Jesus Out of The Closet

Jesus Out of The Closet

I have a small collection of crosses in my laundry closet.  Most of them are small, no larger than four inches tall and they vary in material and style. They all carry individual meaning. Some were gifts and others purchased on different trips. I thought when I started placing these symbols above my washer/dryer that I was using them as motivation to get the housework done. I reasoned, “Well, if Jesus died on a cross I can certainly keep up with the laundry!”

The crosses are also placed there to hide them. Even though the representation of the cross holds personal meaning, I have been reluctant to admit it. I can say with certainty that I am often times ashamed to be a Christian.

I would love to flippantly blame my Mother’s boisterous admonishments of Christian people and institutions for my embarrassment. Her wounded psyche projected onto me would make sense and could be an easy out. I have thought a lot about this and I think that my mother’s early theological lessons did very much impact me. However, I also believe that our society and other Christians have not helped my spiritual journey.

Being a Christian is not easy. Not solely from struggling with its theological doctrine but also because of the Christo-toxic cultural environment that has evolved in the United States. I am not going to go on an anti-right wing Christian affront, although I do believe that fundamentalism has contributed greatly to the current climate. I would like to suggest the idea that well meaning, middle of the road Christians have done little to promote the positive aspects of the religion.

“Jesus Christ” has in many ways been reduced to a cheap, dime store deity. I am sure the people I encounter who hold mainstream Christian beliefs do not know how much their “Jesus is in my heart” talk negatively impacts my view of Christianity. The words that are often times used seem like clichés that no longer hold any meaning. This seemingly empty religious talk, mixed with the largely publicized Christian Right’s message of intolerance has netted a Christianity that I am uncomfortable to admit I am part of.  When asked about my religion I am always quick to say, “ I’m an Episcopalian. I am a progressive, liberal Christian. I am open and try my best to not be judgmental.” I am always in awe of the number of qualifiers I have to use to describe my flavor of Christianity when, in essence, those qualities are inherent within its teachings.

Those who throw around “Jesus” talk so easily make me wonder if they have had any true religious experiences at all. God is scary. Yes, I can fully acknowledge that God can feel loving and transcendent and all that other good stuff but my personal experiences have not revealed exclusively positive God events. I don’t believe that Christians who glibly speak of their personal relationship with Jesus Christ actually help lead others to true conversion experiences. Their pronouncements seem like cheap talk about what should be a deeply personal, life altering realization.

So, with that in mind, I will share my personal experience with Christ. In December of last year I went on a silent retreat to a monastery.  When I had been there for about 5 hours I was sitting in my room where I had been reading. Some of it was scripture and some not. I took a break and sat silently. A feeling of terrifying love came over me. A sense of a vacuum but it was full. Tears fell readily. I knew that it was the presence was Christ. Not God but Christ; a distinctly felt member of the Trinity that I had not experienced before. It was awful and wonderful at the same time. I wanted it to stop but also for it to continue forever. A new sense of knowing mixed with complete spiritual ignorance swept over me. I felt I could die then and be okay or if I went on living something inside me would have to change. I got so scared after the experience was done that I wanted to forget it. I felt traumatized. 

Over the last months I have tried to unpack this event. I have thought a lot about whether or not the Christians that so enthusiastically talk about Jesus have had this type of experience. I often wonder if those who easily chatter about Jesus are just more developed than I am. Perhaps they have already battled these doubts and demons and have made peace with them. Then I realize that, no one talks about being traumatized by Christ and at a dinner party no one converses about standing on a spiritual precipice of complete unknowing. No one mentions the conversion paradox, the wonderful awfulness.

Today I ran across the following passage from Romans 1:16-25, “ I am not ashamed of the gospel: it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who has faith, to the Jew first and also to the Greek.”  I wish I could own this. In the mean time my crosses and Jesus are still in the closet and I think I need to work on how to get them out.

The San Damiano cross. This is one of my closet favorites.