This too shall be made right

Sometimes I wonder why I’m still following Jesus. Why, with all the crap that my family is going through, do I still choose to believe in an omnipotent God, one who didn’t keep my dad from getting hurt or my mom from getting sick? Why didn’t I just give up? Why didn’t I just turn away?

Maybe, if I had been taught that Jesus cares most about my health and wealth, then I would have turned away. Maybe, if I had been taught that Jesus only cares about the prayer we say, regardless of how we live our lives, I would have given up.

But that’s not the Jesus I know. That’s not the Heavenly Father, the creator of the universe, the all-powerful God that I’ve learned to follow.

The Jesus I know hung out in the church where I grew up, talking and laughing with the homeless and mentally handicapped men and women who came to church mostly for free coffee and a place to sit down.

The Jesus I know spent time in the squatter community in Mexico City where I spent my summers, playing soccer with the kids on the street and working 18-hour days to make ends meet.

The Jesus I know lives in my neighborhood in East Oakland, standing on the street corner with the migrant workers in the daytime, and standing on the street corner with the women at night.

The Jesus I know loves the poor, advocates for the oppressed, cares for the sick, and wraps his arms around the brokenhearted. The Jesus I know intentionally leaves behind the pretty, the perfect, the easy and walks into the ugly, the broken, the hard. The Jesus I know weeps, mourns, screams when he sees his children hurting.

That’s the Jesus that walks with me now. And that’s why I can’t give up, can’t turn away. Because he cares for the sick (my parents). Because he wraps his arms around the brokenhearted (me). Because I see him more here than I ever did when life felt easier.

He’s with me in the darkness. And he knows that the darkness won’t last forever. That someday, this too shall be made right.