I am truly seen for who I am (Part 2)

The second part of the Bible, the New Testament, introduces Jesus, God in human form, and remarkably, he is described as someone who did not mess up. The four accounts of Jesus' life each comprise between 40 and 70 pages on a regular printed page. They don't describe the life of someone who had completely adapted to society or whose life was free of conflict. In fact, it's just the opposite. So much so, and you know this even if you've never touched a Bible, that he would eventually be killed. 

But there are two remarkable things in Jesus's life that Christians try to model their lives on. The first is how he lived, how he challenged the people around him and the society he lived in. Some of his actions, attitudes, and teachings are anything but easy to understand, but by reading about them and studying them over and over we understand that they're driven by one common denominator: love. 

The other thing is that Jesus promised his disciples—and in an extended sense us—that these eyewitness accounts would not be the only roadmap to guide us. Instead he promised us a "helper" (he called it the Holy Spirit) to guide us as we emulate him. This especially is what sets Christians apart from everyone else. Christians believe—and when I say "believe" I don't mean believe in the sense of "I believe it could rain tomorrow," but a kind of belief that equals or surpasses "knowing"—that we have been given a helper who supports us in our lifelong quest to become like Jesus. This helper assists us to get up when we stumble, encourages us when we try, and celebrates with us when we succeed. 

If you've never encountered this concept it may sound outlandish, maybe even like wishful thinking, but it's hard to imagine not seeing the advantage of having someone to emulate who never failed, whose actions were driven by love, and who has given his followers a supernatural gift that communicates with them in the most intimate manner about the most important details of their lives.

This begs the question: Why are Christians not more remarkable, if they really have this superior role model and a supernatural spirit who guides their lives?

That's a question that should make every Christian cringe. The short answer is because we're holding back. We know that we are supernaturally inhabited by Jesus's spirit, and yet we spend an extraordinary amount of time pushing back against him. We have too much pride to say: "This thing I just accomplished is not mine but God's." We might actually say those words because it's "the right thing to say." But do we really believe it? Many don't.

Or let me explain it like this: We've all probably encountered the strong will of a two- or three-year-old when they really wanted to do a certain task. Every onlooker knows it's not going to be accomplished particularly successfully (best-case scenario: it's cute and provides a nice learning experience; worst case: the result will be disastrous and also provide a learning experience). Still, the parents might give them free rein, either because they're embarrassed or exhausted or maybe they really believe in the value of that learning experience. 

It's kind of like that with the Christian and the Holy Spirit. It's entirely possible that God could do all kinds of remarkable things through us, but he really is less interested in those remarkable things and more concerned with us and our development—just like the parents with their toddler. One unfortunate difference is that the child will likely mature and largely grow out of it, and some Christians never do. Those who do experience growth encounter a beautiful kind of freedom, though: the freedom of not having to claim responsibility for their achievements since they understand that the best thing they did was not stand in the way of God working through them. The vast majority of Christians fall somewhere in the middle, where they sometimes have the mind of a three-year-old and sometimes are past that age. The problem is that others, especially those who are not Christians, tend to notice the failed attempts and the mess they create more than the frictionless successful ones.

And here is one other thing that I—and maybe you—can take away from all of this. If God is not interested in the remarkable things we can do and is instead invested in us becoming, well, us, then any kind of hierarchy related to the value of people cannot exist for God. In turn, for me as a Christian who strives to be like God in human form, this means that I have to (and want to!) believe in a radical kind of equality. 

You might have frowned when I claimed earlier, "One of the hallmarks of the Christian faith is equality between genders, poor and rich, people from different origins and different levels of education." Perhaps you thought of some specific churches that don’t seem to embrace gender-equality. Or examples you’ve witnessed of unequal treatment of the poor or downtrodden by some Christians or even churches. That and much more may well be true, but I know this: It is an unshakable foundation of the Christian faith that the person living in a broken-down car is held in the same regard by God—and should be by any Christian—as the wealthy in their splendid homes; the counter-cultural rebel is loved as much as the smooth cultural icon; the white male as much as the black or brown female; and the broken as much as the healthy and strong. 

At this point it’s probably become clear that I have personally failed a thousand times in this. I have condemned people in my mind and I have looked down on them. I have looked up to others and regarded them as implicitly better than me (or you). But in almost as many times as I have failed, I have been able to eventually shake off this illusion of hierarchy and look at others through the radical (and real!) sense of equality that I as a Christian am privileged to have. And, though not nearly often enough, I was then able to treat them that way as well.

Being a Christian means knowing that I am loved infinitely. You are, too. Everyone is. And since that's all that counts, that makes us all completely equal in our value.