Following Jesus

"Have you heard the story? The Christ is finally here!"

If I had been thinking about it, I would have seriously wondered why these words were having such an effect on me. I wasn't thinking about it, though. I was feeling it. I was living my life, doing my "stuff", enjoying the first year with my new husband and periodically curling up on the couch listening to "Hosanna" and immersing myself in the total joy of Jesus' entry parade into Jerusalem.

"Behold your salvation, He comes to the willing heart.
Blessed over all nations, His love will never depart.
Now He's reigning victorious, forever He is Lord.
Christ has delivered us,
We must fall down before Him,
Lay our hearts and souls before Him,
Lord of all."

One of the oddest things, and I realized this at the time, was that as I sang the words, "We must fall down before Him," something inside of me literally wanted to fall down before Jesus, wanted to literally lay my heart and soul, my self before Him. I had never in my life wanted to fall down before anything. Not on purpose, anyway. I kept feeling an overwhelming urge to fall in worship before this Jesus, the Jesus of the gospels, of Nazareth, of Jerusalem, the burly carpenter Jesus who built things with His hands, took care of His momma, called his followers friends, who touched and loved people that no one else would even look at. In no way did I think to connect this Jesus with the Jesus of the church. Church was different, in my mind. It seemed to involve a set of rules that helped one be good and respectable, rules that I was pretty sure I'd never be able to follow.

But this Jesus...it seemed like the following thing had been accomplished by Him somehow, that He would have wanted me and all I would have had to do is want Him back. And I did want Him. I just wasn't sure where He was. Was He dead and buried? In which case, I had missed Him just like I missed Marilyn Monroe and Elvis?

In April, a few months after I had received the cassette that had turned me in an emotional question mark, my mother-in-law, Betty, invited Mark and I to go to church with her for an Easter service. We were going to her house for Easter lunch, and I felt that going to to church was a good, pleasing the mother-in-law thing to do. The church had recently hired a new pastor, and Betty seemed excited to have us come to the church, to meet him.

At first, the service seemed like any church service I had ever been in. In fact, it felt like that all the way through. The pastor, Rev. Jim Ennis, was young and dynamic and interesting to listen to, and he had a gentle, sweet spirit. I wasn't familiar with the songs like I would have been had they been Christmas carols, and I have to admit that I don't remember much of the sermon. I actually felt very closed and careful, emotionally. I do remember, though, hearing the story of Jesus' death and resurrection. Looking back on it, all of my questions about where Jesus was now, and whether or not I would ever actually know Him were being answered in this service. Pastor Jim was saying that Jesus had risen from the dead, that He was alive even now, that He loved me and wanted to have a relationship with me. And Pastor Jim invited anyone who wanted Jesus in their life in a very real way to simply tell Jesus that, through prayer. And then, thankfully because I wasn't sure how, the pastor talked to Jesus with us.

For the first time since I had received the cassette tape, and probably in my life, I talked to Jesus. It was a very practical decision for me. I didn't feel anything, really. There was no "weeping and throwing myself in the spiritual arms of the Lord I had been longing for" moment. I just said, "Okay." And that was it.

I do remember very distinctly getting into the car to drive to Mark's parents, who just lived minutes away, and saying to Mark, "If they think I am going to follow their rules, they've got another thing coming." I think now, that was bravado talk for, "I am never going to be able to be good enough for God, so if that's what He requires, I am so screwed."

So I had met Jesus. It made sense to me, that He was real and alive. I had been feeling Him for months. And I was glad to know that it wasn't the idea of Him that had been moving me so much, but the actual Jesus.

But what did it mean, to follow Him?

More later...