The importance of Jesus for theology and for the church has always been for the most part taken for granted � until Reimarus, who violently raised the question. Did Jesus' life, who he was-the first century Jew-really have anything to do with who we are today? For Reimarus, it was the church's proclamation of his death and resurrection that had bearing for the faith and life of the church, not the (what he perceived to be) different truths that would come if one studied the actual life of Jesus. Since Reimarus, Wrede, Schweitzer, Strauss, and innumerable others have sought to investigate who this first-century Jew really was, and what he really did and said and believed.
Paul, in 1 Corinthians 15, makes it crystal clear that to him, Jesus, and the fact of his resurrection, was of absolutely central importance to our identity as Christians. But too often the church, unwittingly following Reimarus, has contented itself with a focus on Jesus death and resurrection, without looking at who Jesus was, why he came, what he taught, and why he died. This is not to say that his life wasn't leading up to his death, and that his resurrection isn't truly the turning point of history, because these are both the case. But we should seek to enrich our Christianity with careful consideration of Jesus.
Reflecting on the importance of Jesus leads us to theological reflection on his life and his death, his identity and mission. Paul and other early Christian writers would clearly concur, making theological claims about Jesus identity and its meaning. But claims about Jesus haven't usually been relegated solely to this realm: for Paul, Jesus' life was also an imperative for how we are to live our lives. It is one of the marks of the Christian life that we not only believe in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, but that we "take up our cross and follow," that we "have the same mind as Christ."
What might Jesus say and do in today's world? What would he notice walking down the street, or in a church, or at a bus stop? Not what would he see that's changed, but more what would he see that hasn't.
I can imagine Jesus outside the United Nations building in New York, standing in the shadow of the imposing white building, amid the field of concrete. He probably wouldn't be right on the front step, but a little off to the side of the plaza, certainly with some people around him. I doubt if he would be seeking out Kofi Anon, or any of the other leaders, either to pat them on the back or to berate their leadership. Instead, I see spirited but also understated teaching . . . teaching not about "global politics," but about the coming Kingdom. "My kingdom is like a valuable antique. If a person was to find it, they would go home and sell all to purchase the entire estate where it could be found." "My kingdom is not of this world. It is not made up of legislators and police forces and inspectors, but of servants and slaves and beggars. It will overcome, but not as a conquering army or even as a peaceful coup, but as a clear light piercing the darkness. I will be lifted up-forsaken-and will draw all to myself. Be careful that you might become children of light." "I come declaring freedom, but not the kind won by armies and ratified by elections. My freedom is not of this world. In this world, you will be bound and oppressed. But take heart, I have overcome the world." "Do not oppress those around you. If I have given you freedom, how much more should those around you be free."
I can imagine Jesus watching a service at my church. "Haven't you looked around, and noticed the variegated beauty around you. You are all so much the same. Blessed are the color-ful, for prominence is theirs in heaven." "I see all that you are doing in my name, and I rejoice, but couldn't more be done? If you see someone who is put down or left out, and uplift them, you have uplifted me. Would you leave me poor outside your walls? Then what of these?"
I can imagine Jesus strolling down the long aisle at a large evangelical church here in town. He couldn't help but comment on all the bright lights and soft chairs. "With what have you sought to attract people? What message do you give? Is it 'We have the best, most enjoyable, most attractive Christianity around . . . Come be entertained and experience Christianity here"? I rejoice that you have brought in so many, that you lift up my name so often. Many churches have much to learn from your willingness to listen to the cries around you and to present answers to the questions they ask. I want your best, your best music, your best dancing, your best speaking . . . Thank you for bringing it to me. But, who is lifted up in this place? Have you humbled yourselves, as I humbled myself; have you been forsaken as I was forsaken; have you served as I serve? I came not to fulfill your desires, to broaden and deepen your experiences, but to glorify God the Father and bring God's kingdom here on earth. It is not a kingdom of insiders looking out, but of outsiders coming in. Why are you so busy determining who is in and out? Invite them in my name. It is salvation, not a new way of dressing, that I bring."
I can imagine Jesus looking through the back window of a sanctuary of a Mainline church on a Sunday morning. The sanctuary certainly isn't empty, and neither are the Sunday school rooms, but they certainly aren't full either. And God is clearly worshiped and confessed, but God's glory isn't exactly proclaimed. "My children, you have my heart for the needy. Oh that all my followers were as aware as you of the downtrodden, the oppressed, the needy. Thank you for taking them in, lifting them up, fighting for them. That is near and dear to my heart. But where is the glory of the Father's name, where is the proclamation of his salvation? Yes, I came to proclaim freedom to the captive, liberation to the oppressed, hope for the hopeless, but that freedom, that liberation, that hope is in me, alone. We cannot cure the ails of this failing world, even though I want you to try. I have called all to myself, and it is in my death and my resurrection that the new life you have so wonderfully sought to distribute is finally and only to be found. Yes, this new life can't but call us to uplift and liberate and empower, but it calls us also to proclaim my love, my kingdom, in my Father. For just as I and the Father are one, so too am I in you and you in me. Don't be ashamed of me."
I can't help but imagine Jesus taking a walk downtown. A lot of people in dark coats, except on Friday when there are jeans. The faces are mostly blank, or animated in phone conversations. The buildings tower around. I don't think he would get too much attention here. But the words would echo off the pavement and glass-"Go, give all you possess to the poor, and then you can follow me." Down here too many people feel the gravity of the top floor, the inertia of the commute. But the call echoes on.
What does it mean to imagine Jesus walking around today. If you look too closely above, you'll just see my own confused wonderings. But one thing is clear: none of us has it right. We must constantly turn to him. Imagine Jesus Christ walking around your world. It's not comfortable. But that's ok. Christ hasn't called us to the easy life. Instead, we take up the cross, and follow. Imagine and live.
