Teacher. Rabbi. Messiah. King. Savior. Redeemer. Friend. Christ. Servant. Son. Prophet. Man. God. Rebel. Revolutionary. Priest. Intercessor.        

The roles of Jesus. All true.

But what if I don’t see them all? What if I believe in him, but only one part of him? Or in only three parts of him? What if I love Jesus the man? Will he accept that love? What if I follow Jesus the rabbi? Does that following meet his command to “Learn of me”? What if I believe in the teacher? Is that faith sufficient?

What part of Jesus is the integral part? What role is the right role? Which must I believe in?

Is Jesus enough? Is he enough to bring us together? If you’re Protestant and I’m Catholic? Or if I’m Tutsi and you’re Hutu? Perhaps we’re both conservatives? Is he enough to bring us together without making us copies of one another?

Is it okay for us to disagree on cosmetic surgery, women priests, politics, evolution, worship styles, Bible translations or Israel-Palestine? Do we need to have the same views on home schooling, homosexuality and abortion? Do we both have to condemn Harry Potter or celebrate Trinity Broadcasting Network? Can we think differently about the end times and the “Left Behind” series?

Is Jesus enough? Can he really bring to himself every tribe, tongue, nation and creed? Is he big enough to cross boundaries of race, age, class, nationality, economics, politics, culture, background, lifestyle, sins, doctrine and religion? Can Jesus overcome all of that?

The wife of a rural pastor would seem to have little reason for smiling. She and her husband lost their oldest son when he was nine. They are poor and have no visible hope of ever moving out of poverty. The needs of their church and community demand their time, their energy, their resources.

Yet when she opened the door to her home, ushering in visitors, she laughed warmly, smiled authentically. She felt glad to receive guests. She quickly prepared a meal and set it before them, and asked nothing in return. When told “thank you,” she smiled again, revealing a broken front tooth, another mark of a hard life.

Her guests pitied her for this. They pitied her poverty, her hard life, her lack of sophistication.

Still, we have trouble escaping him. Maybe we can’t because we look like him. We were made through him. My friends, family and enemies were all fashioned and designed to be like him, and so I find his picture everywhere. A picture of his nature is in our desire to be with people, to be known, to love something so much it fills us up.

God spoke. He said, “Let there be light,” and light appeared. He said, “Let us make man,” and man was created.

 

Jesus spoke. Whenever the gospels record Jesus healing an individual, Jesus speaks before the healing occurs. The same holds true for his calming wild winds, feedings of thousands, turning water into wine, and even for his death and resurrection. It should amaze us that God’s very words bring about their intention. He says, “Let this be so,” and it is. Jesus says, “You are well,” and you are. He says, “Come out from the grave,” and a man steps through the door of mortality.

I heard this in a class once. Researchers showed a battery of images to individuals who had one eye covered. The covering of a certain eye interacts with the memory. If the individual knew a word for an object flashed before his eyes, he could remember it. If he didn’t have a word for the object, he didn’t remember it.

The researchers’ conclusion? We need a name to know.

“In the beginning was the Word …”

He gave us names to know him and his actions.

6823 times from Genesis to Malachi, God is referred to as Jehovah, the self-existent one, I Am Who I Am.

It looks so obvious in retrospect. He sent us pictures all along. The pictures showed us what he looked like. That way we might recognize him when we met him.

 

He said, “Let there be light.” Jesus said, “I am the light.”

He gave manna, the bread of angels, in the desert trek from Egypt. Jesus said, “I am the bread of life.” He then said bread alone is insufficient for life; we need every word he utters. John says, “The word became flesh.”

A rock followed the people in the desert, and it gave them water. Jesus said, “I give you the living water.”

His people asked for a king. Jesus said, “I am a king.” And Paul said, “Everyone will kneel before him.” David said, “The Lord is my shepherd.” Jesus said,  “I am the good shepherd.”

A few things to keep in mind: 1) we don’t understand what Jesus is doing, 2) but we think we do; 3) he knows what he’s doing, and 4) he’ll accomplish his father’s purposes despite us.

 

Let’s start with history. In the desert, the Hebrews couldn’t see the promised land, but God did. He got them there, even though they thought he’d lost his mind.

When Jesus showed up, the Jews expected a messiah of a different sort. He wasn’t William Wallace. Where was their MacArthur, their Patton?

Jesus confounded his disciples. They spent three years with him, day and night, and they understood only after he returned from the tomb.

College entrance essays ask which historical figures you would like to meet. Magazine reporters ask which three people you’d like to have for dinner. And myspace.com has a listing for each profile, “Who I’d like to meet.” It should be “Whom”.