If Jesus came to my world, I expect he would discover that I, like the rest of the world, “didn’t even notice … didn’t want him” (John 1:9–10). Once we had made the proper introductions, of course, I might feel differently, probably conflicted. On the one hand, this guest is important; this guest improves my social standing. To have the Son of God in my home tells the world that I am important, yo, that my home is sacred.

Of course, I’ve already decided that my home is sacred, so to the degree that Jesus enters my home and exposes it to the judgment of a holy God, he becomes an immediate threat. He’s no longer watching from a distance, like the grandfatherly God I’ve come to appreciate; he’s now in my face. I show him my kitchen, perhaps, and he asks why I fill my life with so many things that add bulk but don’t nourish. I take him to my living room, and he asks why all the chairs face the television instead of each other. I take him to my bedroom, and he just stares at me, saying nothing. My private universe is threatened; the sum of myself is under scrutiny. It’s enough to make me wonder if theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer was right: “There are only two ways possible of encountering Jesus: man must die or he must put Jesus to death.”

Quoted from Deliver Us from Me-Ville, by David A. Zimmerman. Published by David C. Cook.

John 1:9-14