Imagining Jesus Part 1

My most favorite memory with Eva was when she was about 3 years old. We had a weekend together, just the two of us, and it was magical. For her. For me, it was exhausting. Because for 12 hours a day I’d pretend…to be all the Disney characters. I had their voices down and their mannerisms locked. From Mickey Mouse to Snow White to Wendy to Belle.

I have always had an imagination, but never has my imagination served me so well as when I imagine the life of a Biblical character. Stepping into their shoes to go beyond the lines of the story to get into the lives of the people. Imagining, for example, what it would have been like to be Mary, pregnant with Jesus. Did she tell her family? How did she tell her family? I can’t imagine that they believed her. Certainly Joseph’s family and friends didn’t, otherwise why would they have not opened up their home and made room for them? Instead they were forced to stay in an Inn, or rather a stable.

This past week I’ve lived in the imaginary world of Jesus. It started on Good Friday as I watched grainy clips of “The Passion of the Christ.” When I went home, I backed up. Imagining what life must have been like for him before he turned 30. What was his 29th year like? Was he nervous, filled with anticipation, with fear, with dread? Did he try to do everything he could, spend time with everyone he found, making one last memory, knowing that this would be the last year that his world would be normal? Knowing that the next year, when he turned 30, his life would be irrevocably changed. How did he spend his final year as a brother and as a friend? And how did they react when, on his birthday, he suddenly heads to find John to be baptized only to disappear for 40 days, living up in the mountain? I’m sure they had no clue as to why.

But Jesus did. I imagine, beyond the poetic telling in Matthew of “The Temptation of Jesus,” that he was not only preparing himself, but talking to himself. And practicing. Practicing to resist temptation, to live completely dependent upon God, learning to live without. Not just without food but people, important people, his family and friends of 30 years. There had to have been a grieving period. He walked out of his baptism and left that mountain having to start over because He knew those from his childhood would never listen, would never believe. The majority of his friends, his siblings, the rabbis whose feet he had sat at - they would all, not only turn away from him, but attempt to end his life. Because he told them the truth.

When I put myself in his hometown, without the advantage of time and perspective and the Bible, I imagine that I would have had the same reaction. A friend that I had known my whole life, suddenly, out of nowhere, begins to tell me that He’s the Son of God, the Messiah, the Savior of the World. Who wouldn’t be shocked and even scared? At the very best, I would have sought help for him, at the same time, most likely, distancing myself from him. At the very worst, I would have joined with the others to remove him from our community. I just desperately hope that I wouldn’t have a stone in my hand while doing it.

His was a life once filled with a rich community and he had to give it - them - all up for the greater good. He had to start over. He knew, as we all do, that he couldn’t face the challenges of life alone. Even being the Son of God. So he chose 12 strangers to be in his life, a bunch of ragtag guys to become his family. All because there was no one, outside of his mom, who

remained by his side. And even with this new “family,” they were sheep. They followed Jesus, loved him, and yet never understood him. The loneliness of that is powerful. My heart breaks for Jesus. Because he gave it all - his family, his friends, his normalcy and yes, his life. He gave it all up - alone - for me.

And all of this is, honestly, way beyond my imagination.

But…I’m not done imagining. I am done writing, though. For now. My mind and heart just need a rest.