On April 8, 2012, I will have celebrated my thirty-third Easter. Thirty-fourth if you count that last month I was hanging out in the womb. I was alive then as well.
My mind suffers from serious wandering attacks when I make any attempt to complete assigned class work for the week. Is it just me? Today, I found myself thinking about all of the interpretations and transformations Easter has gone through since the moment I was able to crush my first colored hard boiled egg with my bare hand. At first, Easter was all about the basket, the Peeps, and the colored eggs baking on the front lawn under a hot Fallbrook sun. I cannot recall when Jesus was introduced into the Easter that had developed in my mind. He must have been introduced as an action character because He looked a lot like Chuck Norris when I first started seeing Him in kids books and cartoons. When Jesus runs with scissors, other people get hurt…
My second introduction to Jesus was through a Pioneer (Christian version of the Boy Scouts) leader who turned Him into Freddy Krueger. The guy’s name was Bill. We were all gathered around a campfire when Bill told us the story of THE RAPTURE. Bill explained that if we did not receive Jesus into our life, we would be left behind and would either be killed for being a Christian, or we would die at the end of seven years. All of us (kids) were mortified and immediately accepted Christ into our life or rededicated our lives. Great way to introduce little kids to Jesus, right? I believe this specific event is why I struggle with “doomsday Christians” to this day. In my opinion, this is spiritual terrorism.
In high school, Jesus was my homie. He reminded me a little more of a long-haired “Wooderson” during this period of my life. He'd always answer my prayers with that dopey "alright, alright, alright..." I was “filled” enough to raise my hand a few times during worship and I closed my eyes like everyone else. I spoke Christianese (“Amen, Praise the Lord, Rad, Awesome, Halleluiah,” etc) and may have even spoken in tongues on an occasion or two. I was hell-bent (no pun) on earning my way into Heaven by performing good deeds and showing sinners that they were wrong and Christians were right. Essentially, Jesus was the judge and I was the District Attorney.
I bailed on Jesus in my early twenties. I didn’t hit Him up again until my late twenties. During this time, I cheated on my ex-wife and then left her to be with the other girl for just under one year. I slept with girls freely and without regard to emotional or physical consequences. I became addicted to pornography and numbed some troubled social and self-esteem issues with Absolute and Cuervo straight out of the bottle. I struggled with severe anxiety and panic attacks. Jesus became the father that I could not return to. Why would He want me back? I had become so rotten I literally made eyes water.
Present Day: I know who Jesus is to me. He doesn’t have a face. He doesn’t have a smug, mega-church smile, nor does He have an amazing billowy tuft of brown, flowing hair. He isn’t waiting for me at the door with a switch in His hand whenever I come home. There isn’t any fire in His eyes and His lips aren’t drawn into a vengeful snarl when He finds out how much of an ass I’ve been throughout the day. Instead, He draws me in for a tight embrace regardless of the filth that covers my body. He knocks the dust off my jacket and kicks the mud off my boots. He hooks me up with a fresh surf n’ turf with an Australian sized lobster tail and a thick Kobe steak. He tells me that He’s paid for all the dirt and feces that I left at the door so “don’t worry about it anymore.” He asks me how I’m doing. He sincerely wants to know. He tells me that He loves me. I know that He’s telling me the truth because I feel it in every ounce of my soul. Come to find out, He never bailed on me even when I turned my back on Him and left Him in the dust. (Luke 15:11-32)
This is what Easter means to me. God sent his Son to die a brutal death for the expiation of not only my sins, but yours as well. His resurrection secured my redemption from past and future sin. The blood that poured down His face and off His body provided me with grace that I sincerely cannot understand at times. This, in my opinion, is the true meaning of love.
Dedicated to Mike Tolerico. I still remember the day you stood up on stage and and laid out your life for everyone in attendance to see. Good and bad. True transperency. Thank You.
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