Jesus asks why I don't go to church

"So how come you don't go to church?" Jesus asked me. He'd come over last Sunday morning and was watching Sunday NFL Countdown on ESPN with me.

I said nothing, instead paying attention to what Chris Mortensen said about my beloved Jets. Quarterback Chad Pennington's recent spat with the media were the focus of his report, along with an indication that the Jets really needed to win this week's game against the Rams, if only to break the pall that was cast over the team.

"Stupid stinkin' Jets," I said. "They'll lose today. What a bunch of idiots!"

"I thought you liked the Jets," he said.

I shrugged.

"I do, but they are a joke this year," I said.

"They've won ten games and odds are they are going to make the playoffs. A few years ago, they won just one game and you ragged on them, too," Jesus said.

"They haven't beaten a decent team this year. They've had an incredibly easy schedule--"

"And they made the playoffs," He said. "In fact, they've made the playoffs, what? Three of the last five years? There would have been a day when you thought that was the promised land."

I glanced over at Him from the couch. I really disliked Him sometimes.

"They have no shot at winning the Super Bowl," I said. "They're a joke."

Jesus looked at me and shook His head. It was something I had gotten used to.

"So why don't you go to church?" Jesus asked.

"I used to."

"I know."

"I don't any more."

"I know."

I sighed and tried to pay attention to Chris Berman. I really wished He could talk about something nice, and comfortable. It was Sunday, afterall, why can't He talk about football.

"They pissed me off," I said.

"Why?"

I sighed. I was hoping for a news bulletin about the impending end of the world or anything else that would allow me to not continue this discussion.

"They crapped on me, rather."

He nodded, then looked at His knees for a minute, then looked up at me.

"I'm sorry to hear that," He said. And He left it at that.

I hate it when people play that quiet card, when they shut up and let an uncomfortable silence descend and sit there until I have to say something.

"I worked pretty hard for them. There were some weekends when I would be involved in four, five, even six ministries in the course of a weekend. It was like work."

"And what happened?" He asked.

"They started pushing me, sometimes aggressively for more. I'd tell them I can't go to a meeting, and they'd push me to go, too. Sometimes, they'd basically say that Gawdd wanted me to go so that His glory could be properly honored in the Mass or the bulletin or whatever they wanted me to work on."

He nodded.

"What happened then?"

"Then, they started telling me that I wasn't good enough. I wasn't thinking right, or that my efforts as an usher weren't professional, or that they just decided that it would be better for the parrish if I were to find another ministry instead of the one that I was on."

He looked at Andrea Kremer talking about the Vikings. I wondered if He found her attractive. I wondered what she looked like in a bikini.

"They made me feel like I was an embarrassment to the parrish," I said.

"They made you feel that?" He asked. "Aren't you giving them an awful lot of power over you?"

"I suppose so," I said. "Our church is organized in the round. That's so we can all sit around the table of the Lord and come together as a family. It felt more like a weekly performance appraisal than a meeting with my Father who loves me."

He nodded.

"I don't need a weekly performance appraisal before the Lord," I said. "If so, I fail. Just send me to hell now."

He nodded again.

"How much of this is you and how much is them?"

"They are so concerned that the liturgy be perfect and that all the rules be followed and that everything look pretty for Jeesusuh that they have no concept that they are crapping on people to make it so. They don't give a rat's ass about the people they might run off. After all, it's a brand new Gawd Palace and if the white trash doesn't like it, maybe as the area grows, they will get some decent people who will replace them."

Jesus pulled his head back. His eyes widened.

"Don't mince words, Chris. What do you really think?"

"I think they are more concerned with being important through the majesty of the liturgy than they are about loving Your people."

He nodded again.

"That's a pretty heavy accusation."

"I have felt the back end of their concerns," I said. "And I'm not the only one who thinks that the parrish feels corporate since we moved into that damned showplace. I liked it better in the old place. It was tight and old and looked like hell, and it was home. I could be comfortable there. Now it's all about projecting the right image for our new building. They're selfish, arrogant, self-righteous sons of bit--"

Jesus leaned forward.

"Careful," He said quietly, "those are my people, too. And they need me as much as you do. And in some very powerful ways, they are better than you are."

I shook my head.

"So what? I should go submit and let them crap on me and other people because they are more important to You than I am?"

"I didn't say that. I said that in some ways, they are better. In some ways, you are, too," He said. "But yeah, to some degree, the Bible says you have to submit and obey. Paul is pretty clear on that."

"So you're mad at me for getting mad."

"I didn't say that, either," He said. "Except for the hyperbole, you have some valid points."

"So what do you want from me?" I asked him.

He looked over at me. I wasn't looking at him as I spoke to him any more. I was looking at the TV, but had no idea any more what they were saying.

"What do you want?"

"They hurt me. And some other people, too. I want you to fix it."

"I can't," He said.

"Or won't."

He nodded.

"Or won't," Jesus said.

I sighed.

"I want you to go be part of church. I want you to go and participate even if it hurts you right now. I want you to not be so easily swayed about where you stand in from the Father based on what people say. It is hurting you at least as much not to go as it hurts you to go."

I pursed my lip. I'd have said something, but I couldn't figure out what to say.

"Do you remember the conversation where I said that I like you?" Jesus asked. I nodded. "I really do. And that's not going to change, even if allow other people to make you feel differently. Your standing in front of me is not predicated on their feelings."

"So I can go give them hell," I said.

"You'll do what? Say that they are failing my Father? That they are daring to push people away from Him and that they'd better get it right, or God will be unhappy with them?"

"Well, uhhhh, I..."

Damn Him and His perfect logic. It's like trying to hit a tennis ball through the garage door. No matter how hard you hit it or what you do to the ball, it keeps coming back. I hate that.

"Do you really want them to feel the way you feel now?"

I sighed. He had me.

"They are leaders because My Father either put them there and allowed them to be there. It is yours to honor that leadership, even if you disagree with it. And as you struggle against the situation you are in, you might learn something that you can use later on to help someone to see My Father better."

I said nothing.

"You are rather good at that," He said. "You are certainly not the holiest person there is, but you do a good job taking your experiences and molding them into things that help people see the Father."

Damn right, I thought briefly. About damn time, He said something good-- Then, almost immediately, I knew it was wrong to think that. It was me making myself into something that needs to be honored. And I felt very small in front of Him.

"Relax," He said. "I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere."

He leaned back on the couch and made Himself comfortable.

"And most people take a long time to get that point. Some people never do. It's a hard thing to understand and deal with," He said. "It is an accomplishment that you have understood it."

For a flash of a second, I felt proud, then I felt guilty and ashamed about being proud. Then, as the pre-game show continued and ended and the game began, I felt humbled, but honored that Jesus would complement me. And I felt good...not exactly good, but somehow I felt more than I had earlier that He cared enough to take me through this and help me to see the other side.

"Oh, by the way," He said. "Andrea Kremer is attractive. And it isn't wrong for you to think that, but it would be best if you left it at that."