Reimagining Jesus
The first of a two (or maybe three) part series exploring what it means to engage honestly with Jesus' question "Who do you say that I am?"
In spiritual direction nothing is taboo. Everything is welcome because life, with its complexity and messiness, is the site of encounter with the sacred Presence that holds all. We talk about everything from work to pets, sex to death, politics to holidays.
Sometimes, though, our topics are more stereotypically “spiritual”. And yet, even here, conversations are always surprising.
A few weeks ago, a directee told me she wanted to talk about Jesus. Over the past several years her faith has shifted and she is now enjoying a richer, more expansive understanding of the Divine and what it means to be on a spiritual path. Recently she had noticed that her thoughts and feelings about Jesus have not “caught up”. She was surprised by this since Jesus was previously the centre of her faith - her daily companion and the one to whom she prayed. As we explored her noticings, she realised that it wasn’t so much that she felt she’d stepped away from Jesus but that she felt Jesus had stepped away from her. Going deeper, she considered the possibility that this movement away from Jesus had actually been necessary and important for her faith to grow; that there was a kindness in Jesus’ felt withdrawal. We explored whether it felt similar to what she tries to offer her own grown-up children - the space to explore and grow. In the still spaces of our conversation, she imagined herself returning to Jesus as an adult child to her parent, ready to reconnect in a fresh way that both continues the thread of relationship and is something entirely new. She was able to release self-judgement for the period of disconnection and settle into the experience of being drawn back, not because of any pressure or obligation from Jesus but from her own ripe longing.
Later in the conversation we talked about boundaries and knowing when to say “yes” and when to say “no”. We explored the image of the wolf as a symbol of wise discernment and protective presence. We wondered what it might be like to welcome wolf wisdom into her life. After a pause she said, “perhaps Jesus could be the wolf”.
It was a significant moment for her. It was also a significant moment for me. Sometimes during these conversations with directees, things are said that I take away and chew on for hours afterwards. In the time after our session, I basked in the reflected warmth of the freedom she had felt to connect the wolf with Jesus, the willingness to loosen her grip on received understanding and trust in the nudges of her inner Wisdom.
This being moved by people feeling permission to reimagine Jesus has been a theme for me lately. I recently read The Book of Longings by Sue Monk Kidd and found it to be a healing experience. For those who don’t know, The Book of Longings is a fictional tale of a young woman, Ana, and her husband Jesus. Yes, that Jesus (if this sounds too sacrilegious to you, feel free to stop reading but please note that Kidd is not arguing that Jesus was married but only creatively wondering what it might have been like - especially for his wife - if he had been married).
Ana has a longing for more than the restrictive social structures will allow her and this longing is inextricably connected with an embodied and creative spirituality that both flows from and escapes the neat confines of her culture’s religious observance. In the book, Jesus is a secondary character. He is a centred, kind and enigmatic figure with a faith that shifts, grows and deepens as the story unfolds. Throughout the book, Jesus is supportive of Ana and her unique spiritual path. He blesses the “largeness” within her, encourages her to trust her longing, gives her space and trusts her decisions.
Reading the book brought me to tears several times and not always because of the plot. What was moving me deeply was the permission Sue Monk Kidd must have felt to explore these themes and the courage it must have taken to follow that invitation to reveal her soul’s knowings by making the story public. My tears flowed out of joy for her freedom and relief to have found (another) soul guide. I was in awe of her courage to write the story and grateful for the nudge to welcome my imagination as a pathway to encounter with Jesus and to play with my wonderings long enough for them to come to life.
A willingness to reimagine Jesus is nothing new. Throughout history, people have (re)imagined Jesus in all sorts of ways. Jesus has been depicted with different ethnic characteristics, living in various time periods, and engaged in a plethora of activities (I have a friend whose art history PhD focused solely on the significance of Jesus’ posture on the cross in contrasting images). Jesus has also been represented through animal and plant imagery. Pelicans, unicorns, phoenixes and roses are all connected with Jesus, to name but a few.
Arguably, this tradition of imagining and then reimagining Jesus stretches right back to Jesus himself. In the Gospels, Jesus takes a playful approach to his own person, subtly modelling how we might connect to him through creative imagery. He talks about himself using a variety of surprising metaphors that have, perhaps, lost some of their impact because of their familiarity. He is a gate, a vine, a shepherd, a path, even bread. All these images would have made sense to his 1st century, mainly Jewish, companions for whom these were features of ordinary, daily life.
If you’re worried about reimagining Jesus because it feels dangerously new, I hope this goes some way to reassuring you that it’s not. You are actually stepping into a vast tradition of making sense of Jesus by exploring imagery that seems to open up both understanding and relationship. Perhaps, though, it’s the individualistic nature of reimagining Jesus apart from community that bothers you. I understand; I too have seen what happens when Jesus is co-opted to exclusionary agendas. And yet, throughout the Gospels, Jesus speaks with both groups and individual persons. We don’t need to polarise the personal with the communal. We are allowed to connect with the Divine both alone and in the company of others and for there to be a shift in emphasis at different stages of our journey. Ultimately, both personal and communal open onto each other. True communities are formed of persons and, to borrow a saying of Henri Nouwen (which he himself borrowed from psychologist Carl Rogers), “what is most personal is often the most universal”.
To those reluctant to engage in their own reimagining of Jesus, I also want to gently point you to a question of Jesus’: “Who do you say that I am?” It’s a question that appears in all three synoptic Gospels. First, Jesus asks the disciples who people are saying he is. Then he asks who they think he is. Peter (who is still Simon in Matthew’s Gospel) replies: “You are the Messiah” and Jesus responds by warning them not to tell anyone. In Matthew’s account, this is also the moment that Jesus gives Simon his new name: Peter (in Aramaic, Cephas). Playing on the name “Cephas”, which means rock, Jesus tells Peter that “on this rock” he will build his church (in Greek ekklesia which means “gathering of those called out”, an alternative community).
It’s easy to think that the four options offered in the story (John the Baptist, Elijah, one of the prophets, the Messiah) are the only options. It’s easy to slip into thinking that only Peter’s answer is right and that the others are completely wrong. But what if we heard “Who do you say that I am?” as a genuinely open question? What if it’s not a trick question designed to identify the “true believers” but an invitation to engage in relationship by being honest about who we understand him to be? What if Jesus renaming Peter isn’t simply a reward for giving the right answer but Jesus reciprocating the honour of being seen and named by seeing and naming in response? What if (re)imagining and naming is the crucible in which relationship forms?
A shepherd, a door, a vine, a wolf, a supportive husband: all ways to imagine Jesus, all openings onto deepened understanding and relationship. None of them “wrong”, all of them welcome as honest answers to the open question “Who do you say that I am?” We don’t need to respond in a hurry and our first answers don’t need to be our final answers. This is a conversation, not an interrogation, an invitation to engage not a summons to give an account. Like my directee and Sue Monk Kidd’s Ana, may our answers flow from our own ripe longing and, until then, may we trust in the support and care of one who knows how to wait well.
With you in the wondering,
Jen x
In Part 2 of this little series, I’ll share my own thoughts about Jesus but, first, I invite you to reflect on your own. If you feel safe and intrigued to explore Jesus through imagination, here are three simple practices you might like to try:
Engage in an imaginative reading of Matthew 16: 13-20:
Read the story all the way through once (or twice) to get a feel for the passage.
Read it again, imagining that you are Simon Peter or, if that’s difficult, standing close to Simon Peter.
Close your eyes and allow the scene to develop in your mind and don’t worry about getting the details historically accurate. Let it unfold however it wants and just be curious to see how this way of reading shifts what you notice, both in the story and in yourself.
Release the story and allow the question to linger: “Who do you say that I am?”
Allow yourself to inwardly respond, trusting that this is not a trick question but a genuine invitation to be in relationship. Trust that Jesus offers you what he offers my directee - the space to explore and grow - and waits patiently for any answer you may have.
Rest in the quiet and let yourself be held in your answer, whatever it is.
Spend some time with a selection of images of Jesus
You can either use this selection or create your own.
Soften your gaze and consider each image with curiosity and openness.
What do you notice? Which ones attracts or resonates with you?
Consider how you might creatively depict Jesus. Which people, animals, plants, objects or colours seem to communicate something of what Jesus means to you - or what you would like him to be to you?
Have a go at creating your own image or find someone else’s image that communicates something of your understanding and/or longing.
Consider your inner life
Go within and notice what is stirring within you. What thoughts or feelings do you encounter? What are you longing for? What do you need? What might meet that need or longing? Consider claiming this as an image for Jesus. Notice how you feel.
Hi Jen,
Thanks so much for this reflection. It really spoke to me and helps me to reimagine not only the Universal Christ all around me, but also the many ways the personal Jesus can be manifested. As you said, the personal and the universal aren't diametrically opposed, but beautifully ever-present and complimentary.
My first verbatim during CPE was based around the question "who do you say that I am?" As an Enneagram 3, that's a VERY vulnerable question for me to genuinely ask. It took my minutes of crying to finally be able to ask that question of my cohort peers. Of course, they were very affirming and uplifting. It has been a wonderful journey of self-discovery (and taking off those masks) since asking that question.
I try to ask the Divine that question and hear the answers through relationships, old and new.
Again, thank you for this beautiful reflection on this text.