When I was about five or so, my mom made me a cloth doll. She didn't have jointed legs, an hourglass figure, or seductive makeup like some of the Barbies I later owned. She was actually quite simple. She had tan cloth skin, black yarn hair twisted into two braids, tiny sewn eyes, and a small pink mouth. Her body wasn't very properly proportioned either. She had a round belly and her arms were about as large as her thighs (and
they were quite large; think sausages). She was soft, huggable, and wholesome, and I had a ball sewing clothes for her out of hideous fabrics my mom let me have. When it came time to name her, I dubbed her with the eloquent title: Adra (any resemblance to religious humanitarian organizations is entirely coincidental).
I liked Adra and I still do. She's been around now for...15 or 16 years, longer than most of our family pets. She's survived three or four moves all over the United States too. But I've slowly grown up, my hands stretching, grasping, letting go of childhood toys and games and reaching out for education and jobs. At 21, I can't spend my time making miniature aprons and dresses for dolls with fat arms. So I've left Adra boxed up in a closet or shed somewhere at my mom's house in Colorado. She's most likely folded up like origami next to my old story books or scrunched up with the wooden music box my uncle gave me, the one with the hummingbird engraved on it. I've left her to collect dust in a cardboard coffin. I don't keep her near me when I sleep or prop her up on my pillow during the day either. Those days are gone.
But don't get me wrong. There's no way I could ever get rid of her. She's stuffed with much more than fluffy wool. She's full of sentimental value and the rich memory of my mother making a special gift just for me.
I know of another Parent who gave a very personal gift to His kids. Many of us accepted this treasure when we were little. God entrusted us with a simple, raw faith in the gift of Jesus. But as we've slowly grown up, life started getting more complicated and it was harder to take Jesus everywhere. He might've survived a few moves, but slowly, little by little, He was crowded out of our lives as we reached out for more "grown-up" things. For many young people, Jesus has been left in the dust as they blasted their way into adulthood. He now sits in a closet, collecting dust somewhere.
But don't be confused. He's is well liked for sure. We usually pull Him out once in a while during church, for memory's sake. We couldn't bear to get rid of Him entirely because He's too full of sentimental value and rich childhood memories. But we can't stand to let Him live fully in our lives either.
For most of my peers who grew up in Christian homes, Jesus is liked well enough to be spared a Goodwill fate, but not well enough to be brought out of the packing box and made real and personal in our everyday lives. We can't sell Him at the yard sale just yet because He's a part of our history. Sabbath school lessons, potlucks, and pathfinders weakly string our past to our present, but Jesus isn't in control of the reins that guide us in the moment, in the here and now. When we do crack open a Bible, all we see are black and white sterile words on a page, tellings stories that aren't near as flashy or fascinating as Disney.
We've "become wealthy, and have need of nothing" (Revelation 3:17 NKJV).
But the problem is keeping Jesus packed in the shed is really like having no Jesus at all. Either He is the Life "which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked upon, and our hands have handled," or He is nothing at all (1 John 1:1 NKJV). We have to decide what He will be to us. Alive or dead. Everything or nothing. We're all in or all out. Either we're burning hot, consumed by His love or we'll be vomited out of His mouth (see Revelation 3:16). You can't have a sentimental relationship with Christ based on the whims of nostalgia any more than you can have a sporadic, sentimental, pull-out-of-the-box-when-I-feel-like-it spouse. It's that simple.
It's time we quit treating Jesus like a family heirloom.
"Behold, I stand at the door and knock..." (Revelation 3:20 NKJV).
