Okay, Jesus: Show Yourself
I'll take John 3:17, Wack-A-Mole, and a Poker Face for $1000, Father.
Welcome! If you are here for the first time, this is a continuation of a journey that begins here. Because context is everything. I hope you’ll stick around!
What kind of God would deign to help a snotty early mid-life whining brat who won’t even bother to stand much less kneel as she cries out – ahem – that is, barks out her request – errr – challenge, “Okay, Jesus. Show yourself?”
Well, let’s see.
At the time, I lived in a sweet railroad apartment sublet on the upper west side of Manhattan. It is sane to say that things were coming to a head, though I didn’t know just how much and just how they were to do so. What was happening with my health, typical actor cash flow (despite the music teaching) and this deepening nag – better said – pull (push?) to drop everything, was intensifying.
I lived four blocks from the Church of St. John the Divine. I believe it is the size of a couple of football fields. Years before I would go in and noodle around at the gift shop, check out an exhibit or two (many of their chapels housed memorials and works of art.) But I always felt drawn to one little chapel dedicated to St. Martin of Tours. All the walls were stone with Fleur-de-lys engraved as well as small statue of St. Joan of Arc in full armor. Other than that there were just wooden chairs, an altar, and a small red cross. I would go in there and simply sit. I could almost forget New York City was outside.
I remember distinctly finding myself there on a rough day when all I could think about was my Dad. For whatever reason, on this bad New York day, (if you’ve ever lived in NYC, you’ll know there are bad New York days and good New York days – this was a bad one), I missed my Dad with an acute depth I hadn’t in a while. He died of a heart attack when I was one month from my sixteenth birthday. Here I was, twenty-six years later mourning him that day as if it had all just happened the day before. I wish I could remember all of the things that came into my head that day to calm me, but as I write, I find those thoughts less important than where I was, and that at the pinnacle of grief, a candle in the upper right wall of the chapel flickered on.
Is this the part where I make all the excuses about how that couldn’t happen and that it could not have been my dad doing that to alert me that he was there for me?
Not gonna do it.
It doesn’t matter anyway. What matters is that I knew I was not alone. I was heard. That Dad was still with me. I felt calmed. Today I would be okay.
I remember leaving the chapel thinking, Should I bow or something? I’m not gonna genuflect. I barely know what that word means. So I just sort of… left, turned around, and kind of awkwardly looked again. Then turned and without hesitation dipped my fingers in the holy water and touched my head.
It’s a start.
I found myself going there now, post “Show yourself” prayer-bark, because it, well, seemed like a good thing to do and because of the chapel and because – that candle!
On this particular day as I walked to “my” chapel, there were more people there. It was usually empty save for one or two others who would enter and exit quickly. Hmmmm. Well, okay. I’ve already walked the length of two football fields to get here so I should at least walk in and sit. And I’m thinking – they’ll leave eventually. Because you know, going to a church is aaallll about being without each other. Alone. (I’m so tempted to put in that emoji with the raised eyebrow and crooked smile.)
As I sit, a bell rings and a priest walks in.
Oh crap! No! I immediately become über anxious and worried about doing something super wrong. Like standing when I’m supposed to sit. Or generally looking like a game of wack-a-mole trying to keep up. It’s not a Catholic church. It’s Episcopalian. But this particular flavor of Episcopal church is the high bells and smells and all that sitting and standing. Also, worse, there weren’t nearly enough bodies to appropriately disappear! So I’m like STUCK there; the only body in “my” small row of wooden chairs in the sixth, or so, row.
Wack-a-mole.
Actors. We’re always making sure they have their blocking right, lines memorized and generally working toward perfection – awaiting the director to say “Good, dog!”
I sat up straight and watched the person in front of me, just like in ballet class at the bar. Because even if I didn’t know what to do, I knew enough to know that I would never EVER get whether we tondue back or front first and that when I got it wrong, I’d be screwed for the rest of the exercise.
So I watched with an eagle eye and I did the things. I think I was pretty good at fooling the priest. Then he spoke. And he said something I’d heard before. Frankly, I thought, that we’ve all heard before. (Snore.) He said,
“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”1
And I’m hearing Charlie Brown’s teacher. [Waaa-WAA-Wa-WAAA-Waa-WAAAaaa.]
Yeah, I’ve heard that before. That’s that football quote right? It didn’t mean much to me. It was like a wash. The thing that Christians say all the time to pull you in, warn you, frighten you, or teach you, or in what I believe in most cases trying to do, wow you.
I didn’t feel anything bad about him saying it. I just didn’t get it.
But then he said something next that perked up my ears. He said,
“For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him.”2
Wait, what?
I don’t think I heard the whole thing. But here’s what got in.
God did not come into the world to condemn it.
Wait. Just a minute. Let me shake my head a little, there’s something rattling in there.
He didn’t come to condemn it. He didn’t come to condemn it?
I think I thought he was this really annoying person who came into the world to, well, annoy us.
And I’m just sitting there thinking, He didn’t come into the world to condemn it. So, if he didn’t come to do that….
He came to do… the opposite? To what? Be… I dunno… good to it? Love it? How come I didn’t know that? How come I got it into my head that this Jesus guy was this huge annoying burden keeping us from having any fun and riding us all the time about how we can’t do anything or we’re going to burn in hell?
But this priest is telling me he didn’t come to do all that. Huh.
So I somehow made my way through this service. Didn’t go up to do the thing with the host and the cup because I thought better quit while I’m ahead. And sitting while I’m supposed to sit. Besides I was too busy wondering about this whole “not condemning” thing.
On my way out this priest stopped me.
I knew it! I wacked when I shoulda moled.
He told me he saw my face when he read the verse. (My mother always told me never to play poker because I’d lose everything.)
I can’t remember what I fumbled out of my mouth. But whatever it was he must have sensed all the loose marbles because he suggested I go talk to the vicar of the church.
Oh, Lord.
But in truth, I was intrigued. After all, actors love attention.
But I walked home.
I walked home repeating in my head, He did not come into the world to condemn it. He did NOT come into the world to condemn…. My actor training in text work taking over.
By now I had completely forgotten my cry for help.
To be continued…
Thank you for journeying with me! I am always happy to hear your experiences and thoughts.
John 3:16
John 3:17