“Have you found Jesus?” Already a couple times I encountered a street preacher standing in a busy shopping alley in town. “Have you found Jesus?” she asked me.
I hesitated between two answers. Should I tell her that no, since I didn’t lose him, or yes, and that he was hiding behind the sofa? Or should I admit that the way she was asking if people had found Jesus, yelling “Repent!” and shaking her Bible surely didn’t have any appeal to anyone. Who wants to join a religion like that? I for one not. And without wanting to sound presumptous, I wonder if she is truly happy and feeling free.
“Have you found Jesus?” No, I haven’t.
I haven’t found Jesus. I haven’t found Jesus because he has found me. He has found me everytime I needed him most. Not when I looked my best, or was conform to what a believer should be like – he found me when I needed him, and walked, walks by my side. He finds me every day. He accepts me just the way I am. My tattoos are not a problem for him, or my shaved head. My mixed race is not an issue for him. Nor does it matter if I’m thin or fat, cheery or grumpy, chronically ill, or think in the “correct” dogmatic categories. He doesn’t ask me to check my brain at the door, or if I recite the correct creed. I’m not an issue. Nobody is an issue for him. He simply comes, and finds, and turns my outlook back to the right way – sometimes gently, sometimes with a slight kick in the butt.
But no, I haven’t found Jesus. He has found me, and restored my view so that now I can see the image of God in all those around me. That’s grace.