Dear Jesus,

I like to think that snark is a spiritual gift, that the well-executed side eye is a liturgical act, that being driven to inwardly climb walls is an act of spiritual sacrifice. Sarcasm and self-righteous frustration are essential spiritual disciplines for bridging that convenient chasm with annoying, insulting Christians who I’m sure you love dearly but oh. my. god. I’m not sure how you do.

Tell me, please, that you too had #headdesk moments — when the Pharisees scolded you for not washing your hands before a meal, for example, or when your friends tried to shoo away the children who ran to see you. Tell me that you wrote #smh on the ground when a crowd of men asked you to publicly shame an adulterous woman but protected the identity of her lover.

Are not irritation and silent condemnation enough to qualify as “relating” to those aggravating brothers and sisters who also claim your name, if not quite in the way I believe they should? Won’t you please give me a gold Sunday School star for bearing the small-mindedness of your devotees with patience, or must I also suspend judgment?

You who provoke us to honesty in faith and consistency in practice, surely you must rage when Christians preach love but damn & deny others’ lives. Can’t I rage about it too? Must you also provoke me to examine my faithful practice (or lack thereof) of fellowship and commitment to the health of the whole Body? Cannot the arm simply allow the foot to be consumed by its own demons?

Srsly, Jesus.


#headdesk: banging one’s head against a desk in frustration
#smh: shaking my head or smacking my head
srsly: seriously

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