tainted. It seems that somehow we poor fallen

creatures couldn’t take that risk so, we had to set ourselves apart.

It wasn’t long before we parted company, at least the church and

me; I don’t think the Jesus symbol ever let me go! My journey took

me a long way round after that, via Eastern religions, Trotskyist

politics, and experimentation with various substances, asking

uneasy questions and collapsing along the way.

All this time I remained under the spell of this divine symbol Jesus;

in him I found a voice and image of inclusivity, his demands may be

hard but ultimately that became part of the attraction. If no

demands were made how could one possibly grow? This time, the

demands weren’t to do with opposition to my working class status

but, more to do with caring about the people it was necessary to

challenge.

On my return to the fold, even in a transitional state of charismatic

fervour, I was far less inclined to “preach at” non-believers; the

most important thing was that they should realize that I was there

for them. For some time, strangers would turn up at my doorstep

or, I would be granted an insight into someone’s need to be

befriended.

It took so long for the realization to grow that, the most important

thing was quite simply to be there. Although full of doubts and

questions, regarding the Christian faith, the symbols of the faith

have well and truly grasped me. I am acceptable, tetchy human

that I may be.

out of the kitchen and missing the heat

Although each hour, of each day, may seem to drag at present, it still amazes me how swiftly each year seems to pass. Most of the time each day has seemed to pass far to quickly, no sooner is one getting into it’s swing than tiredness sets in; gosh, I’m sounding like a real Grinch today.

The (current) absence of not only a functioning kitchen, but even sans kitchen sink, or even a single gas or electric hob, just seems to leave a hollow at the core of my being. Who would have thought that once, not too many years ago, I subsisted on a diet of predominantly microwaveable (so-called) meals; even in recent days, the cooking bug having for some time since had a hold of me, preparation has felt at times a chore too far, only reluctantly pursued. No working kitchen and an echoing void of proposed kitchen diner exuding its presence into the lounge, leaves one feeling achingly hollow.

I am indeed fortunate to have a roof over my head, a partner to love and be loved by, yet still I find temporary inconvenience a source of veering close to a state of reactive depression. It would be easy, of course, to blame my dispiritedness on my permanent condition of aches, pains, disorientation and unrefreshing sleep, which admittedly doesn’t help, but then I feel overwhelmed by guilt at my self pity. In a land where the government is determined to punish the poor, the  vulnerable and disabled in response to a crisis caused by their banker friends, what right have I to feel at all sorry for myself?