Loving The Imperfect

Then they returned to Jerusalem from the mount called Olivet, which is near Jerusalem, a Sabbath day’s journey away. When they had entered the city, they went to the room upstairs where they were staying: Peter, and John, and James, and Andrew, Philip and Thomas, Bartholomew and Matthew, James son of Alphaeus, and Simon the Zealot, and Judas son of James.  All these were constantly devoting themselves to prayer, together with certain women, including Mary the mother of Jesus, as well as his brothers. (Acts 1)

We were all so very unlikely, but perhaps none more so than me. Our fellowship of disciples included fishermen, drawn straight out of their boats. And of course, there was a tax collector, one who was hated by most of our countrymen. Another would betray our Lord. One who would deny him. Yet another, who questioned everything. And finally, several more, ones who were so obscure that in your time, you know little about them. Gospel writers couldn’t even agree on their names!

Oh, and of course, the women. I mustn’t forget the women, who accompanied us as we followed Jesus. All of them, including his own mother, should never have been out on the road, given the dangers of our day.

It's a good thing that Jesus didn’t ask me to choose his disciples, because I wouldn’t have chosen any of us. Especially me!

Oh, and there was one more, one who came later; a murderer, one who persecuted the very faith that Jesus taught. How unlikely was he?

Really? A murderer? Someone who would literally kill to preserve what he thought was the purity of our faith? Yes, he did: Saul, now Paul, and yes, so did I. That’s me, Simon the Zealot. I will come back to Paul in a moment.

But enough about killers. For the longest time, I was proud of what was appended to my name. “Zealot.” I don’t apologize. Like the Pharisees, we Zealots were strict about our faith in Yahweh God. Its purity was a matter of obsession to us, and we strove for perfection. In fact, you might say that we worshiped an image of a perfect faith, one in which all the rules were followed, with no exceptions and with punishments for even the slightest deviation. And you must understand that we took it upon ourselves to carry out those punishments, openly, so that all could see the consequences of an imperfect faith.

We were especially fanatical about opposing the Romans. They were, after all, heathen invaders who did not recognize our God. We wanted them out of our country and out of our faith traditions. And we were willing to resort to violence to that end.

My specialty was assassinations. I carried a short sword, or “sica” which was concealed in my tunic. This weapon was both easy to use and quite deadly in the hands of an experienced assassin. Like me.

Zealots wanted the Romans out and we punished any Jews who collaborated with them, or who otherwise failed to adhere to our standards of perfection. There was no middle ground for us, no compromise with any views outside of our own. In effect, we were soldiers, willing to kill and be killed in the battle for the purity of our faith and our nation.

I already knew of Jesus when he approached me. And based on what I knew, Jesus did not win my approval. His record was spotty, including minor violations of our traditions and laws. And he was not shy about arguing with our religious leaders, whom he accused of hypocrisy. Most of all, he seemed non-committal about our Roman occupiers. I mean, he rarely even mentioned them and he seemed unphased by their oppression.

So, you must be wondering: why did I agree to follow Jesus?

Why indeed. I am sorry, but I don’t really have a good answer to that question. In fact, I don’t believe any of us could explain why we said yes. The best answer that I can give is this quote from Jesus himself:

“You did not choose me, but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask him in my name.“ (John 15)

Perhaps his comments about bearing fruit spoke to me. When I considered that notion, it seemed to drive a spike between my life as an assassin and the life that Jesus offered. Assassins destroy and they tear down. I was committing violence as a way to purify the imperfections that were all around me.

What Jesus offered, and in fact, how Jesus lived, was just the opposite. He never tore down, and he never killed. Instead, he built up, encouraged, and healed. In short, he took our imperfections and he made them whole.

Jesus, it seemed, personified the prophecy of Isaiah (Isaiah 53):

Surely he has borne our infirmities
    and carried our diseases,
yet we accounted him stricken,
    struck down by God, and afflicted.
But he was wounded for our transgressions,
    crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the punishment that made us whole,
    and by his bruises we are healed.
All we like sheep have gone astray;
    we have all turned to our own way,
and the Lord has laid on him
    the iniquity of us all.

Yes, Jesus lived to make things whole, not to tear them down or kill them. Like I did.

Following Jesus was hard for all of us, and maybe especially for me. I listened to him. And I watched him as he touched and cured, as he comforted the afflicted, and even as he healed the servant of a Roman centurion. Jesus lived the faith that he preached and his example struck me to the core.

Eventually, I would be tested. I knew it was coming. You see, I had been tested before, as a novice Zealot. I was assigned my first kill, to see if I had what it took to be trusted. You must know that I carried it out, dispatching a local man who’d collaborated with the Romans. Passing that test brought me into the full fellowship of the Zealots.

And so, I knew that something similar was coming to all of us followers of Jesus. Listening to him and watching him finally led to a commission of sorts. You see, Jesus needed to know if we could live out his commands, and give birth to the fruit that we were chosen to bear.

We were sent out in twos. Here is what Jesus told us (Matthew 10):

“… go to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.  As you go, proclaim the good news, ‘The kingdom of heaven has come near.’ Cure the sick; raise the dead; cleanse those with a skin disease; cast out demons. You received without payment; give without payment.”

I really didn’t want to do this. Why? Well, this may seem strange to you but for me, it was easier to commit violence, to simply wipe out the imperfect, than it was to cure, cleanse and preach. For me, even touching an unclean person was not only something I’d never done, it went against everything I’d ever known. In my former life as a Zealot, a person plagued by a demon didn’t deserve to live. 

I told Matthew, with whom I was paired, that this test would challenge everything I’d ever stood for. He responded likewise, but then he said something that has stuck with me.

“Simon,” he said, “Don’t you know how hated I am? As a tax collector, I had no friends. No one would associate with me, no one would even touch me. I wasn’t welcome in anyone’s home.”

“Yes, I know,” I replied, “But what can I learn from that?”

“Just this,” Matthew went on, “I know what it’s like to be rejected. I know what it’s like to be ignored and even despised. And now, you are my partner in this test of our faith. You, of all people, who should hate me as an imperfect and despicable person. And yet you don’t hate me, you have treated me like a brother.

“Don’t you see?” he went on, “Jesus has planted something in you. Something that just now is breaking forth, like a seed ready to grow and bear fruit. You have hated the imperfect and you have tried to make our nation whole by destroying anything or anyone who would threaten it, anyone who didn’t live up to your standards of perfection. And now, you have seen how Jesus loves the imperfect, and how he is willing to give himself to those he calls ‘the least of these.’”

Simon the Zealot

Peter Paul Rubens

It was true. Until I heard those words from Matthew, I hadn’t noticed the change in me. My whole attitude had changed from hating the imperfect to serving and even loving the imperfect. His words told me that I could, after all, do this. Thanks be to God!

You may remember that I mentioned the Apostle Paul as someone like-minded with me, a zealot who would literally resort to murder to wipe out the imperfect in their faith. I must admit that I admired him when he was known as Saul of Tarsus.

But like me, Paul had an encounter with Jesus, an encounter that changed everything. Now, both he and I have new lives, ones that bear fruit for Christ. We no longer hate the imperfect; instead of hate, we serve and love. So, in a way, isn’t it ironic: both of us being so zealous for what we thought was right and now, both of us zealous in a new and more fruitful way. Here are Paul’s words, written to his friend, Titus:

For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation to all, training us to renounce impiety and worldly passions and in the present age to live lives that are self-controlled, upright, and godly, while we wait for the blessed hope and the manifestation of the glory of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ. He it is who gave himself for us that he might redeem us from all iniquity and purify for himself a people of his own who are zealous for good deeds. (Titus 2)

And what about you? Can you, as Jesus did, love the imperfect?

And perhaps the hardest of all: can you, like me, finally learn to love the imperfect self?