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"Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so."
Singing this children's song always made me feel self-conscious. Not just because of its age appeal, but because of its words. Yes, the Bible says Jesus loves me. And preachers say he loves me so much, he would have died just for me had I been the only person in the world.
But he didn't die just for me. Jesus' love extends to everyone who claims him. Receiving that love can seem like being part of a class-action lawsuit: The terms of agreement apply to me as they do to millions of others. While reassuring, his love hasn't always felt very personal.
And though I believe Jesus loves me, I haven't always been confident he likes me. As a child, I'd been told no one who really knew me would like me. Of course, I'd learned God, who knows me completely, loves me unconditionally, no matter how unlovely I am. But is that love coupled with gladness? After all, I've realized from personal experience I can be loved without being enjoyed.
Playing FavoritesGrowing up, I often heard my parents say they loved all their children equally. While I believed my parents, I also knew some of my siblings gave my parents more pleasure than the rest of us kids did. I yearned for my mother's face to light up when I entered her room. But all too often, my childhood faults alienated me from her. I was too loud, too bossy, too demanding, too much like my father. Eventually, I withdrew from my mother's presence rather than risk disapproval.
Of course, I knew God was perfect and my parents weren't. But one particular image of Jesus convinced me he liked some followers more than he liked others. In fact, Jesus appeared to have a clear favorite. Over and over, in paintings, movies, and Bible illustrations, I saw Jesus surrounded by his disciples at the Last Supper. And one of the men, always pictured next to Jesus, was actually resting in Jesus' lap.
That disciple was John, and he had a nickname that filled me with longing. John was "the disciple Jesus loved." What a claim! This phrase was attached to a warm tenderness. Any assurances of God's feelings toward me seemed detached from love's caress.
In my mind, John was nearly perfect—the meek and mild male counterpart of the Virgin Mary. I wasn't like John. Despite my strivings to emulate him, my personality persisted strong and loud.
I knew God used these traits, allowing me to raise my voice against injustice toward outcasts and the poor. But I couldn't see myself as Jesus' bosom buddy. Jesus reserved that status for gentler souls, such as one of the women at my church who was kind, quiet, patient, and humble. I could easily imagine Jesus opening his arms wide to greet her.
Claiming NamesI grew resentful of these favored followers. The week before Easter, while preparing a Bible study on Jesus' last days, I again encountered John, "the disciple Jesus loved," seated beside him at the table. I wondered how John earned that unfair title. No one, not even Peter the Rock, could top it. Being called a heart's treasure was better than being labeled a hardhead.
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