If you ask someone, ìWhat do you think of Jesus?î expect one of only three responses. The first is that he has no opinion; the name is unfamiliar to him. (There are few who will answer this way.)
The second response is overwhelming adoration. My student Mark is a good example. He did not immediately speak in worshipful tones, but that may have been because his cautious nature prevented it. He started speaking instead of how he thought Jesus was ìa very good teacher;î he was positive but vague. Once I pressed him for details, however, his descriptions of the man grew ever more glowing. It was clear that if I had allowed it, Mark could have talked about this ìvery good teacherî until the early watches of the morning, only stopping if exhaustion felled him. Whatís more, every admirer of Jesus I met reacted the same way. I found the unanimity of responses puzzling and a little disturbing. I was talking with people of many different backgrounds, from tax men in Jerusalem to shepherds outside the Decapolis. All of them, once I mentioned Jesus, could talk of nothing else.
Then there is the last category of opinions on the subject. For those who do know who he is but have not been let in on the secret of his appeal, Jesus is a monster. It is as startling as that. I never heard, ìHe is not the kind of preacher I like, but thatís all right.î I heard, ìHe is an abomination.î
Varieties of opinion donít exist here. Anyone in any category reacts to Jesus exactly like everyone else in that category. And oneís options only include extremes: utter love, utter hate, or complete apathy. (I count even the apathy as a strong opinion because I could sense people were clinging to it. Perhaps they could sense how divisive this figure was and made up their minds not to learn anything about him.)
When I was researching the subject, I wondered what sustained the hatred. I soon discovered people grew more vehement as reports of Jesusí good works increased. At market one day I overheard an old man scoffing: ìI saw him up close, you know. He had that ridiculous smile, that ëI love you allí look in his eyes. And they said he had cast out demons. Why donít they see him for what he is?î
I did not consider this attitude very strange. I, too, had been convinced at first that all the good reports of this teacher were the product of fakery. And the better the report, the more my suspicions seemed confirmed. It didnít even occur to me to believe the things said about Jesus could be true. No one could be that good. The more healings there were, the more miracles, the more monstrous the lie became. All of my experience had conditioned me to expect nothing but insincerity.
Once I took the time to learn who he was, I knew goodness did sing in him. And yet. And yet I could not call myself a disciple. Jesus had never asked me to follow him, and I hoped he never would. Why? Because I could never understand the disciples. ìThey follow him around like toddlers their mother,î I complained once to Mary Magdalene. ìThey are unquestioning in their devotion.î
Men and women came every day to prostrate themselves at his feet. ìWe are yours,î they say. Itís not that I thought Jesus would lead them, or me, down the wrong path. Itís that I did not want to be led at all. I would not surrender my will to any man, and I did not understand the impulse others obviously felt to do so.
ìWhy doesnít Jesus do something about them?î I asked Mary.
ìWhat do you want him to do?î
ìTell them to go away! Live their own lives! Quit using him to decide what they should be deciding for themselves!î
Mary looked at me. A faint smile crept to her lips. ìYou have no idea what youíve just said, have you?î
ìWhatís wrong with it?î
ìYou want Jesus to say ëDonít let me tell you what to do,í right? But then if they obeyed, theyíd still be following his orders. He canít tell them ëDonít listen to me.í Theyíre the ones who have to decide whether they will or not. He canít prevent them.î
We spent the better part of the evening discussing the issue. The more time we spent on it, the more amused Mary looked. Finally I asked, ìWhat?î
She grinned, showing her teeth. She wasnít shy, so she didnít hide her smile behind her hand as the young women do. ìYou told me once how amazed you were that those interested in Jesus could talk and talk about him and never tire of the subject,î she explained.
We had begun our debate in the early evening; it was now full dark. ìWe havenít been talking about Jesus,î I pointed out. ìJust his followers.î
She nodded, still grinning.