Jesus Looks Like Me: A Story of Narcissism and Imagination

Image via Wikipedia

This essay was originally published at Imagining Jesus.

by Ben Howard

For a few months during my sophomore year in college I went to a stereotypical evangelical megachurch complete with pseudo-hipster praise band, husband and wife “teaching” pastors, and a vaguely spiritual abstract noun in place of a church name or affiliation.

If it's not obvious from my depiction, this church was never really my scene and I basically went there for a girl. The phrase “for a girl” provides the impetus for a number of my questionable life choices. In order to cope with my growing cynicism toward the worship performance, I began to imagine that Jesus was sitting beside me in the service soaking it all in. And let me tell you, imaginary Jesus thought these worship services were hysterical. We'd share amused smirks during the sermon and try to stifle giggles during the elongated altar calls/praise-band deep cuts.

It turns out that imaginary Jesus felt the same way about megachurches that I did. In fact, it turns out that the Jesus in my mind is an awful lot like me in most ways. He's sarcastic and ironic, but simultaneously sensitive and caring. He's prone to emotional outbursts, but makes a concerted effort at stoicism. Basically, Jesus looks a lot like me, but with better judgment and fewer dickish qualities.

Until I sat down to write this essay I'd never really connected those dots. I'd never placed myself alongside my conception of Jesus long enough to wonder, “Gee, those two look awful similar.” To be honest, I was a bit disappointed with myself for what appeared to be quite a bit of blatant narcissism. I mean, who else would the incarnate God be like if not me?

In a turn that can only be considered ironic in retrospect, that narcissistic conceit was going to be the center of this very post. I could see the universalization of my own self-flagellation unfolding in my mind; a vicious screed against all of us, the self-indulgent first-worlders re-envisioning Christ in our own image. How dare we! I'd probably even end with a pithy statement about how we rob the “I am” of everything but the “I.”

Image via Michael 1952

It might have been good, but it would have been wrong.

Not only would it have focused on a twisted version of the Christian faith which renders God impotent in the face of our almighty misconceptions, it denigrates and apologizes for the kind of similarity and commonality between divinity and humanity that should be celebrated.

Because I really should see myself in Jesus. It's one of the most beautiful parts of the incarnation. I can see myself in God because God is like me.

I'm sure I'm still projecting a lot of my emotions onto Jesus. I'm sure I place too much weight on his scathing indictments of the Pharisees or view him too much through the lens of his temple cleansing antics. Those are the parts where I cheer him on and the parts I turn to when I want a righteous defense for my own indignation.

But I also don't imagine a Jesus exactly like me. The Jesus I see is much more peaceful, more open to people, more willing to see the truth rather than merely the answer. And, since I can see myself there through those other stories, maybe there's a chance I can learn these traits too.

I don't think I'm alone here. I think we all do this to one extent or another. We project ourselves onto Jesus, exaggerating one trait while diminishing another. We all end up with a Jesus that looks astonishingly like us, but without the rough bits.

That's good. We should imagine that Jesus looks like us. Because if that's the case, then there's a good chance we'll start to look a bit more like him in return.

Ben Howard is an accidental iconoclast and generally curious individual living in Nashville, Tennessee. He is also the editor-in-chief of On Pop Theology and an avid fan of waving at strangers for no reason. You can follow him on Twitter @BenHoward87.  

You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology. If you'd like to support what we do, you can donate via the button on the right of the screen.
  
You might also like:  

• How to Get Abs Like Jesus
• A (Not So) Serious Man
• I Didn't Grow Up With Saints

Abusing Each Other for a Good Cause

by Deb Winiarski

Somewhere in the hallowed hours of last Tuesday night, I checked my Facebook newsfeed before going to bed and saw a video posted by my friend Jennifer. I clicked it because she said it was ironic, and I love me some irony.

As I watched LA-based video producer Greg Karber throw shirts and jeans at people on the sidewalks of Skid Row, and listened to his narrative of Abercrombie & Fitch-bashing and ridiculous quotes from the company's CEO Mike Jeffries, I cracked a smile. I won't lie; I probably laughed out loud. Like I said, I love irony. I also love to see someone "stick it to the man" in a creative way that gets people to pay attention to things that we usually ignore or don't even bother to learn about.

But there was a sour turning in my gut as the video came to a close and Karber encouraged people to scour their closets and neighborhood thrift stores for discarded A&F clothes, and donate them to homeless shelters or other organizations that serve those who are not A&F target clients. And even though something didn't quite feel right, I clicked share and went to bed.

The next day, I started following the wildfire blaze of support and back-lash generated by the video's viral campaign. Apparently a lot of people out there don't much like the Abercrombie & Fitch crowd either. People seem to like spreading the word that Mike Jeffries is as much of a jerk as the kids I used to make fun of with my friends in high school. We sat on the front lawn eating by the flag pole instead of trying to vie for lunchroom seating among the "cool kids" who were often seen sporting the A&F logo, along with their "why-are-you-breathing-my-air" looks of disdain.

But I also came across people who protested Karber's actions and labeled him a "douche bag" of a different breed, but of the same caliber as Jeffries. Karber, they said, instead of trying to exclude the "un-cool" was using them to his own ends, and only including them as token pawns in his personal slur against a corporation that he does not like.

As I read such protests against the #Fitchthehomeless campaign, I recalled that sour taste in my mouth from watching the video and realized I shared those concerns. I didn't like how Karber treated the people on Skid Row, and I did wonder if he had explained his actions before shooting the video. But I also realized that it was not the first time I had experienced that sour, something's-not-right punch in the gut when watching an awareness ad.

That feeling I got last Tuesday night, I've also felt it when opening my mail and finding some charity's flier with a dying baby on the envelope. I've felt it in my gut when a Save the Children commercial interrupted my late-night movie marathon. I've even felt that kick in the gut when I looked at a magazine rack and saw some blood-spattered woman weeping over the limp body of her dead husband or brother or sister or parent, etc.

I realized that this feeling comes up when I encounter someone trying to help the marginalized, disenfranchised and abused people of the world with methods that seem voyeuristic and disrespectful. Then it got me thinking about Jesus.

Jesus often called people from the margins into the spotlight to make others aware of their situation and of his power to change it. From the woman with the blood disorder who only wanted to fade back into the crowd, to the man with the shriveled hand, to the widow and her tiny offering that was pointed out to all the people listening, Jesus used people who were outcasts and socially-discarded to prove his point. But he did it in a way that never compromised the humanity and God-breathed dignity of the person he was helping.

In fact, Jesus' actions and words usually brought people's innate value out more for others to recognize. The woman with the blood disorder was not only made clean, she was declared to have the kind of faith that set people free and healed them. The man with the shriveled hand was healed, but he also became a symbol of Jesus' lordship over the hypocritical power-mongers of his day. The widow's offering of two meager coins was exalted from social shame to the greatest sacrifice made in the temple that day.

Furthermore, even when Jesus was blatantly insulting someone or using irony to point out others' foolishness, he did it in a way that did not detract from anyone's dignity as children of God. Jesus always saw people first, before issues. That's the kind of charity that won't leave a bad taste in someone's mouth... well, except for maybe the ones doing the abusing.

We live in a society where it is easy for many of us to go our entire lives without talking to someone who makes us feel uncomfortable about how we use our resources and energies. In fact, the Abercrombie & Fitch slogan boasts itself to be "Authentic American clothing since 1892." The very fact that they can get away with saying that they are authentically American while making money by excluding people on the basis of skin color, ethnicity, weight, age, and socioeconomic situation speaks volumes to the actual state of our culture.

But, beyond that, what about those of us who are only willing to step outside of our comfort zones if it means a feel-good spring break, or a fabulous Instagram photo op for our troubles? Why do we have to work so hard to find the people who need our "help"?

Jesus just turned around and saw them standing in his neighborhood, found them in the places where he hung out, and met them on the street where they lived. The irony is that we tend to get annoyed with the people who use and, yes, abuse others in order to promote their own causes and campaigns; yet, should we not also be up in arms over the fact that many people need such viral videos in order for them to be motivated into action? By sharing these things and reacting to their presence in our virtual reality, we are spending time and energy perpetuating the spirit of voyeurism without having any real obligation to get out from behind our digitized screens and give someone a real helping hand.

Maybe Mike Jeffries is a douche bag because he doesn't want to sell clothing to people who don't fit his idea of cool and beautiful. Maybe Greg Karber is a douche bag because he tossed unwanted clothes to people on the street whom he judged to be homeless, and made a show of it without telling us their stories, or even their names.

But maybe I'm a douche bag because I laughed at them both, shared a video that made me feel like I was making a statement against cruelty and injustice, but then rolled over and went to sleep in my nice warm bed without even a thought for the person who was spending the night under the bridge less than a mile from my front door.

Ironic? Yeah.

Deb is currently working on her Master's of Divinity at Lipscomb University in Nashville. According to Facebook she likes The Bill Cosby Show. You can follow her on Twitter @the_deeb, but I wouldn't since she hasn't tweeted for about 2 years.

You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology.
 
You might also like: 

• Notes From A Coffee Shop
• On Being Enlightened
• Slow Justice  

P**** RIOT!

by Jonathan [last name redacted]

By now you might heard of wonderful band P***y Riot who make benefit the great nation of Soviet Russia by playing famous place in glorious Moscow to the delight of passerby and many children.

Ok. I can't keep up the mildly offensive Russian ESL vernacular for longer than one sentence. P Riot. Yes, the band P Riot. P Riot technically call themselves something else, but unlike most of you I'm searching for gainful employment, so I don't want to end all chances of being hired by screaming the word "P***Y" because a bunch Muscovites got themselves arrested (Ben.  Don't use my last name on this).

Well anyways. The social-outrage-flavor-of-the-month involves a group of women who put on an anti-Putin impromptu performance in a Russian Orthodox church. The outrage stems from the fact that the one minute performance garnered three of the women a two year prison sentence for hooliganism. Most people think that's a little extreme, and a lot of evidence points to Orthodox church politics being responsible for the excessive sentence (you know, the very thing the ladies were protesting).

The church performance marked the fourth time that the band had performed an anti-government song in a very public venue. I don't agree with the sentence, but after publicly performing three anti-government songs in a formerly communist country, and then performing a fourth profanity-laced one in a revered church of the state religion, who doesn't expect an excessive sentence? Especially with the Olympics coming up in 16 months (don't act like the Olympics had nothing to do with the length of the sentencing).

While the Patriarch of Russia condemned the band with some pretty strong words ("We have no future if we allow mockery in front of great shrines, and if some see such mockery as a sort of bravery, an expression of political protest, an acceptable action or a harmless joke."), the Russian Orthodox Church released a statement on August 17 urging the Russian government to show the women mercy (granted, it came well after the issue had gone global).

Reflect on the irony that this all began 2000 years ago with a man ticking off religious authority figures so much that the government put him to death for it. Ahh the irony. I can't imagine what Jesus would say to all of this. Bands with offensive names, Vladimir Putin, a one minute song in a church sending the entire world (and Sting) into an uproar. Why can't we all get along? Why can't the band practice first and then play in a normal venue like everyone else? Forgive and you will be forgiven? Judge not lest you be judged? Pray for your enemies and those who persecute you? Probably one of the above. But I don't know for sure. I'm not Jesus.

Jonathan is.  He just is.