For those like me, raised in an atmosphere of fervent Christianity, the word "Jesus" is not so much a name as it is an ever-present companion, shaping the contours of life in both obvious and nuanced ways. My boyhood home was a fortress of religious piety, the kind that would send tremors of alarm through the editorial halls of The New York Times or The Boston Globe. Mention it to Twitter's legions of secular warriors, and watch how quickly you are pigeonholed into dated archetypes of religious dogmatism.
We were the epitome of Wednesday Night Prayer Meeting attendees: resolute in our creationist convictions, disdainful of premarital affairs, and fervently expressive about our personal conversions. The Jesus of my youth was a vigilant moral sentinel, inscribed into every facet of daily life, ensuring that we continually evaluated our ethical decisions lest we stray too far.
However, it was not until my college years and my sojourn into Episcopalianism that I discovered a different theological landscape, one that swapped the restricting moral gauntlet for an expansive meadow of divine affection. I encountered, within the pages of the Hymnal 1982 and the Book of Common Prayer, a deity whose affinity for humanity was not predicated on moral rigor, but flourished in the expansiveness of unconditional love. The God I met was less a surveillance state and more a boundlessly benevolent parent, reveling in the joys and follies of His earthly children.
This revelation comes at a fortuitous time as we approach the commencement of the Episcopal program year—a season of renewed devotion and community that, though time-consuming, offers something uniquely invaluable. My assertion is simple, yet profound: The Church is the lone institution in your life that seeks to reveal God's boundless love to you in a deeply personal way. Yes, the cacophony of life's responsibilities is loud, and the demands on our time are ever increasing. Yet here, in this sacred community, you will find the grounding for all other aspects of your life.
More than that, the Church could be the sanctuary that encourages you to discard what is toxic to your soul. And there, you'll find a different Jesus, not one of moralistic scrutiny or antiquated scientific beliefs, but one with arms outstretched and eyes beaming with love. He invites you in only to propel you back into the world—a world that stands in desperate need of individuals who are renewed, reconciled, and steeped in the boundless grace of God.
In this transformative journey from zeal to grace, I am reminded that the resonance of a name can evolve, reflecting the mutable landscape of our beliefs and experiences. Yet the name "Jesus" remains, not as an overseer of a moral fiefdom, but as a symbol of eternal, undiscriminating love.
