The answer

Last week, I sat in a chair facing a group of four-year olds as they sat “crisscross applesauce” and waited for me to read a book to them. I explained about the author who was also the illustrator, highlighting his beautiful pictures and use of vibrant color. Once we had finished the book, the other teacher in the room quizzed the kids to see if they remembered what I had told them.

 

“Boys and girls, who remembers what Miss Abby said before she read the story? Hmmm? Who’s job is it to make the pictures in this book?”

 

There was a pause, and then one little boy shot up his hand. “God?” he asked.

 

The other teacher replied, “God gave this person the ability to make the pictures, but who makes the pictures in books?”

 

A little girl responded tentatively, “Jesus?”

 

“Well…no. It’s the ill…uh…sss…” the teacher hinted.

 

A little boy shouted triumphantly, “I know. I know. Dolly Parton!”

 

For kids who grow up going to church and hearing about the Bible, it’s a regular occurrence to have them guess God or Jesus for nearly any question posed to them. It’s seems funny and might make us think that they’re not really paying attention, but maybe their childlike, naïve answers actually demonstrate a profound and pure Biblical principle.

 

When Jesus was comforting his closest followers in John 14, He tells them not to be troubled, because He’s going to get everything ready for them. Then He assures them that He’ll come back and get them. And anyway, they don’t need to worry since they know exactly where He’s going.

 

One of the apostles, Thomas, says, “Hang on…we don’t know where you’re going, so how can we know the way?”

 

Then Jesus answers with one of His most crucial and revealing statements about his identity. Jesus says, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you really know me, you will know my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.”

 

This is the sixth of the seven “I Am Statements” Jesus gives us in His Word: I am the way and the truth and the life. In those ten words, Jesus lays His claim to their allegiance to His kingdom and His calling on their lives. It’s telling that the early Christians called their church “The Way.” They weren’t afraid to be confident in proclaiming Jesus’ unique position of exclusivity. He is the only way to the Father, and yet all are welcome to join Him. Those first Christians knew that Jesus, God’s Son, is the ultimate source of truth and life. Everything He spoke on earth was true, even down to the most unbelievable claims about His resurrection.

 

As it turns out, those bright-eyed four-year olds I read to last week were communicating a truth as old as Creation and yet as new as the mercies God poured out to me this morning—Jesus is the answer.

The Real Thing

One hundred years ago, Swiss-born inventor Emil Frey created Velveeta while working for the Monroe Cheese Company in Monroe, NY. He discovered he could use the broken and misshapen pieces of Swiss cheese sent to him from a different cheese-making factory in Pennsylvania, combining them with other cheese by-products. A little mixing here and a little melting there and…voila! Velveeta!

Though it is much maligned now, I was raised on Velveeta. (When an uppity cheese wants to pick a fight with Velveeta they taunt the gelatinous cheese-like loaves by calling it “Pasteurized Prepared Cheese Product.” I’m sure it’s very hurtful for the Velveeta.) My sisters and I would take out the Tupperware container designed specifically for storing the Velveeta, slide it out and slice off a chunk with one of those metal cheese slicers with the wire that cut through the yellow blob so effortlessly. Then we would take an epicurean voyage into the World of Kids On Summer Break Making Their Own Lunches in the 1980’s. The following is one of our most often made recipes:

Remove one slice of bologna and place on melamine plate featuring Ronald McDonald accidentally showering Mayor McCheese with a garden hose. Generously slather mayonnaise over the entire bologna surface, a thickness of ¼ inch is preferable. Tear a Velveeta slice into small pieces and scatter pieces on top of mayo. Cut into triangles. As you eat the tiny wedges, comment on the unique flavor of your “Bologna Pizza.”

 

For the longest time, Velveeta was pretty much all I knew about cheese. I hadn’t tried much of anything else. I wouldn’t know a Gorgonzola from a Gouda or a Colby from a Camembert. When Velveeta is all you know it seems delicious, until you spread Brie on a warm chunk of French bread or get that back of the mouth salivation from a sharp cheddar. Once the feeling of betrayal has faded, you realize what you had eaten for all those years was a substitute for the real thing.

 

The Gospels are full of people asking Jesus if he was the Real Thing. The followers of his cousin John asked him. The High Priest asked him. One of the criminals hanging on the cross asked him. Everyone wanted to know if they were standing in the midst of the One and Only Messiah or just a Velveeta-like concoction, a resembling fake.

 

You can understand their questioning. Jesus didn’t look regal, and he didn’t lead a political rebellion. Maybe he wasn’t what they were expecting. But he told John’s followers: “Go back to John and tell him what you have heard and seen—the blind see, the lame walk, those with leprosy are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised to life, and the Good News is being preached to the poor.” (NLT)

 

When Jesus’ followers asked him to tell them plainly who he was, he said, “I have already told you, and you don’t believe me. The proof is the work I do in my Father’s name.” (NLT) He wanted them to open up their eyes and ears to notice what was happening. In his loving patience, Jesus was willing to prove himself over and over again to his people. His understanding of his identity was solid, so he was unafraid of comparisons or degradations or even having supper with well-known sinners. Jesus once told a thirsty woman that he was the Messiah as they talked beside an ancient well in Samaria. Now it’s our job to also proclaim him as the Real Thing.

Believe me

I watched a bit of the Republican and Democratic conventions a few weeks ago. I couldn’t watch the whole thing—just soundbites from speeches and nuggets of interviews from protesters and political pundits—but it was enough to get the general feel for the events.

There weren’t a lot of surprises. Mostly you hear the same message from both parties with nuances according to the preferences of their respective groups: “I’ll cut taxes…” or “I’ll fund programs…” or whatever they think will get the most whoops and hollers from the audience.

One thing that continued to surprise me was the passion of many of the delegates and supporters. As the camera would pan across the front row of attendees, one could see people wearing campaign buttons, wild-looking Uncle Sam hats, and expressions of complete worship and devotion. They were definitely invested in their candidates. It made me ask myself if I could ever be that excited about politics. Could I ever believe in a candidate that fervently?

Maybe it’s because I’m getting older or maybe because I was born just a few years after the scandal and resignation of President Nixon. Maybe it’s because nearly everything about nearly everyone is out there and available for public consumption. I couldn’t say for sure, but I can often sense cynicism creeping up on me, seeping into my thoughts and feelings and actions.

So instead of concentrating on all the things I’m suspicious or doubtful of, I’ll think about what I do know and believe in.

After almost 19 years of marriage, I believe in my husband. His thoughtfulness and kindness are as consistent as the rotation of the Earth.

I believe in people. Most people want good for others. Most parents love their children. Most brothers love their sisters. Most of us are willing to put others ahead of ourselves and take turns. Just visit a 4-way stop to test this theory.

I believe in the benefits of fresh air and good food. I believe in smiles and the power of the phrase “Can I help?” I believe in the simplicity of children playing. I believe in teamwork.

I believe in God and His Son. I believe there is more to this world than what can be seen with human eyes. I believe that Love and Goodness and Mercy will ultimately win against Hate.

I believe in these things because of my personal experiences. But my belief also involves faith—believing without cold, hard proof—and that’s the tricky part. Doubt is readily available for those looking for it.

Contrary to what I feel now amidst the madness of the current political landscape and in our bustling modern lives, these feelings of doubt aren’t really new. More than 1,600 years ago, Saint Augustine—former playboy turned priest—wrote these words: “Faith is to believe what you do not see; the reward of this faith is to see what you believe.” He had lived the first 30 years of his life seeking to satisfy his desires but something was missing. A voice told him to open the Scriptures and read. Augustine found something to believe in.

I may not be able to get behind any political candidates, but I will fight these feelings of distrust. To combat this cynicism and at the risk of looking foolish, I will continue to believe—in people, in God, and in what seems impossible.