The Man in the Hat
Not more than a year ago, while I worked the floor at the Habitat ReStore, a guy came in wearing an outfit that stopped me in my tracks.
Now, our store draws an interesting mix of folks from the thrift store crowd looking for a bargain, to the DIY bunch in search of their next project, young adults setting up a new place, and the well-to-do on the hunt for overlooked treasures. The well-dressed and the barely covered, the prim and those seriously inked up, those wanting helpful conversation and silent shoppers, the houseless and new Bend arrivals, all are welcomed as they come in the door. I love it there since the scenery and the inventory constantly change.
But the guy about my age set my teeth on edge.
His hat shouted “God, Guns and Guts” and his shirt showed a Rambo-like image of Jesus with pierced hands, bulging muscles and carrying a rifle. In the background was a cross and a waving American flag. An open-carry pistol rode on the man’s belt. He grimly nodded at my greeting, did his shopping and left.
I have to admit to keeping an eye on him until he was out the door.
Not my tribe. Not my Jesus. Not the message of the gospel of truth and grace I read in the book. To me, this guy took his ideas (which are fine to hold in a free society) and baptized them, making Jesus spokesman for his picture of an American Christian without regard to what Christ actually said and taught.
It frosts my flakes when Jesus is turned into a caricature or as a prop pushing a distinctly un-Jesus-like narrative on either end of the ideological spectrum. I struggle when our faith is wrapped in a flag and offered as a non-negotiable package deal. Jesus, as I read his teachings, didn’t die for America but for the world. However to hear some believers tell it, the rest of the world can go to hell as long as we are in our safe space.
What kind of Jesus follower sees empathy as weakness or even sin (!), offers hospitality only when convenient and only to friends, extends mercy grudgingly, and builds walls high and keeps doors locked, all while endorsing less-than-honorable people to lead us. Yet this reflects common thinking in many corners of our faith communities.
Don’t misunderstand me, I am a true believer in my country. We proudly fly the flag at our house and wholeheartedly call myself a citizen. I will defend our nation to critics and also call it to task when I feel it goes astray, but all this is not my first allegiance. That place belongs to Jesus and his kingdom.
With all the serious stories vying for my attention, it’s important for me to every so often reset my compass to True North. If I steer by any other bearing than that of Jesus and the gospel of grace and truth, I go astray. Going with the cultural flow and the latest outrage is easier and almost always wrong. As an American and a follower of Christ I must keep faithful to God before all else.
Recently, Brian Zahnd wondered what it means to be a Christian in America these days.
I suppose it means what it’s always meant. It means to take up the cross and follow Christ. It means to choose a life that, in some ways, is made more difficult for the sake of Christ.
It’s easy to hate enemies - it’s hard to love them.
It’s easy to fight back - it’s hard to turn the other cheek.
It’s easy to choose self-interest - it’s hard to lay down our lives.
It’s easy to overlook the least of these - it’s hard to see them as Jesus.
It’s easy to reach for the sword - it’s hard to take up the cross.
It’s easy to curse those who curse us - it’s hard to bless them and pray for them.
It’s easy to follow the crowd (and the crowd comes in every political and religious form) - it’s hard to follow the Crucified.
Historically, the church has gotten into deep yogurt every time it aligns itself with secular power. Often done with the intent to positively impact society through governmental control, however over time the greater change comes to the church as it swallows evil in an attempt to accomplish good. We might see that playing out on the national stage these days.
The memory of that guy in the ReStore sticks with me and still feels like sandpaper on sunburn. I’m fine with him spouting his opinion, what I’m not fine with is the yet-to-be-believer forming an idea of Jesus from him. I’m not saying I’ve got it wired just right, not at all. But RamboJesus sure seems wide of the strike zone.
With all the noise about immigration sweeps and SNAP reductions and Medicare uncertainties and foreign entanglements and cutoffs of international aid and unresolved racial problems and so many more issues, try turning it all down for a bit. Give yourself a breather to consider, again, what it looks like for you to live a Jesus life in your little corner of our country.
It seems the book calls us to stand strong as welcomers, reconcilers, healers, bridge builders, encouragers, teachers, comforters, unifiers, and lovers of people…even the ones wearing a hat and shirt I think are just silly.
Let’s live the Jesus life, together, and see who we can invite to come along.
Music is always good
…and a couple of lame jokes
My wife asked me this morning, "Whacha doin' today?"
I said, "Nothing."
She said, "That's what you did yesterday."
I said, "I wasn't finished."
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A young man went to visit his 90-year-old grandfather in a very secluded, rural area of the state he lived in. After spending the night, his grandfather prepared breakfast for him consisting of eggs and bacon. He noticed a film-like substance on his plate and he questioned Grandpa, "Are these plates clean?"
Grandpa replied, "Those plates are as clean as cold water can get them, so go on and finish your meal."
That afternoon, while eating the hamburgers his grandfather made for lunch, he noticed tiny specks around the edge of his plate, and a substance that looked like dried egg yokes. So he asked again, "Are you sure these plates are clean?"
Without looking up from his hamburger, the grandfather huffed, "I told you before, those dishes are as clean as cold water can get them, now stop being so picky!"
Later that afternoon, he was on his way out to get dinner in a nearby restaurant. As he was leaving, Grandpa's dog started to growl and wouldn't let him pass. He yelled back, "Grandpa, your dog won't let me out!"
So Grandpa shouted, "COLD WATER, GET OUT OF THE WAY!"