But for seventy-two hours — one time a year — we are drawn together. We’ve done this for twelve years now. We see each other only occasionally throughout the rest of the year. So it is, in those hours together, that we quickly unpack the previous 362 days of our lives. We find ourselves continually redefining who we’ve become with the passage of years.
I know that some Christians would cringe to think that God penned B-Fest into the narrative when He crafted my life story. But there sits B-Fest in the story line – jotted in clear penmanship next to other words that mark stops on my faith journey: Sunday School, my first Communion and Confirmation Day.
But it’s taken this Jar of Clay a while to figure out what do with Jesus at B-Fest.
A few years ago, after a spiritual awakening in my own life, everything changed, including how I’d approach my newfound faith at B-Fest. I couldn’t hide Christ — and I wouldn’t dream of it, for I owe Him my life.
But instead of taking a subtle approach, I chose to flaunt my faith and my Jesus.
In my exuberance, I was the equivalent of a street-corner evangelist with a bullhorn. I left these women with the impression that I was looking for converts — not friends.
They didn’t feel inspired. They felt assaulted.
They didn’t feel drawn to Jesus. They felt repelled and disrespected.
Gandhi once said: “I like your Christ. I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.”
Well-meaning as I was, I was so “unlike my Christ.”
Somewhere along the way, I realized that God didn’t ask me to be a bullhorn. He asked me to be an open book where people can “read” Jesus in me through my actions — not amplified through my spiritual-sounding words and my puffed-up religion.