Utterly broken by that. Let it sink in.

Who are you following? The Jesus who ate with tax collectors and sinners? Do you even know where He is? Let me give you a few hints.

He's not in your cold, sterile faith that advocates for unjust laws that crucify the poor, tears families apart and keeps marginalized communities marginalized.

He's not with a faith that abuses the local waitress after you get done singing for an hour about how kind He's been to you.

He's not with you when you bow down at the feet of Mammon and worship the golden calf.

He's definitely not with you when you wallow in abject fear of anyone who doesn't look like you, think like you, or worship like you.

Where is Jesus? He's hanging out in the gay bars, gently causing quiet revolutions of the heart. He's comforting a sobbing trans kid who can't figure out who they are, giving them the strength to live another day. He's giving a battered woman the last ounce of desperate strength to escape her abuser.

He's with the poor. He's with the migrant workers who are good enough to pick your apples and pay your taxes but aren't good enough to live without fear.

He's with the very people you hate the most: loving them perfectly, without any of the conditions you place upon your own love.

Are you going to follow Him? Choose this day whom you will serve.

Matthew 25:31-46

Hi, neighbor. Thanks for reading. If this touched you, do you mind sharing it? And follow the River at theriverBeautiful.com for more.

Love you. Be blessed.

J

I have seen the Darkness. Fingers frame a face well worn with pain. Prisons of stabbing coldness ever seeking warmth. Loneliness and  sorrow and fear.

I have seen the Light. Moments with loved ones,  treasured and kept. Understanding and compassion and grace. Love that sees past prisons and holds on ever tight.

I see you. I see you struggling bravely against a condition that robs you of so much. I see your anguish, anxiety, depression, terrible sadness. I see your frustration against an enemy that keeps you imprisoned. For many it is a life sentence. Sometimes you get out on parole for a while, but it feels like just when you start to get things together, another migraine slams the cell door shut. I see the prayers you’ve desperately whispered to a God who seems distant and uncaring at times. I see you wondering if He even hears. I see you wrestling with pain despite all of the times you’ve prayed for healing. I see your anger. I see your sorrow. And I understand.