Last
week I turned my back on Jesus
Last week
I turned my back on Jesus...twice...in the same day. Once is bad enough but twice, just three
hours apart. What can you say? Yeah, I know that claiming to have seen Jesus
on a busy street in India is much the same as saying I saw Elvis at the
Eketahuna Races. But trust me... it was
Jesus. Both times.
The first
was while stuck in one of Chennai’s interminable traffic jams. 40 degrees, A/C on full, going nowhere. Jesus looked about 83. Having survived crucifixion, the intervening
years had obviously been spent in the sun and dust of India. The face was almost black, the beard was
white. Stooped posture. Ragged clothes. Walking staff. Ratty sandals. He looked at me sitting in the back seat of a
new Honda. He wasn’t begging, just eyes
that enquired if I was at all interested in connecting. I turned away and
continued the conversation with my companions, until Jesus moved on.
A few
hours later Jesus turned up again. This
time it was the baby Jesus, carried on the hip of the Virgin Mary. No renaissance style beatific smile here. More a pitiful pleading. Tapping on the window. Begging for food. Again I turned away. I could have prayed for the tapping to stop
but how stupid a prayer would that have been?
And who to? Thankfully the
lights turned green, Mary’s fingers scraped down the side of the car, and I was
gone.
I turned
my back on Jesus last week. I’m
obviously not a Christian, or Jesus follower, or whatever current term is in
vogue. I did wonder how the five Christians I was with coped, as an hour later
the waiter cleared away our uneaten leftovers from lunch. But that doesn’t make my issue any easier.
My problem
is that I turned my back on Jesus last week.
I can’t be a Christian, I’m not even a decent human being.
