It’s not hard to imagine that some in this upscale community find the statue—which looks enough like a homeless person sleeping on a park bench that at least one woman called the police—to be a bit disturbing. Take a closer look and it only gets worse to find that this homeless man is Jesus himself, identifiable by the nail scars in his bare feet.
After a bit of consideration, I’ve determined that I need this statue to make me uncomfortable. I need to be reminded that Jesus—unlike foxes with dens and birds with nests (Luke 9:58)—did not have a home. I need to be reminded that Jesus did not set his schedule so as to ensure any of the comforts or conveniences that too often muddle up my calendar until I apparently have no time at all for the things I intend. Jesus also did not seek out relationships that would increase his street cred or ensure he’d be invited to the events what might nudge him from being a nobody to a someone.
I need Jesus to make me feel uncomfortable.