Jesus loves me this I know...

When I was in fourth grade, once a week I would go to Carol Reimer's house after school for a flannel presentation of the stories of Jesus. Two missionaries would come and tell us about Jesus and at the end, before the graham crackers with chocolate icing and punch were served, they would ask, "Who would like to invite Jesus into their hearts and go to heaven after they die?" They would have this very picture of Jesus and the lamb on the flannel board. Who wouldn't want to spend their time with this guy after they die? Loving, caring, gentle, a firm understanding of animal husbandry. He looked like one of us.

His costume was different. When I was in sixth grade my costume was white t-shirt, Levi's button up fly, black Converse sneakers, surfer hair. He was more historical so his costume would be different. We didn't have much of a concept of a different time, a different culture, a different people group. I just thought he was like me only older. God sent his son, who was white and middle-class, to take care of my middle-class sin on the cross. The flannel presentation showed Jesus, with very pale skin, reddish brown hair and blue eyes, walking on the water, healing a blind man, talking to Zacheus (who was a wee little man...), asleep in the boat, feeding the five thousand with fish and bread, etc. It was like one of us doing these things. Local boy make good.

Then in 1967, there was the six day Israeli war, that Walter Cronkite was covering on the six o'clock news, that showed these young Israeli men that did not look like Jesus but looked more like Mexicans, farm workers, gardeners, etc. (And please understand I am writing this as the eighth grader of 1967, not the 53 year old) Jesus wasn't white, middle class, he was Israeli.I felt a bit lied to. That began me thinking a bit about who did I ask into my heart? A Palestinian or someone in the neighborhood I could trust. Did they use that picture because I would not have allowed a darker skinned person in my heart let alone into the Reimer's living room?

I realized I had accepted more than Jesus into my heart but a kind of racism and segregational attitude with this image. If we paint Jesus to be like us aren't we also saying he isn't like them. He is our savior not theirs. They need to accept the white Jesus, the american Jesus, not the darker skinned, darker eyed one. That is missing the point completely for the reason God sent His son to a small group of people who were oppressed and marginalized to set them free not set them apart.

I began to reject the entire package. I didn't loose faith, I lost trust. Who did I accept in my heart? What else did I accept that carried a subliminal message. An air-brushed image. A sanitized, odorless, fresh as a daisy smelling Jesus. Where is the reality in that. Can a savior from another time and culture be relevant to a white middle class kid raised in the San Joaquin Valley during the sixties? It wasn't until the mid-seventies that I began to understand who I invited in. He made my life a bit messy as He rearranged my heart, my thinking, my life. He still is. He began to turn over tables that I thought were a part of my sanctuary and began to define it as a life of prayer, conversation and response in faithfulness.

I see why God tells us not to make any graven images. We fashion them to look more like us instead of Him. That has a huge affect on our faith. Our stories need to come from our cultures but about a Savior who is not from our culture but understands our culture and time and delivers us to His. The Kingdom is not american, or even just white, it is "red, and yellow, black and white" (and may I include brown), "we are precious in His sight..."