Jesus in Skinny Jeans

I’ve been thinking about this idea of “getting it”. I just pictured walking in late to a man standing in front of a large room receiving generous applause from a group of like-minded people. I ask someone about his speech and am told, “He just told us the moving story about how he became a racist.

If you’re a racist, you end up in rooms full of other racists. If you’re a drunk, you hang out at the bar. If you’re a Christian, church is your home room.

We’re drawn to people who get us. And the people who don’t get us we tend to either want to convert to our point of view or say fuck em. Classic example. Def Leppard’s song “Armegeddon It”. When I was in high school, they asked us, “Are you getting it? Really getting it?” And if you were cool, you said, “Yes Armageddon it.” I don’t even know what that means, but I wanted to fit in. I wanted to be one of the ones who Armageddoned it. I didn’t want to be like Steve, who the lead singer chastises in the middle of the song, “Come on Steve, get it!”

Life’s full of people who get it and people who don’t. But, no one really gets it, we just think we do. The racist doesn’t get it. The Christian doesn’t. The sinner and the saint don’t. But, we do the best we can with the limited intelligence we have and for the most part end up doing life with people who think like ourselves. We find where our thoughts and beliefs fit or worse shape our thoughts and beliefs to fit those around us.

But, some of us decide that’s ridiculous to conform. Or maybe we believe we’re past the point of redemption or simply have no interest fitting in anywhere in normal society. We’re forced to or choose to live on the fringe. That’s where I found myself when I got kicked out of the house. Church had been my home. My wife and family had been another type of home. But, it took getting ostracized from the church and separated from the family in order for me to see that those weren’t homes. They weren’t safe places to be the real, fucked up me.

It’s sad really that sharing my real life with a stripper and the associated release of that burden (I am talking about my problems, not my semen) was so refreshing after feeling like my life was so fake for so long. It’s backwards, right? I found real at the strip club after experiencing fake at the church.

It’s like the Christian world and the strip club world both have versions of “getting it”. The password to the Christian club is “I accept Jesus Christ as my Savior.” The password to the strip club club is, “I’m fucked up.” And really, those two passwords aren’t that far apart. There’s acknowledgment in both phrases that you’re not quite right or that you need help.

In the Christian world I was a misfit. I didn’t want to just walk around looking for other people who accepted Christ and say, “Oh cool…he gets it.” Because, even though I said those words and I tried to live them out, I was still incredibly fucked up. I was fucking starving to be real about it. So, when the stripper essentially said, “I get it” to my story and showed that she got it by telling me her story, I was blown away.

But, like with the Christian world, the strip club world is full of unhealthy or fake shit. Lies and drugs and fake teets. It was refreshing to talk about all that stuff, while looking at naked women. But, ultimately that world was as hollow as church.

The church people conclude that Jesus is the answer. The strippers conclude it’s money and alcohol and drugs. Church people get other church people. Strippers get other strippers. But, I think a lot of church people see strippers as sinners. And a lot of strippers see church people as judgmental ass holes.

We surround ourselves with people who are like us and call people who aren’t like us crazy to make ourselves feel normal. Liberals call conservative talk show hosts crazy and conservatives do the same to liberal hosts. But, pointing fingers at others takes us further away from progress.

Any kind of attitude such as “I’m better than him because he’s black or homeless or successful or Christian or drugged out” misses the point. At some point, if we’re going to grow as individuals, we have to stop pointing the finger at people who are different from us and start pointing the finger at ourselves. When we’re honest about our shortcomings…that’s when walls come down. That’s when we find out we’re not that different from a stripper or that homeless guy. We’re all fucked up people.

Some people choose to put a religious band aid on their wounds. Some people choose to apply heavy doses of Jack Daniels. But, any substance or idea we use to artificially make us feel better about ourselves is only going to take us further away from our problem. And we all have the same one: we’re fucked up.

The people I most like spending time with are the ones who get that. Know it alls are annoying, but the people who realize that maybe they don’t have a fucking clue are fun to talk to. Who would most of us rather have a conversation with…someone who points their finger and calls us a sinner or someone who shakes their head and says, “I’m such a fuck up.”

No one wants someone else to tell them they’re a fuck up. If there’s one thing we know about ourselves it’s that. We can feel okay about ourselves if we have a certain boyfriend, house, job or car. But, deep down I think we all know there’s something off inside us. And most of us would rather fit in or feel normal than actually address the uncomfortable.

What that misses though, is that a life of comparing yourself to others or trying to be one of the cool kids is like Danny DeVito trying to squeeze into skinny jeans. DeVito’s unique figure made the scene where he wore skinny jeans on “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” hilarious. He didn’t fit. Maybe there are parts of your life that don’t fit either. Why do we force ourselves to fit where we clearly don’t?

Maybe that uncomfortable feeling we’re often afraid of addressing is actually a lot more comfortable than squeezing into society’s equivalent of skinny jeans. The rat race forces you to stay on the hamster wheel. That doesn’t even make sense. But, neither do a lot of societal norms. Do we keep caving and letting society tell us who we are or do we take a stand at some point just be ourselves instead of who our parents or church or spouse or company tell us we’re supposed to be. We lie to ourselves and say we’re comfortable where we are.

What if we can actually be happy? Not because we can go to a 10 year reunion and tell everyone how much we’ve accomplished, but because we can actually look ourself in the mirror and not look away in shame. Getting on this road to where I actually like myself has been so rewarding. Because I can actually say I’m not a product or a byproduct of the mainstream. I’m unique. I’m not a sheep following the leader in circles. When I look myself in the mirror, there are actual times when, instead of profound disappointment, I actually get a twinkle in my eye and a smile blooms in slow motion.

And honestly, I think those are the moments that the real Jesus gets a kick out of. Not I’m so proud of that dude for memorizing the entire book of Revelation. Or I’m so disappointed in that stripper for eating all that ecstasy. But, just being content in the fantastic, unique person that was created. Fuck measuring up. Fuck societal norms.

You think Jesus wanted to fit in? He hated what church became. Me too. The religious leaders of his day met him and called him a “friend of sinners.” Well, duh. That’s not a bad thing. And really, who would you befriend…the church people who are trying to kill you or people who know they’re fucked up and maybe drink a little too much wine? Sinners are much more fun.

What’s changed? I think the church has created a version of Jesus in skinny jeans that makes society see him as a judgmental ass hole. But, my experience has been that when I was at my lowest point, when I felt judged and ostracized, instead of judgment I got grace. The finger pointing that I was conditioned to believe that I deserved was replaced with a twinkle in the eye and a big smile and a feeling that I’m okay just the way I am. You are too. Get that.