Who Am I?

I’m a Christian.

Did you know that? It’s a serious question, did you know? Not the “Oh her? Yeah, she goes to church regularly.” or “She doesn’t swear or drink or sleep around so she’s probably religous.”

I’m talking about being a person that people call a Christian without being told to, not just where I do go on Sunday mornings or what I don’t do during the week.

Did you know that the term “Christian” was coined by so called “Heathens”? To classify people who believed in Jesus Christ. And back in the day when the word was invented, being called one wasn’t exactly a safe occupation, and yes, it very possibly meant death.

Now it’s... “I’m better than you.”

And honestly, sometimes that makes me cry.

When I say that I’m a Christian, is that what you think I mean? And more importantly, is this idea supported by my actions?

I have, in my younger years given my life to God. I know that sounds like a religious statement. Hearing it often evokes mental pictures of Mother Theresa or one of those crazy curbside yelling fanatics who screams scripture all day long at passing cars. I hope when I said it I meant that I realized that my ideas for my life are useless, shallow and worthless, and I saw that God’s plan for me was better, the best, cause he’s the best, and I wanted to be like him, like Christ. In essence, a Christian.

My realization was a very long time ago. I’ve spent over a decade comfortable in the knowledge that God loved me and I was going to heaven. But, have I been a Christian? No, not always, and mostly... not at all. Whether or not a person grows up in a envorment where church is present most understand somewhat the concept of Jesus. Jesus was that guy on the cross. He feed the poor, he talked to people, all people. And he talked about love a lot.

Love.

Gracious goodness, what a word. Poets have only been striving for thousands of years to figure that one out. It’s beyond complicated. The Christian community claim to love their fellow Christians, yet they are all too eager to call attention to their faults. That they don’t have enough love. I find myself privately thinking like that more often than I care to admit “Those Christians think this about me, they think they’re so much better... “ They... they.. THEY!

But what about me? In my “Christian-ness” am I loving people? And I’m not just restricting this to my fellow believers, approving of their Christian-ness and loving them, it’s easy enough to put on one’s “Church-face” at church and in my public life as the good girl who does (and doesn’t do) the right (or wrong) things.

But you know what? I’ve lived with my “Church Face” long enough to know that the man I claim to serve would hate it. Really really hate it, like spew thee out of my mouth type of hate. Because no matter how holy looking my church face is, it doesn’t love my fellow men like Jesus did. Jesus didn’t judge people, and he commanded us not to, to look at our own selves first, and the one who has no sin to cast the first stone. When I head to church on Sunday mornings and see a drunk stumbling down the street, as I subconsciously straighten my appropriate church clothing and walk past I judge that person if I mean to or not. If I was a true follower of Christ I would love that person. I would hug my fellow human being and, yes, it would dirty my stuck-up church clothes. And I wouldn’t notice. I would give of my money and my time to make sure this person, knows that someone cares. And I wouldn’t give it a second thought. And I wouldn’t do it to look good or because somebody might be watching.

But I don’t.

I don’t give myself to these wonderful human beings that God made and God loves. Not in the way I’m suppose to.

Now I’m about to say something you’ve heard before. Several thousands times. I know I’ve heard it enough times to desensitize myself myself from the magnitude of it. And I’ve heard it from the lips of enough people who said it for the wrong reason. Their church face plastered so obviously on that it makes me want to avoid it all together. But all that doesn’t make it any less true. So please, bare with me.

Jesus died on the cross for us.

So many times it’s me, not us. People say it with an air of importance as if since you acknowledge that it makes them better. So called “Christians” treat it like it’s a high quality insurance company “I have State Farm. I’m in good hands. You’re not in good hands. Poor you.”

What about the fact that Jesus dies for EVERYBODY? And that he did it because he loves them? And what about the fact that he commanded us to do the same? To love people who don’t deserve it and give our lives for them.

I’m very good at talking about the concept of love. I can wax on and on about it without moving an inch out of my comfort zone to actually do some really loving, the kind that’s hard to do.

So basically, I’ve been lying to you.

I’m sorry.

I say I’m a Christian but... I’m not. I don’t follow Christ. I follow me. I follow my comfort zone and what makes me happy. I don’t love my fellow man like I should. I don’t give of myself enough to the people I approve of, much less the ones who it would be a little harder to love, I judge them. I look down on them. You would not believe the thoughts I’ve had about people that God loves enough to die for them. I lie. I cheat. I think myself better, smarter, prettier. I elevate myself to a special position just because I... grew up in Sunday School?

That’s wrong... so so wrong. It’s sin. It’s worse than drinking or swearing or anything else. I have misused the name of my Lord by saying I represent him when I have such hate in my heart.

I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

I’m sorry for putting my puny problems above the poverty and pain of humanity. I’m sorry for not being Jesus to you.

I’m a Christian.

And the real question is: Do I know that? Do I try to actually be like Christ to everyone I meet? I think maybe I should have anew dream of “When I grow up I want to be..” and I want to be a Christian. The real deal. The way it used to be. I want people who don’t believe in God to see my (probably disastrous, but hopefully sincere) attempts to follow him and think “That girl right there is someone who loves without judgement, without holding back, without pretense or a Church face. Kinda like a man once known as Jesus Christ.”

I know I’m not perfect like him and that I can’t be. And this is my confession. That I’m not. I’m not Christ. But I want to be, with everything in me, I want to be a Christian.

Did you know that?