I Don’t Have the Answers

The April mist sinks to the ground forming tiny dots on the glass, asking why I’m still awake. Contemplating this and considering that, seeing myself with righteous eyes and wondering how I can change the world with my own two hands. Or I could just let them all go, the heathens–a lost cause. But truly it’s a wonder that I’m not the lost cause. Perhaps I am. Perhaps God has given up on me long ago, leaving me to wallow in my own arrogant pride.

I like to think I have the answers. I put up this front, this face fixed in thought, the furled brow and the hand stroking the chin. I’ll raise an eyebrow when I see you stumbling down a path I’ve been down. I know where it goes and someday you’ll undoubtedly come to my conclusion. Until then I’ll just nod and smile and let experience teach you. I’m so smart. But if you really push me, push each thought and action, you’ll see I’m just as hollow as you. If you really push me I’ll cave in, admit I’m not that smart, and throw up my arms in righteous surrender. I may be wrong, but I know when to admit I’m wrong, thus I save face and don’t look quite as foolish as I am.

We like to think we have Jesus all figured out. We like to think ‘What Would Jesus Do?’ was such a simple and easy test. But we really don’t have a clue. We’re as lost as the Pharisees. And when I point this out I’m just as lost. I’m secretly hoping you won’t realize that one of the tables Jesus overturned was mine. You see I was in the bathroom when he came through, saving face once again. We look at Judas and see a man thoroughly given to Satan. That’s what we like to think. But really you are Judas. I am Judas. We kiss the face of Christ, and then walk away. At least Judas realized what he had done and dropped the act. What we do if grace found Judas before the rope? Wouldn’t that be a skeleton in our closet? The grace of God is something I’ll never understand. He would have wrapped his arms around Judas and laughed. Tears would well up in his eyes and he would have thrown his head back shouting to anyone who would hear, “My son has come home.”

That grace is mine as well. Christ wraps his arms around this self-righteous soul and his tears wash it all away.

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