When Jesus Christ got injected into the human mix two thousand plus years ago, from the cradle to the cross, He was a lightning rod of controversy. His incarnation heated up the culture war more than O’Reilly could ever dream of doing.
Immanuel’s arrival upon the scene caused demon inspired, political idiots to try to kill Him while He was still cooing and pooing in His pampers. The dragon no likey his party getting ruined, and ruin it the Prince of Peace did.
The initial message the Wonderful Counselor preached, according to Dr. Luke’s take, ticked off the crowd He was addressing so thoroughly that they attempted to throw Him off a cliff. He nailed that haughty mob for the crud they were practicing—and He did so publicly. In public. Ouch. Snap. That’s not very “Christian” of Christ.
In reality (on this planet), Jesus received minimal accolades. No lucrative gigs with the Premier Speakers Bureau; no “isn’t He so nice let’s put Him on Oprah” invite; no fat, Creflo Dollar like honorariums; no limousine chariot services. He got nada, nothing, zilch, zero, zippo—and for those who haven’t seen The Passion of the Christ yet, it sorta got even rougher.
Today in our radically pussified, politically correct state of bland, we won’t embrace this Christ because He’d so get under our skin. And we like our skin. The truth of the matter is that what Jesus said and did caused more discomfort to man’s me-monkey human spirit than cheap Tequila and three bags of pork rinds drenched in hot sauce would to a vegan’s colon.
It’s funny that a bunch of churchgoers who worship Jesus probably wouldn’t hire Him to be their pastor today because He was too much of a hellrazor. His solid/ acidic, anti-bovine scatology posture towards politicians, priests, pet sins, oppressors and others who were playing games with God and man equates a resume that most pastoral search committees wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pew.
Y’know, most of us forget the above when we see sweet baby Jesus lying in a manger. Because of our rank illiteracy regarding the scripture, our prejudiced and politically correct approach to the Bible that’s custom tailored a Jesus of our own imaginations, we have developed a deep distaste for anything but a bespoke and neutered little “g” god.
My prayer for you and yours, our churches and our nation is that we flush the feckless, Lysol-disinfected, feminine hygiene Jesus we’ve created to mollycoddle our madness and go back to the rowdy Christ that would, lovingly of course, shake us into shape.