The Pensive Pastor, April 26th, 2009
In an effort to be totally transparent and completely honest in all my dealings with family, friends and co-workers, I must make what may be to some a shocking, or at least disturbing confession. Sadly, at least according to the rest of my family, I am an unabashed and thoroughly proud lover of those delectably salty delights known commonly as anchovies. Anchovies are simply heavily brined little fish which, unfortunately, are vastly unappreciated in this MacDonalds gulping, frozen-pizza chomping world.
My enjoyment of this unappreciated taste sensation has caused my family much laughter and joviality at my expense. It has also provoked them to unwarranted gagging motions, and the occasional questioning of both my good taste and my sanity. I, however, remain steadfast, undaunted and undented in my enjoyment of those delicious delicacies. Never mind what other folks think, or even threats of being excluded from wills or being barred from visiting fine pizza establishments with my family should I order the things, I love anchovies, both on my pizza and in Caesar salad dressing.
Perhaps you too are wondering at my sanity or good taste. How can such an otherwise rational and normal seeming fellow like Pastor John have such disgusting taste in food? you might ask. My response is simple and unapologetic. I like ‘em, whether or not anybody else does. It’s not that I’m purposefully going against the crowd, forcing myself to eat anchovies simply to be different, or to appear clever, or just to be annoying. I genuinely enjoy them. That’s all there is to it. Some people like beets, a pleasure I can neither share nor fathom. Other folks like fruitcake, a gastronomic creation that is completely beyond my reckoning. Me, I like anchovies. Case closed.
In Jesus’ time folks were often shocked and offended by the people he chose as friends or dining companions. Religious authorities wondered why Jesus would be seen with Samaritans, considered the social lepers of the day. They questioned is choice of eating with tax collectors or other sinners. I’m sure they didn’t think too much about his habit of hanging out with sick folks either. Jesus, however, remained steadfast in his choice of companions. Why sometimes he even spent time with the religious leaders themselves, teaching in the temple or by simply deigning to answer their various accusations or rude inquiries. Jesus was who he was, and chose who he wanted to be with, regardless of what other people said, thought, or did.
The result is that Jesus excluded no on who was willing to include him. All who touched the hem of his robe for help, or invited him in to dinner, or challenged him, or simply wanted to be with him, were answered in the affirmative. That’s good news for all of us, no matter where we stand in the sight of others. Whether it’s a pop-star on the skids, a politician in deep trouble or a hopeless alcoholic, Jesus will answer an invitation into their lives, should it come. It doesn’t matter what tabloids tell, pundits posit, or society suggests. He doesn’t care about what others think; all he cares about is caring for us. That’s what He asks of us too. He asks us to disregard what others might say, and to love those who seem like he least likely candidates for our attention. It’s worth doing, friends, because ultimately the only opinion about us that matters is Jesus’ own. At least that’s the way I see it.