Disappointed in Jesus
Some fragmented thoughts on travel, the Emmaus story, McDonalds hash browns, bok choy, and the last of the summer tomatoes
The 120th Day after Coronatide*
Atlanta, Georgia
Hello, valiant reader.
Did you see that up there? It does not say Grand Rapids. It does not say Michigan. It says Atlanta, Georgia. I can’t even believe this is real.
I arrived in Atlanta on Tuesday afternoon, after my first flight in nearly seven months. It was stressful (see below). I’m here for the Evolving Faith gathering. We’ve got a gazillion last-minute details to tend to—a little while ago, our website went down, which is super-fun for an online event, and I’m not hyperventilating because it just went back up—so I’m going to keep this note shortish.
On Saturday afternoon, I’ll be preaching Evolving Faith’s closing communion service, and what I should be doing right now is writing my sermon. Except that I have more than 48 hours to finish that sermon, and that means I probably have 46 hours to waste before I really should buckle down and get the thing done. (There’s still time to register here if you haven’t already; we go on air at 10:30 a.m. Eastern time tomorrow (October 2), but you’ll have the videos to watch until April 1.)
The passage I’ll be preaching is one of my favorites in all of the Gospels: the story of the travelers on the road to Emmaus. These two are carrying the weight of their grief as they travel this dusty road—grief at the death of their teacher as well grief at the unknown to come. But that’s not all. The theologian Justo González reads this text in a way I’d never considered before. The two travelers, he writes, “are sad not just because Jesus has died but also because he has not met their expectations.” In other words, they were disappointed in Jesus.
When I was growing up, disappointment with Jesus and frustration with God weren’t things a good Christian admitted to, or even felt. That part of the spectrum of human emotion was off limits when it came to God, because it felt disrespectful. Who was I, a mere mortal, to be disappointed in the divine?
Yet these two travelers aren’t abandoned to their disappointment or their grief. Instead, Jesus meets them, and he not only meets them but also sits down at the table with them. I love any story in which Jesus sits down to eat and drink. These stories remind me of his humanity. They remind me that he hungered. They remind me that he felt in his bones some of what we feel in ours, which is the gift and the power of the Incarnation.
Much of what I write is about food, and I might seem at times like some precious foodie. Let me assure you that my tastes run way high and way low: Sure, I like a market-driven tasting menu with wine pairings. But you know what else is a great tasting menu? Three McDonalds hash browns, stuffed into my mouth one after the other, chased by the crispy bits that were hiding out in the corner of the paper sleeve. Whenever I fly through O’Hare Airport in the morning, I always get hash browns, telling myself that I’m eating local, because McDonalds is headquartered nearby.
Anyway, I digress: So much of the story of the people of God is a story of food and drink—manna and quail in the wilderness, locusts and honey in the desert, bread and wine at the table. It’s a story of being met. It’s a story of provision.
That’s the story I’m trying to hold onto amidst these tumultuous, discouraging days, which too often tempt me toward disappointment in God. (Yes, I watched the presidential debate.) We have always been met, even if we don’t realize it right away. We will always be provided for, even though that provision might come in a form far different from what we expect or request.
What I’m Growing: My bok choy has probably been my most productive crop of this growing season. But some of it bolted and flowered in the summer heat, a process that turns the leaves bitter and unpleasant to eat. The other afternoon, I was taking the trash out and noticed that seed pods had formed on the plants. I guess this is a tangible rebuttal to my disappointment: Even the plant’s impending death contains the promise of new life.
What I’m Cooking: I saved the last of the summer tomatoes for Tristan’s return home, tossing them with basil from the garden and olive oil and a tiny splash of balsamic for one last little salad. There must have been five or six different varieties, with tremendous diversity of flavor—a burst of tartness from one, fruity sweetness from another. We didn’t have the best tomato crop this year, but we’re so thankful for what we got, and I’m thinking about how to tend the plants more carefully next year.
What I’m Reading: Hahahahahaha.
What I’m Listening to: Amidst the whirl of work in recent days, I’ve needed music that whispers and soothes. The Norwegian composer Ola Gjeilo writes ethereal compositions that take me to that much-needed place of relative peace. Here’s his piece “Serenity,” a setting of the traditional chant “O Magnum Mysterium.”
If you’re the praying kind, send prayers for me and the Evolving Faith team! If you’re more into sending good vibes and encouraging thoughts, send those! I’m so grateful we can stumble through all this together, and I’ll try to write more soon.
Yours,
Jeff
*I’m still counting my days from June 1, when my governor, Gretchen Whitmer, lifted Michigan’s stay-at-home order. I went through a whole little ordeal when I boarded my flight to Atlanta and the guy next to me, who looked as if he could squish me with his thumb, had his mask on under his nose. I won’t lie: I profiled him, and my fearful, judgmental mind wondered if he might be the type to call COVID-19 a Chinese virus. Anyway, I went through this whole mental exercise of imagining how I might be able to ask him to fix his mask without pissing him off. I tried to see how long I could hold my breath. I attempted to bury my face in the wall of the airplane fuselage. Finally, a flight attendant noticed and exercised his authority: “Sir, please put your mask on properly.” The man was not happy: “I can’t f____g breathe,” he said. Yikes! Reader, he was able to breathe for the entire two-hour flight. He did not die. He was fine. Please wear your masks and stay safe!