Jiminy Jesus.

Amazing when conviction comes blaring at you online from your British songbird-style Pandora station.
over.
& over.
& over.

And it took Miss Spektor’s warbly vocals and piano pounding to uncomfortably edge out the part, the majority, of me that has been dialing in on occasion to a sometimes-available wish-granter. 
I think I trust Oprah more. 

He’s not a wizard, a schemer, my conscience, or a vending machine.
So why are my one sentence prayers written in a “Dear St. Nick” format?

This Friday marks the day that had to come for Easter to mean anything.
The death that had to come to mark the grandness, the miracle that was the rising.
And the soldiers didn’t nail the Easter Bunny or any other mythical creature to a mega-church crystal cross.

A real man, who was really God, was tortured on a very real wooden beam, with my face behind his eyes.
And your face.

And as much as we want to believe that he’s as unreal and non-threatening as Cupid & the Tooth Fairy… all that does is diminish in every way the power of Him…in our world, in my insides.

If I don’t believe I’m worth a dinner at the Olive Garden with a handsome suitor, I don’t want to wrap my brokenness around the thought that I’m worth death. 
Death on purpose.

…So I just keep inserting quarters and pressing “C7” for rent money or rest or a hug or safe travel or ease or comfort or any of the hundreds of other fluffy requests I make per day.

And some say “I didn’t ask for this!” and some live as though “He’s there when I want Him to be, but I can just as easily live without Him.”
They, we, live as though we are owed.
We deserve.
We can, we will, whenever, however, with whomever.

But away from the maddening noise that fills my frantically beating heart and pulsing mind and shaking skin, the noise that keeps me from intimacy with the real God, is just that… intimacy with the real God.

Oh how I want to know that when I prayed He’d save me, that that God, that Jesus, that Spirit, that Savior is here behind the noise.
And I hate that He has to wait for me.
And listen to me all but laugh at him.
…until I need Him.

Really need Him.

Really, really, really need Him.

“No one laughs at God in a hospital.
No one laughs at God in a war.
No one’s laughing at God when they’re starving or freezing or so very poor.

No one laughs at God when the doctor calls after some routine tests.
No one’s laughing at God when it’s gotten real late, and their kid’s not back from the party yet.

No one laughs at God when their airplane start to uncontrollably shake.
No one’s laughing at God when they see the one they love, hand in hand with someone else, and they hope that they’re mistaken.

No one laughs at God when the cops knock on their door, and they say we got some bad news, sir.
No one’s laughing at God when there’s a famine or fire or flood

But God can be funny at a cocktail party when listening to a good God-themed joke.
Or when the crazies say He hates us, and they get so red in the head you think they’re ‘bout to choke.
God can be funny, when told he’ll give you money if you just pray the right way,
and when presented like a genie who does magic like Houdini, or grants wishes like Jiminy Cricket and Santa Claus.
God can be so hilarious.

No one laughs at God in a hospital.
No one laughs at God in a war.
No one’s laughing at God when they’ve lost all they’ve got, and they don’t know what for.

No one laughs at God on the day they realize, that the last sight they’ll ever see is a pair of hateful eyes.
No one’s laughing at God when they’re saying their goodbyes.

But God can be funny at a cocktail party when listening to a good God-themed joke.
Or when the crazies say He hates us, and they get so red in the head you think they’re ‘bout to choke.
God can be funny, when told he’ll give you money if you just pray the right way.
And when presented like a genie who does magic like Houdini, or grants wishes like Jiminy Cricket and Santa Claus.
God can be so hilarious.

No one’s laughing at God.
We’re all laughing with God.”

Regina Spektor

 Just so you know, you can cry out now.  You don’t have to wait till the car door is being crushed, the monitor is flat-lining, or the breaths are slowing.

 He is not only the God of death, He is the God of life.

Good Friday. Easter. Rescue.
Not so funny.

 

 

 

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