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It made me uncomfortable to even write that heading. But keeping in theme with this year’s blog series of difficult–or uncomfortable–questions and this month’s “love series,” I guess that’s how I should be feeling. I’m recalling a time my sister and her friends made t-shirts on Valentine’s Day when they were freshman in college. In iron-on pink and red letters the t-shirt displayed, you guessed it: “JESUS IS MY VALENTINE.” At the time, they were single and confident in that singleness.
But that phrase irks me. Calling Jesus my Valentine turns him into a guy in jeans and a polo who likes me and buys me pretty flowers to say so. I love flowers. But Jesus doesn’t give me flowers. He made a big sacrifice that changed everything forever and that’s way more serious than a dozen roses.
But maybe I’m missing out on a side of Jesus my sister and her friends knew in their freshman year of college. A sweeter “I will hold your hand when a guy on this earth isn’t” kind of Jesus. A Jesus that is intimate, who whispers peace into our hearts.
Ignoring that my describing different kinds of Jesuses is extremely problematic in itself, I will confess I am someone who would rather wallow in my singleness on Valentine’s Day than get together with her girlfriends and make t-shirts. It’s become a day I acknowledge my relational status and don’t try to make it something it’s not.
Saying I have a Valentine and his name is Jesus seems not genuine. Maybe because I don’t understand the logistics of having Jesus as a Valentine. What would that look like exactly?
I don’t know, but maybe you do. Has Jesus ever been your Valentine?
I believe in questions. I say this a lot; I’ll say it again…