Flat Jesus and the Stranger
Often, often, often
Goes the Christ
In the stranger’s guise.
-Celtic hospitality rune
For Christmas this year, we were given Jesus. Twice.
The first is Flat Jesus, who is the Christian gift store version of Flat Stanley. For the un-enlightened, Flat Stanley is an elementary school literary experiment that many children across America have endured—including myself. Flat Stanley is a character in a book who is roughly 6 inches tall, 3 millimeters deep after getting squashed by a bulletin board in his sleep. His flatness enables him to easily slip into the pocket of world travelers and thereby experience many adventures. Children are meant to give Flat Stanley to a traveling friend or family member who then takes pictures with Flat Stanley in front of the Pyramids or the Tower of London. The problem arises when your friend or family member is only traveling to Cleveland for a dental hygienist conference, which results in some children feeling their Stanley had a rip-roaring, globe-trotting time while others feel a bit. . .cheated. The top question that arose when I googled Flat Stanley to brush up on his history sums it up best: What is the purpose of Flat Stanley?
What, indeed?
Flat Jesus, on the other hand, is a treat. Flat Jesus is felted and smiling, blue-and-white robed, light tan and sandaled with arms wide open. Flat Jesus was a playful gift from my Aunt (also the proud owner of a Flat Jesus) that reminds me of Sunday School and the simple faith of my childhood. I’ve had Flat Jesus propped up against a small pink azalea bush that sits on my kitchen table so he and I can partake in morning coffee and journaling together. Earlier this week I was journaling under some mental duress when I looked up and saw that Flat Jesus had fallen flat on his face, causing me to read the white words stitched into his back as if for the first time: “I am with you always.” It was all I needed to hear. As I propped Flat Jesus back up beneath the burning bush, this simple truth superseded all of my fears and anxieties. I think real Jesus likes Flat Jesus, too. I will not be taking him to the Pyramids anytime soon.
The second Jesus we received is a vintage, gold framed depiction of Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper, in which Jesus sits cozily amid his disciples in a blue and white robe with flowing golden hair and a serene look on his pale face—easily identifiable by the faint glow depicted around him while the disciples argue and bicker. Although da Vinci’s depiction of Jesus is highly romanticized and culturally inaccurate, the painting itself is beautiful and we love the person who gave it to us. This Jesus is also flat, resting in saintly perpetuity beneath a secure layer of glass.
The problem is, Flat Jesus and 3D live Jesus are two very different entities—though we often confuse them. In fact, the prophet Isaiah tells me I would not have liked or even noticed 3D Jesus if I had encountered him in the street:
He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him,
nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.He was despised and rejected by mankind,
a man of suffering, and familiar with pain.Like one from whom people hide their faces
he was despised, and we held him in low esteem.(Isaiah 53:2-3)
Would I have hid my face from this Jesus—despised and rejected him like most people? 3D Jesus—unattractive, pain-wrought—asks me, “Do I offend you?” and I am ashamed to say I don’t know how I would answer. Each Easter I understand a bit more the character of Judas and his bitter disappointment that Christ didn’t look like the conqueror he thought the savior of Israel would be. Would I recognize Christ if he approached me in the street? Do I prefer a Flat Jesus to the real thing? An uncomfortable encounter Drew and I had while on a walk earlier this week prompted my reflection on Flat Jesus, da Vinci Jesus, and the 3D Jesus I have never met in person.
Drew and I were walking down the main street of our town, two blocks away from turning down our street, when I saw a young man with long hair wearing a trench coat walking haphazardly across an adjacent street. Admittedly, I hurried my walking pace because it looked like something was wrong and I simply didn’t want to be inconvenienced by this person’s mess. Moments later, the sound of running footsteps and heavy breathing behind us caused us to turn around as we came face to face with the stranger. I noticed that along with his green woolen trench coat and scruffy beard he was wearing thick socks with leather sandals, a fashion statement that could have indicated his status as a wealthy tech guru who made his fortune early in life if this encounter had taken place in downtown Seattle or Portland. Somehow I didn’t think this was the case.
“Hey! Do you two happen to have. . .something to smoke?” he asked suggestively, raising an imaginary joint to his mouth.
“No,” we said simultaneously,” after which I added “We don’t smoke” (as if that would help).
“I’m sorry” and “Have a good day?” also came out of my mouth in a fine jumble to which he dejectedly responded, “No worries. It’s okay.”
As we walked away, I felt sorrow that we were not able to meet his need—I even wished that we did have “something to smoke” or something else to offer besides “Sorry. No.” Looking back, I wish I had tried to perform a Peter-and-John miracle, who when confronted by a lame beggar in the streets replied, “Silver or gold I do not have, but what I do have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk.” And the man walked.
Something to smoke I do not have, but what I do have I give you: Jesus.
True encounter with a stranger is rare these days. We’ve set up our society to be one of convenience and avoidance; we prefer to not be bothered. I prefer to not be bothered. But the place of discomfort—being forced to look into the eyes of another and acknowledge their humanity—is where the Kingdom of God is. And every time I choose to drive or walk past instead of stop and engage, I miss it. I said I’ve never met 3d Jesus face to face, but I was wrong. I met him this week, and he was wearing sandals with socks. Beyond needing a smoke, I wonder if he was really asking, “Do you see me?” Jesus tells us that we meet Him every time we feed the hungry, clothe the needy, and welcome the stranger:
Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.
(Matthew 25:40)
Often, often, often goes the Christ in the stranger’s guise, the Celtic blessing says. But how often are we looking? How often have we seen, yet not seen? Often, often, often I have missed the Christ in the stranger’s guise. And this grieves me. Contemplating the ease with which I relate to Flat Jesus and the discomfort I experience when inconvenienced by the 3D Jesus of the streets makes me want to try to keep my eyes open instead of hiding my face. With utter gentleness and love, the despised and rejected Christ asks “Do you see me?” with each and every person we encounter.
Lord, we want to see you.
Let love win over fear
Patience over inconvenience
Compassion over judgment
Generosity over withholding
Curiosity over apathy.
Amen.
Going Deeper: Do you have an experience of meeting Christ in the Stranger’s guise? If so, I’d love to hear about it. Feel free to email me or answer in the comments. <3