A Perfect Human

Sometimes I secretly think Jesus doesn't seem all that perfect. This is an insane thought. Especially to have often and not consider. Weeding my rose garden recently I started to actually consider the heretical thought. Originally I was thinking about a quote from The Healing Path by Dan Allender, "Jesus was...so human most would not recognize he was sinless." Hello! There it is. It hit me and then stuck in and pulled at my flesh just like all the thorns around me- I've been wrong about perfection this whole time. I thought I knew what it was. I mean doesn't everybody know what perfection is? I didn't. I still don't. But I can tell you this it's not what I thought. Jesus never seemed that perfect to me because he was so human. Far more than I. Or at least more than I present. I'm not hungry. Jesus was. I'm not tired. Jesus was. It's not that big of a deal. It was to Jesus. I'm not sweating. Jesus did. I'm not lonely. Jesus was. I'm not tempted. Jesus was.

Our humanity is not our imperfection. So what am I doing? I am spending an inordinate amount of energy masking my humanity because I think that is what is required of me. Where in the world did I get the idea that Jesus didn't have needs? That needs make me weak and ungrateful? Perfection must not be having it all together all the time. Jesus sweated blood in the Garden of Gethsemane and pleaded for his fate to be changed. Jesus embraced his humanity more than anyone ever has or ever will. And he was perfect. Flawless. Without sin. Pure. Righteous.

I find myself committed to a path that is impossible and breaking my heart, but I think it is the way of God. I think it's the way of God because I think sanctification means needing less and less. But I find myself needing more and more. I become less and less self-sufficient every day and I think I'm slipping off the narrow way. I feel crazy. The more I know God the more dependent and needy I become and yet I believe the way to follow God is to shed need, as if heartache and lack is an old skin that can be left behind as I travel forward.

I forfeit my humanity and call it good. I defame his temple and claim it pleases him. My humanity is the closest thing I have to Jesus. He came and tabernacled among us. Is it any wonder he makes me bleed? Backs me into corners? Sends me to the edge? He will do anything to bring me face to face with the reality of redemption: I only need Jesus when I'm human.


To receive redemption I have to repent. That is I have to turn around and go towards the party. A good party involves no pretenses, but instead is a communal celebration in the midst of what is, and what will one day be. To go to the party I have to take off my masks, or else I stand on the edges of the room resenting the celebration instead of participating in it. To go to the party I have to engage with realities I don't much like. One set of realities are particularly on my mind: To do everything I want to in my yard I need a man. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt I shouldn't use a chain saw, but my yard desperately needs a man who can handle a chain saw. I need a man's engaged ear and steady eye when my problems grow to towering heights and become completely intertwined with one another so that I can't even see where one starts and another begins. I need companionship. Someone to talk to at the end of the day.

Do I really need those things? Is that confession really a step towards repentance? What does it mean to need? At core I know I need Jesus and I know I am called to the likeness of One who lacked, who desired what he did not have, who hoped for things not seen, step into places that were not as they ought be.