Twisted

The year I was born (1957), Time  magazine ran an article in which Mickey Cohen, an infamous member of the Jewish-American mafia, met with evangelist Billy Graham. Cohen was quoted as saying, "I am very high on the Christian way of life. Billy came up, and before we had food he said—What do you call it. that thing they say before food? Grace? Yeah, grace. Then we talked a lot about Christianity and stuff." 


Cohen had a co-worker, a wiretapper by trade, who became a Christian through Graham's ministry. This, understandably, intrigued Cohen. Although the wiretapper, Jim Vaus, walked away from the mafia, Cohen's personal interest did not include such a radical change of lifestyle. When questioned, his response was that there are  "Christian football players, Christian cowboys, Christian politicians; why not a Christian gangster?"


In an award-winning 2011 article about Cohen in the Benicia Herald, writer Robert Michaels says that a friend of his coined a word for this particular brand of Christianity. "He calls it 'Twistianity.' Twistians are people who claim Christ as Savior, but do not want to submit their lives under His Lordship. They twist or pervert the Gospel so they can remain in their sin."


Michaels won an Award of Outstanding Merit ($1000) from the Amy Foundation, which benefits writers who communicate biblical truth to secular audiences. Over the years, I have submitted entries myself. When I read Michaels' article today, I looked....as people with my particular bent to introspection are wont to do...to myself.


I sin every day, in word and deed and thought. Long an advocate of the Christianese sound byte "Jesus is Lord of all, or He is not Lord at all" I had to stop. Take inventory. Look directly into the mirror.


What am I, really, accomplishing for the Kingdom of God? You can't rest on your laurels. You can't make it on the coattails of others, or even your own former ministry. Who am I TODAY? 


"Am I a Twistian?" I whispered in my heart of hearts. 


"You are my daughter," came that sweet inner voice that I presumptuously attribute to the Holy Spirit.


I know what it is to have a daughter. I am blessed to have two. Occasionally, over the last 30-plus years, I have had reasons to be angry with them. I have been disappointed by their choices or behavior. And...let's be real here...they have both had occasion to be angry at and disappointed by me! But just as my parents taught me, I taught them: there is nothing you can say or do that will mean I no longer love you.


Did Cohen love Jesus? I have no idea. He may have liked the idea of Christianity, the way some people fall in love with the idea of love and romance. The packaging is good, but commitment is never a priority. As long as it's easy, as long as nothing much is expected, then fine. Cohen may never have crossed the line, may never have accepted Jesus as Messiah. That's not for me to judge. Not my call.


But as for me, yes. I acknowledge that the historical Jesus (no thinking person really questions his existence) is Messiah, the Son of God sent from eternity-past-present-future (I don't have much of a handle on the whole eternity gig) to reconcile sinful humankind back to a love relationship with its Creator, whom we know, simply and imperfectly, as "God."


Death was a necessary part of the process. Instead of everyone who sins bloodying the earth with sacrifices (and yeah, I'm not solid on what the whole blood thing was all about either), God gave himself, his own Son, his essence, to die as a man...so holy and perfect that that one sacrifice took away the penalty for every sin. Potentially - faith is involved. It's done, but you have to believe it. Real belief, faith, isn't just about a warm fuzzy feeling, after all, but about action, decision, acceptance.


Jesus died for all sin. For me. Jesus is, therefore, my Lord. My soul's King. My heart's destination.


And yet. 


And yet, this daughter is so weak, so disappointing, I know, to my heavenly Father. He gives me the grace and ability, the spiritual tools, to grow into his likeness, and I am still so very far from achieving that. So many ways, every single damn day of the year, that I fall short of the perfection he embodies. He is holy; I am just the opposite. He is the personification of love itself, and I fail to love, not really, not even the most lovable around me. And let's not even talk about loving my enemies, or the unlovely. 


It's not just the things I'm not sure about, either. I sin blatantly! I don't fall into sin....as my friend Doug Easterday says, I jump into it like a kid into a pile of newly raked autumn leaves shouting "Wheeeeeeeeee!" at the top of my lungs.


And yet.


 I am still a daughter, still loved. Not because of who I am, but because my Daddy is so grand. Twistian? Not hardly. I'm not even worthy to be called that. But daughter? Yeah, I'll take that. Any day of the week.


Permission to use with acknowledgement of source. (C) Ellen Gillette, 2012