Fresh Ears

One of the coolest things happened last Sunday. I hiked to Pahaw, a neighboring village, with my host mom. There, we attended a small church meeting in a government building. The church is being tended by a pastor couple from Imugan, and they are teaching foundational Bible stories to the 15 or so poor rural farmers who attend. After telling the story of the Transfiguration through stick-figure drawings on the chalkboard, Pastor Albert asked if there were any questions. One old lady was particularly inquisitive, and her question stuck with me, moving me spiritually all week. In its simplicity it may be the most beautiful question that I’ve ever heard. “Where was Jesus from?” she asked. As Pastor drew out a little map of Israel in chalk, I reveled in her thoughts and fresh ears. It was as if I heard the gospel anew. Since then, I’ve allowed her question to crumble some of the timeless gilded arches of Christian religion, a religion that likes to de-humanize Jesus, pinning him to little crosses around our necks, or plastering his face like some timeless superhero on paintings or t-shirts. But he came from a place, a time, and parents. “Where was Jesus from?” Oh, let’s hear the story again for the first time! “While they were there (in Bethlehem), the time came for the baby to be born…”