More Writings

 I write and edit for Red Tent Living, an online magazine and gathering place for women living intentionally and reframing femininity. Read more of me here.


I'm terrible at being Jesus.

I'm terrible at being Jesus.

My blood raced a bit; my skin prickled. I was just a small push away from rushing in to the rescue, again.

Say something.” My mind pulsed with the command, as though it were my duty to intervene with my opinion, my heart, my side.

How many times had I found myself right here, raging with the longing to stop the running, the addiction, the hiding, the pain of someone I love?

How could I just stand by and let this happen…again? How could anyone call that love?

I’m not sure there was a more damaging acronym birthed in the era of my childhood than the one we’ve all seen tied to a bracelet: WWJD?

The sentiment behind those four letters permeated pop culture, helping instill in children of the West an overwhelming sense of responsibility and a (largely white) savior complex.

What would Jesus do?

As if I’m Jesus. As if I’m supposed to be.

I understand the premise—how could imitating a figure that most faiths recognize as moral, healing, and kind be anything but good?

So I learned about the Savior. I learned that I was called to be his hands, his feet, his mouthpiece. I learned that I must testify, shine a light, bring the Word. I learned to be a witness. I did and said what Jesus would…or I tried to. 

As an adult, the thing I am called to surrender most often is that I am not Jesus. I am not the perfect sacrifice for this moment. I am not able to resurrect the deadness in someone I love. I am not enough for your pain, your darkness, your demons.

It turns out my hands are just hands. They ache to hug you, but they cannot be crucified for you.

I wonder if faith is less about being a witness and more about bearing witness.

Because when I attempt to "do" Jesus, I fail to wait for Him, to believe He is coming for you, for me. And, I leave my own heart to try and embody a holier one.

So—this just in—I don’t want to be Jesus.

But, I do want to grow in the hope and fortitude it takes to cry out for Him.

I want to sit with you while you cry out for Him too.

“For thus the Lord God, the holy One of Israel, has said, ‘In repentance and rest you will be saved, In quietness and trust is your strength…the Lord longs to be gracious to you, and therefore He waits on high to have compassion on you’”
-Isaiah 30:15 & 18

 

I’m Katy. And I suck at being Jesus. Would you like to wait for Him with me? 

All over again.

All over again.