My Jesus

I'm so sick of the whimpy pictures of Jesus standing on a hill with his arms wide open and the children skipping around him and singing and playing tag.

That's not who or what Jesus was. And to portay him like that is a fantasy we have engrossed ourselves in because the real Jesus was scary.

Let me tell you about my Jesus.

My Jesus doesn't wear a clean white robe, his robes were dirty and torn from walking down hard dirty roads.

My Jesus doesn't have clean brushed hair, his hair is nappy and has lice and hasn't been washed in weeks.

My Jesus doesn't hang around on hill tops with his arms wide open, he walks down the ally's helping the blind, touching the lepers, talking with the sinners and prostitutes.

My Jesus doesn't have a nice beard, his beard is nappy and has old stale bread crumbs in it.

My Jesus doesn't have deep dark loving cute brown eyes, he has hard blue eyes that are crazy and defiant of the old teachings and the hypocratic teachers of law and religion.

My Jesus doesn't preach at people, he talks with them.

My Jesus wasn't sent to die for my sins, he chose to.