A Portrait of Jesus - Hardcover

Girzone, Joseph F.

 
9780385482639: A Portrait of Jesus

Inhaltsangabe

The author of Joshua distills the picture of Jesus presented in the Gospels into a distinctly human presence, showing how Jesus's contemporaries saw him as a person and how readers can follow his teachings in their lives. Tour.

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Aus dem Klappentext

untless paths to follow when seeking spiritual guidance, but thousands of years of religion and theology cannot replace the premier example that Jesus himself set. In A Portrait of Jesus, bestselling writer Joseph Girzone recaptures the truth of Jesus that is presented in the Gospels and gives a compelling vision of the person Jesus' contemporaries must have known. In his most powerful work yet, Girzone seeks to personify Christ in the minds of readers by asking some simple questions: "What did people see in Jesus as he walked down the street? How did he approach others and what would these people take away from meeting him? What do his actions tell us about how we can live our lives today?" It is Girzone's empowering and loving understanding of the heart of Christianity that will make A Portrait of Jesus a groundbreaking classic in the tradition of his bestselling books, Joshua and Never Alone.

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FOREWORD

I loved my work as a priest. Whether in parishes or in schools or in community involvement, I enjoyed working not only with my own people but with people and clergy of other religions. I thoroughly enjoyed the spirit of camaraderie generated among us. We worked well together. Some clergy, sadly, kept themselves aloof and chose not to associate with people of other religions, feeling their religion was the true religion and that it would be sinful to give the appearance of endorsing another religion. I suppose that was where we as Catholics were at not very long ago, and where some of us still are. But for those of us who did break out of that crusty shell, we learned to appreciate one another and see how each of us was loved by God and expressed a facet of Jesus the others had overlooked. We were all concerned about our work, about our people, about the exciting and discouraging happenings in our communities.

It took a long time, however, for me to realize that there was something missing in our approach to religion, and this made me feel uneasy. We were sensitive to the customs and traditions of each of our churches. We were aware and concerned about community problems. We, as clergy, were conscientious about protecting our people's faith and their allegiance to their church and synagogue, which we should be. But there was something that did not ring true. One day it struck me that while we were all church- or synagogue-oriented, we did not seem to be sensitive to what might be God's concerns. After all, God is our religion. Churches and synagogues are merely the vehicles of God's message. Their teaching of widely divergent messages impressed me as fragmenting the unity of God's mind, and not reflecting an intelligent, caring God to a world reaching out for comfort and healing. I began to realize it didn't make sense that we were wandering in so many different
directions when God's mind is one. Catholics were in love with Church and obsessed with Church laws and customs, and insensitive to those who could not maintain the Church's ideals. Protestants were obsessed with the Bible and their conflicting interpretations of Scripture as well as their own customs and taboos, and were equally insensitive to sinners. Jews were obsessed with keeping their people loyal to their bloodlines, and careful not to let them become too close to Christians. Belief in God often seemed secondary, and sensitivity to God's concerns to be almost nowhere in focus. A synagogue member could be an agnostic or an atheist. That was acceptable, but to become a Christian was
unthinkable and meant excommunication, and not very long ago, hanging a crepe on the front door of the person's home was not a rarity. It struck me that God could not be happy with that kind of mentality. These obsessions kept us all, while being ceremoniously friendly, at a safe distance from one another, carefully preserving the invisible walls that divided us, and paying only token homage to any real gesture toward unity. I could not help but feel that what God wished was of little concern. Occasionally, something genuine and beautiful would happen, like what occurred between the local Lutheran parish and our own. The pastor and I became good friends. We did services together. We prayed together. We gathered our congregations together for joint liturgies. We even talked our two bishops into agreeing to co-confirm the children in both our parishes. We were fast approaching real unity. And something similar happened with a local synagogue, Orthodox, no less. We were discussing allowing members of our communities to be members of each other's congregations. Another situation occurred between a local Methodist parish and our own, where we used to speak at each other's service on a regular basis and I would cover for the pastor when he was away.

These situations, however, were the exception. For the most part, we never really took formal steps toward unity. This bothered me deeply because I always felt a need for us all to draw closer to one another. That's what God would want, I thought. We did talk about unity and ecumenism, but rarely were we bold enough to take that giant step toward becoming really one. Unity is a frightening experience when clergy's personal lifestyle and support system is tied to the institution. The hierarchy feel that before unity can become a reality, theologians must agree on a formula, then people would be allowed to become one. It doesn't make sense, because it assumes that just because theologians
agree on a formula, the people, like unthinking sheep, will automatically alter their beliefs of a lifetime and accept theologians' formulas. If unity is ever to become a reality, people will have to gather together by charity first, then, as love breaks down the cobweb walls, they will
gradually grow to understand Jesus better, and in understanding Him, adopt His vision and understanding, which should be the theological basis for unity.

This realization deepened when it dawned on me one day that although we were involved in our churches, Jesus' interests were, to a great extent, not an element in our decision-making. For Christian leaders, His interests should be foremost, but Church and theology and the demands of canon law had become the primary focus of so many and had practically replaced a sense of Jesus in making decisions.  The Bible, on the other hand, had become the religion of the Protestants, as they rejected the teaching authority that originally gave the New Testament
Scriptures authenticity. For many Jewish leaders cultural and racial identity  had become their religion. God's interests seemed not to be of prime importance, indeed, sometimes they seemed to stand in the way. How else could one explain the horrible religious wars in the former Yugoslavia and Northern Ireland, and South Africa, or the savage meanness in the Holy Land. When I began touring the country, talking about Jesus' life and teaching, I was shocked at the response of people who kept telling me they never heard talks about Jesus' life before. One very holy priest, whom I had known and admired all my life, expressed surprise that I could talk about Jesus for an hour and a half. When I asked him why he was so shocked, he reminded me that we had never been taught about Jesus in the seminary. We were taught  theology and scripture and canon law and so many other courses, but no one ever taught any courses about Jesus Himself as a person, and the way He thought and His vision of life.

I got the same response from Protestants. One seminarian for the priesthood told me she had applied to five prestigious seminaries in her denomination before making her decision. She asked the admissions officers at each one if their seminary taught courses about Jesus. She was shocked when the answer each time was "No, but we teach courses on Christology as electives. They are, however, not required.'' Another Protestant seminarian asked if I would come to his seminary and talk about Jesus. I told him I would be glad to if he arranged with his faculty for an invitation. He told me he would try. I suggested in the meantime that he ask one of the theology professors on staff if he would talk to the seminarians about Jesus. He said he and other students had asked their favorite theology professor. His reply was that he was hired to teach theology, not talk about Jesus.

A few years ago, Dr. John Killinger, a deeply spiritual Southern Baptist theologian, invited me to speak at the Baptist university where he was teaching. It was a beautiful occasion. After the talk, a number of theology professors and ministers thanked me for speaking to them about Jesus. They said they experienced such healing while I was describing a Jesus who was so new to them. They told me that analyzing texts does not necessarily foster a deeper...

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