Her Church Jesus Wasn’t Anything Like The Revolutionary Jesus

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My eyes were transfixed on this young woman’s head — my eyes were bewitched by the way her head bounced to the rhythmic tone of his voice. He had a gift for gab — a gift to manipulate people’s vulnerability and contort that to his use; the way a birthday clown can take a simple elongated balloon, and mold it into an aesthetically pleasing animal. 

He was 50 years young,  a head full of chocolate-brown hair, a slight tan to his face, and deep chestnut-hued eyes that seemed to reflect warmth, compassion, and an intensity that spoke to this young woman who was seeking restoration. His face was donned with gun-metal spectacles, which seemed to add to his friendly appearance, but as the old adage goes, appearances can be deceiving.

The way he enunciated ‘God’ and ‘sin’ and ‘transparency’ made it seem like he had hand-penned this sermon just for her; he was compelling, charismatic, captivating, and she would soon find out he would be a charlatan.

It was easy to see why her soft, ashy blonde tendrils that framed her heart-shaped face bobbed to his every word. She was hanging onto his every syllable.

Forget Jesus of Nazareth — He WAS her Jesus.

Her soft green eyes were focused intently. Gold embers were sparked by an internal fire that has slowly been kindled by her Jesus and it was roaring at an extensive intensity. Her Jesus had used words to perfect execution to excite her spirit. she would free herself to this man in every way.

A transparent, exposed blooming rose in a concrete garden bitterness, judgement, and false theologies. Her viable petals so vibrantly soft to his touch like a twisted vine, constricting to his touch – validating her innermost insecurities. Her thorns tucked away as this personable man blew her air kisses riddled with empty promises, sweet nothings, and careless doctrines.

Yes, I can see how her head bobs enthusiastically to his voice.

Yes, I can this rose is readying herself for her Jesus; someone she thinks is imperative to her saving.

Except he isn’t.

He can’t save her, but he will destroy her.

And accuse her.

And judge her.

And condemn her.

Her Jesus isn’t like Jesus of Nazareth at all.

Jesus of Nazareth would never use a revolutionary as a way to hood wink and bamboozle this young woman – and a litany of others – to further his selfish and twisted narrative.

Jesus of Nazareth would never manipulate a young woman’s trusting heart for his selfish desires.

Jesus of Nazareth wouldn’t treat women like sexual objects, rather treat them like the queens of valor that they are.

Jesus of Nazareth wasn’t a wolf in sheep’s clothing….

But HER JESUS was.

When it happens, it happens with the precise speed and hits her like a youthful sucker punch.

Her Jesus is actually her biblical Roman authority — ego-centric, vengeful, malicious, and an habitual “user.”

Her future crestfallen look plastered on her alabaster face; heartache; taking his burdens as her own is taking the position of a perpetrator, when she was really already a victor.

She wasn’t broken; she already had perfected healing in her heart.

She wasn’t without worth; she had more worth than the rarest jewels posses.

She wasn’t in need of saving; she had already saved herself before her Jesus employed his own tactics to subdue her independent mind.

She was simply perfect the way she WAS.

It would take time; calculated effort on her healing journey through the jungles of judgement, dungeons of dismissal, valleys of vindictiveness, mountains of maliciousness, hills rifled with hatred, and ponds of perverseness.

Her journey isn’t over, and perhaps it will never have an absolved ending, but she is finding peaceful resolved and one day she will wake up and realize, she never needed saving; she never needed this man-created dogma of “salvation” and “restoration”….

She already had the power within her.

She already knew God.

And God knew her.

 

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