A Five-year Old’s Dilemma: Jesus

Got to admit . . . the kid was thinking. 

My wife shared a story about a friend’s grandson.  Her friend explained that her grandson attends a Catholic preschool.  When the boy got in the car he was greeted by his mother’s usual questions-and-answers talk.

 

“What did you learn in school today?” quizzed the mother.  The child proceeded to tell his mother all about the day’s lesson on Jesus.  When he got to the end, he said, “And the teacher said she had Jesus in her heart.”

 

Then there was a moment of silence before the boy—wide-eyed—asked, “Mom, what is Jesus doing in her heart?”

 

We adults probably do not take the time to filter our responses when speaking to the preschool generation . . . especially when it comes to theological and religious topics.  We forget how literal and concrete five-year-olds can be in their thinking.  Jesus in her heart . . . seems a little crowded to a five-year-old and quite logical to want to know what he is doing in there.  Probably no wonder little children are apprehensive about things like theology and religion . . . why so much of it does not make sense to their little minds and common sense.

 

If I was a five-year-old I sure the heck would want to know how some adult, let alone Jesus, got into someone’s heart.  I’d like to know what he was doing there.  Granted, five-year-olds are more knowledgeable and sophisticated than previous generations thanks to television, movies, and videos on You Tube.  Jesus probably found some shrinking ray machine, shrank, and climbed down the teacher’s throat while she was sleeping into her heart, and set-up camp.  Still . . . why?

 

Think about it . . . think about it like a five-year-old.

 

Try this snappy pronouncement that gets thrown around by the adult faithful: Jesus is the answer.  Answer to what?  That is what every preschooler who hears that phrase wants to know—answer to what?  The quick answer is—everything.  Jesus is the answer.  This could be dangerous in the hands of a five-year-old.

 

Parents ask questions and expect answers.  “Junior, who hit your sister?”  Jesus.

 

Teachers expect answers to their questions.  “Amelia, what is four plus four?”  Jesus.

 

Who can blame a kid?  If Jesus is the answer . . . then Jesus is the answer to all questions.  It is that simple.  That is what they are told.

 

One little boy went into the store, grabbed a candy bar, and started eating it.  Shocked, the kid’s mother asked what he was doing . . . “Eating a candy bar.”

 

“Who paid for the candy bar?” demanded the mother.

 

“Jesus!”

 

What?

 

“Jesus paid for it all!”

 

The faithful have said that . . . Jesus paid for it all.  Of course, as a faithful adult, we understand that to mean that Jesus—through his life. Death, and resurrection—paid for the sins of their lives.  Grace.  To a five-year-old it simply means that Jesus has an unlimited line of credit to pay for anything . . . even a candy bar.  That’s what the children are told.  Jesus paid for it all. You name it, Jesus paid.  I wonder how those I pay my bills to would handle it if I stuck a note in the payment envelope declaring, “Jesus paid it all.”

 

Jesus saves.  Probably why he can pay for it all.  As a five-year-old I’d want to know what he saves.  Does he save rocks? Baseball cards? Comic books? Money?  Butterflies?  Convenient store bags?  There is a joke about Satan and Jesus arguing about who had the best computer skills.  they had been arguing for days, and God was getting tired of it.  To settle the argument God would test them and their skills.  The test would run for two hours and at the end God would declare a winner.

 

God set up two computers.  Jesus and Satan sat at their respective computers.  Then it began . . . the two of them did everything imaginable with a computer.  Spreadsheets.  Reports.  Faxes.  Emails.  Attachments.  PowerPoints.  They downloaded and uploaded.  Anything and everything a computer could do, they did it.

 

Then, ten minutes before the contest was over, lightning flashed across the sky, thunder rolled, rain poured, and of course, the electricity went off.  The computers crashed . . . they were off.

 

Satan stared at the blank screen and screamed every curse word imaginable.  Jesus just sighed.  Finally, the electricity flickered on.  They restarted their computers.

 

Satan searched frantically, screaming, “It’s gone!  It’s all gone!  Everything lost when the power went off!”

 

Jesus quietly started printing everything he had done in the last two hours.  This made Satan mad.

 

“Wait!  He cheated; how did he do that?”

 

God shrugged and said, “Jesus saves.”

 

What does Jesus save?  Inquiring five-year-olds want to know.

 

What about, “Jesus is with me” and “Jesus shows the way”?  Kind of creepy if you are a five-year-old in this day and age of “stranger danger”.  True, children do have active imaginations, but what parent doesn’t get a little concern when their kids start having imaginary friends/companions?  Think about it.

 

Parent to child: “Who you talking to?”

 

“Jesus.”  Right!  Because he is the answer to all questions.

 

“Jesus?”

 

“Yeah . . . Jesus.  He’s with me.”

 

“Really, Jesus?”

 

“Yup.  He’s in my heart.”

 

“What’s he doing in your heart?”

 

“Well, he shows me the way.  Besides, he is paying for it all.”

 

Makes sense to me, but I am often accused ot acting like a five-year-old.  Some of the best and deepest theological conversations I have ever had were with children.  They see the world . . . and Jesus . . . differently than we adults.  They take it to heart and mind what we tell them—literally and concretely.  They keep it simple.

 

Jesus is in my heart—a little crowded, but there is room for one more person or thing that is loved.

 

Jesus is the answer—it works for all questions.  Give it a try.  It might not make sense, but it sure saves a lot of brain power.  Besides, who is going to disagree?  Come on, we’re talking Jesus here.  He is the answer.

 

Jesus paid it all—this is tougher to embrace, but wouldn’t it be great?  No care, no worries.  Like reaching into one’s pocket and always having enough money.  Jesus is the bank.

 

Jesus saves—that is why he can pay for it all.  That or he is some sort of IT savant.  Either way, he saves because I (or we) can’t.  Someone has to pay the bills.

 

Jesus is with me . . Jesus is the way.  Sure, I talk to myself.  Jesus is a good listener. Jesus is a good way to pass this strange habit off of . . . I’m talking to Jesus.  Since he is the answer to all questions, why not this one too?  Jesus is showing me the way.  Not sure what the way is, but he’s got the directions.  I’m just tagging along for the ride.

I like it.  I like how a preschooler thinks.  Simple.  literal.  Concrete.  In my older age I have been accused of regressing . . . of going back to a second childhood.  That may be true, but if you really listen to children when they talk about God and Jesus . . . well, we adults get a good laugh, but they make a lot of sense.  So, I smile, chuckle, and glean the wisdom.  Wisdom from a five-year-old.

 

When I ask children about God . . . about Jesus . . . about who or what they are, I’m always given a one-word answer.  No, not Jesus!  Love.  Love that comes in a bear hug . . . a sloppy kiss on the cheek . . . and holding hands.  Love that comes in shared laughter . . . shed tears . . . and acting goofy.  Love comes in the acknowledgement and excitement of one another’s presence.  If five-year-olds can get it, then so can I.

 

We ought to stop and listen to the children.  They may not understand, but they know.  Oh, do they know. It’s that simple.

 

Basking

Okay . . . I admit it.  For years I have envied my dogs’ ability to discover the gift of a moment.  To be present in an opportunity.  I have envied, but more importantly admired their ability and willingness to carpe diem—“seize the moment”.

This epiphany came unexpectedly as I was sitting in my recliner.  Quinn, our mini-Dachshund, was cuddled in my lap snoozing away . . . enjoying the warmth of my lap and the sun shining through the picture window.  She was basking in the warmth of it all.  Basking . . . to lie exposed to warmth and light for relaxation and pleasure.  She looked so comfortable, so peaceful, so oblivious to the outside world . . . some sort of blissful nirvana.  She looked asleep.  In that moment of recognition, I realized that I was jealous.  Jealous of my canine’s ability to bask.

 

Of course, the envy was ridiculous on my part.  Ever since retiring it has been difficult to let loose a lifetime habit based on a schedule of labor.  A month into retirement I find it difficult to relax, let loose, and just be in the moment.  I no longer have a schedule dictating my waking moments.  I no longer must be anywhere.  I am no longer responsible for people or projects.  I am not obligated.  I realize that but it is hard to let go of hard-wired habits.  Freedom was there.  I can do whatever I want within the boundaries set by my spouse.  So, pretty much, I was free.  Free to even bask if I want.

 

The epiphany didn’t end with a realization of my envy . . . no, it ended with an ironic awareness that lying back in my recliner, sun coming through the window warmly, caressing my body . . . I was basking!  In fact, I have been basking for a week or two now.  Lying back, pup in lap, relishing the sun’s warmth.  For a couple of weeks now the sun’s light has been shining through and perfectly striking my chair bathing it in soothing warmth.  And I have been basking.

 

Basking . . . it is wonderful!  Lying there in the sunshine, soaking in the warmth, and relaxed.  I’d roll over on my back, but I’m already there.  I’d pull my shirt up to expose my belly, but there would be those who oppose . . . in particular, my wife . . . that’s going too far.  It would be nice though if someone would rub my belly like I rub my dogs’.  Ain’t going to happen.  So, I bask. What I have noticed from observing my dogs is that a good bask results in a state of sleep.

 

Sleeping . . . the ultimate state of basking.  It is true.  The art of basking provides moments of blissful sleep when done right.  I saw it with my dogs and experienced it for myself.  Can’t complain about it because it is wonderful to catch a few Zs in the warmth of sunshine.  The pups know it and I now know it.

 

Unfortunately, the bliss of basking is short-lived—at least for me.  Apparently in a recliner I am both a restless and noisy napper.  I guess I’m not as relaxed as I think I am.  My legs twitch and wiggle.  I snore.  I always have whenever I am sleeping on my back.  It really doesn’t bother me.  Quinn, our mini-Dachshund, on the other hand, finds this annoying.  She lifts her head, stares at me with a look that says, “What the hell!”  Kind of messes up her basking.  Mine, too.  Now I am self-conscious.  Embarrassed.  For me, the basking is done . . . pups come first.

 

But I’ll take it.  Though short in duration it is worth the self-conscious embarrassment brought on by a ten-pound wiener dog.  Basking is wonderful and I should have been practicing it my whole life.  Everyone should bask.  Everyone should lay, exposed to the warmth and light of the sun.  It is relaxing.  It is pleasurable.  Comforting.  Peaceful.  Calming.  A wonderful respite from the craziness of the world we live in.

 

In the future, as we transition through the seasons, do not be alarmed if I move my basking around from the recliner in the living room to the rocker on the deck to the laying in the backyard grass . . . tummy exposed. Waiting.  Waiting for someone to come and rub my tummy.  Nirvana at its best.  It works for my pups . . . so why not me?      

 

Deranged! Delusional! You Tell Me

Crap!  I had hoped to get through the winter without getting sick, and outside of my recent surgery I thought I was doing great.  Then some stranger pointed out that I was suffering from T.D.S.  It sounded serious.  Kind of icky.  The person sounded certain that I had T.D.S. and was “probably an unbearable person.” Sounds bad, doesn’t it?  Something no one would ever want to come down with . . . but this individual was certain I had T.D.S. 

Once I got over the shock of learning I was inflicted with T.D.S., I decided I should probably know what the heck T.D.S. is in the first place.

 

T.D.S.—uh oh!  Gotta a problem.  There’s two!  Which one afflicts me?

 

Trump Derangement Syndrome.  “This is a term describing an alleged, extreme, and irrational emotional or cognitive reaction to Donald Trump’s actions, policies, or public presence often characterized by intense hostility, paranoia, or instability to distinguish policy differences from personality.”  It is primarily used as a put down or insult to describe severe opposition to Trump.  It is not a medical condition but those who throw the term around like to imply a mental illness . . . yet it is not a legitimate mental illness that can be found in the latest edition of the American Psychiatric Association’s (A.P.A.) Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM5).

 

Trump Delusional Syndrome.  “In this disorder the victim has lost the ability to perceive the factual information related to Donald Trump, instead believing the lies and distortions presented by Trump and his supporters about his behavior.”  Again, it is not a medical condition.  Those who like to throw it around like to imply that it is a mental illness though it, too, is not listed in the DSM5.

 

Deranged or delusional?  I am certain, from the individual’s statement that the diagnosis leans towards the “deranged” side of the syndrome.  Let me explain.

 

It all started when I responded to a clergy friend’s post on Facebook.  This friend re-posted Tyson Durfey’s original post about an evening that he had the opportunity to spend a couple of hours with Department of Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem and her husband after a Trump rally.  They spoke about faith, family, and some politics which left him impressed to the point that he thanked God for her leadership.  In his opinion she was a person of faith . . . a lover of God . . . and that she put family first.  According to Durfey she is the sort of leader America needs.

 

Durfey admits that he is just an “old cowboy” . . . and he is.  He is also a world champion cowboy having made his living competing in rodeos in the U.S. and Canada.  Now he is retired from the rodeo circuit and a successful entrepreneur.  Look him up on Facebook.  Like most of us he obviously has opinions.

 

Because my friend is a ministerial colleague I questioned Durfey’s Facebook post and endorsement of Kristi Noem based on “faith and family”.  My question was about how we (clergy) endorse and support a person who has come out to the public and admitted that she is married and dating another married man.  Isn’t that cheating?  Doesn’t this (adultery) go against God and God’s will?  How is this good family values?  I wrote: “I think Durfey needs to clean his glasses off and take a close look at what he admires.  What do you think?”  Mind you, I was posting this to my clergy friend to in an attempt to understand.

 

Hoping to hear from my friend and have a conversation, the response to my statement came from another person . . . a stranger . . . A.W.  His post stated that my inquiry was a load of B.S., that I have T.D.S., and are probably an “unbearable person”.  Because of this I determined that he thinks my syndrome leans into the “deranged” realm.

 

I appreciate A.W.’s response even though my inquiry was addressed directly to my friend—no one else.  Of course, because of my syndrome, I couldn’t resist responding to A.W.’s post.  I responded: “Adultery is unacceptable in the Christian faith . . . that is B.S.?”  Still waiting for a snappy response.  He might want to check out his T.D.S.—on the delusional side.

 

That, my friends, is how I came about my condition . . . my illness . . . my supposed mental illness.  Yes, mental illness.  A bill was introduced in Congress by Republican House Representative Warren Davidson (R-OH) seeking the National Institutes of Health to study T.D.S. (derangement side only).  Look it up.  In the Minnesota legislature five Republican state representatives introduced a bill to have T.D.S. (again, only on the deranged side) defined as a form of mental illness.  I thought I was just pissed off . . . pissed off with tRump . . . pissed off with his handling of our nation . . . pissed off with his cruelty . . . pissed off with his revenge tour.  Pissed off.  Angry . . . but mentally ill . . . I don’t think so!  Whatever the case, what I have has a name, I have T.D.S.

I will live.  It is not a life-threatening curse unless some other person with T.D.S. (the delusional kind) goes off the deep end and takes me out of my misery.  There is no known cure except for losing one’s mind and jumping over to the delusional side. That would be deemed a glorious day . . . a miraculous day . . . by my MAGA associates.  Yet, there are some long-shot solutions to the syndrome:

·        With the president’s self-proclaimed “excellent health” he could suddenly die.

·        The Senate and House could flip in the mid-term elections and they impeach the president.

·        And there are some more gruesome scenarios of which I would not endorse despite how pissed off I am.

 

No matter what, I have T.D.S.  I am deranged.  Of course, those who have diagnosed me with the syndrome are probably suffering from the delusional form.  They might want to check the mirror.  Almost feels as if the whole nation is afflicted with some form of T.D.S. right now.  We are all suffering.  This individual is killing our nation, our Constitution, and us as citizens of what was once a great nation.  Because of it we are all suffering from some form of this syndrome. 

At first the diagnosis scared me, but not anymore.  If people want to describe my anger as a syndrome . . . then fine.  Bottom line is that I am pissed.  Pissed that the president is a despicable, immoral, vengeful, cruel human being who only seeks power and control for himself and his cronies.  Pissed that he has gutted our government, destroyed years of equality and justice, destroyed sacred institutions and values, and fed us a line that this is a “bigger and better” America than we have ever had before.  Pissed that inflation is quickly rising, affordability is a joke, and that our national debt is skyrocketing, nothing is affordable or livable.  Pissed that he has brought back every “ism” . . . white nationalism, racism . . . if it isn’t in his image we are to hate it.  I’m pissed and if you want to call it T.D.S.—fine, just make sure you classify it as the “derangement” version”.  I can justify that.  I could never justify T.D.S.—the “delusional” version—because of the overwhelming evidence that is available showing how far gone this president has gone.  That would be unacceptable and immoral.  I am not delusional, I am pissed . . . I mean, deranged!  This is a big part of why we are where we are today . . . Trump Derangement/Delusional Syndrome.

So . . . I have T.D.S.  Now I have a label and a name for being pissed off at tRump.  Who would have thought?  Be careful it is starting to become contagious.