'I Miss Him'

I read an excerpt from an interview of Charles Templeton, the evangelist turned-agnostic, conducted by Lee Strobel. What was said fascinated me.

And what about Jesus? I wanted to know what Templeton thought of the cornerstone of Christianity. "Do you believe Jesus ever lived?" I asked.

"No question," came the quick reply.

"Did he think he was God?"

He shook his head. "That would have been the last thought that would have entered his mind."

"And his teaching - did you admire what he taught?"

"Well, he wasn't a very good preacher. What he said was too simple. He hadn't thought about it. He hadn't agonized over the biggest question there is to ask."

"Which is . . ."

"Is there a God? How could anyone believe in a God who does, or allows, what goes on in the world?"

"And so how do you assess this Jesus?" It seemed like the next logical question - but I wasn't ready for the response it would evoke.

Templeton's body language softened. It was as if he suddenly felt relaxed and comfortable in talking about an old and dear friend. His voice, which at times had displayed such a sharp and insistent edge, now took on a melancholy and reflective tone. His guard seemingly down, he spoke in an unhurried pace, almost nostalgically, carefully choosing his words as he talked about Jesus.

"He was," Templeton began, "the greatest human being who has ever lived. He was a moral genius. His ethical sense was unique. He was the intrinsically wisest person that I've ever encountered in my life or in my readings. His commitment was total and led to his own death, much to the detriment of the world. What could one say about him except that this was a form of greatness?"

I was taken aback. "You sound like you really care about him," I said.

"Well, yes, he's the most important thing in my life," came his reply. "I . . . I . . . I," he stuttered, searching for the right word, "I know it may sound strange, but I have to say. . . I adore him."

I wasn't sure how to respond. "You say that with some emotion," I said.

"Well, yes. Everything good I know, everything decent I know, everything pure I know, I learned from Jesus. Yes . . . yes. And tough! Just look at Jesus. He castigated people. He was angry. People don't think of him that way, but they don't read the Bible. He had a righteous anger. He cared for the oppressed and exploited. There's no question that he had the highest moral standard, the least duplicity, the greatest compassion, of any human being in history. There have been many other wonderful people, but Jesus is Jesus."

"And so the world would do well to emulate him?"

"Oh, my goodness, yes! I have tried - and try is as far as I can go - to act as I have believed he would act. That doesn't mean I could read his mind, because one of the most fascinating things about him was that he often did the opposite thing you'd expect - "

Abruptly, Templeton cut short his thoughts. There was a pause. He glanced up, he looked across the room, he seemed to want to focus anywhere but on me. He was suddenly self-conscious, almost embarrassed, apparently uncertain whether he should continue.

He sighed. "But, no," he said slowly, "in my view. . . ."

Now there was a catch in his voice; he inhaled deeply to try to stop from crying. But as he turned toward me, I watched as tears flooded his eyes.

"In my view," he struggled to say, "he is the most important human being who has ever existed." His voice cracking, he uttered the words I never expected to hear him say: "And if I may put it this way - I . . . miss . . . him." With that, he broke down sobbing. He turned his head and looked downward, raising his left hand to shield his face from me. His shoulders bobbed; his right hand wiped away tears.

HT: Between Two Worlds

This interview struck a chord with me. There’s no question in my mind—Mr. Templeton had bad theology. He was a self-proclaimed agnostic. He didn’t acknowledge Christ as God’s Son. He thought Christ was a mediocre preacher whose greatness lay in how He went to the death for His beliefs.

But I do wonder: If a journalist were to ask me about Jesus, would my answer have been so heartfelt? I might’ve offered some defense of His deity. I would probably have mentioned His sacrificial death and maybe a brief summary of the Old and New Covenants. I might’ve given the Gospel in a nutshell. But would it have been evident in my tone that I miss Him? That I yearn for His Presence?

I’m not implying that Mr. Templeton was saved or was somehow justified by his 'love' for Jesus. (1 John 5:10-11) I am wondering whether half the Christians I know exhibit a love for God appropriate to the truth we know.

Think about it. This Jesus who Mr. Templeton inexplicably longs for has courted and wooed us—His Church—and paid the ultimate price on our behalf. He still faithfully presides over our lives with tender care. On a personal level, you have no hope for life outside of Jesus. I have no hope without Him. Yet with Him, we have hope beyond measure.

Isn’t that something to sing about? If merely knowing about Jesus, without knowing Him personally, was enough to make Mr. Templeton cry, how much more do we have to adore?

I think the Apostle John's student, Ignatius, had the right perspective: "My dear Jesus, my Savior, is so deeply written in my heart, that I feel confident, that if my heart were to be cut open and chopped to pieces, the name of Jesus would be found written on every piece."

That's more like it.

Related post:
What Makes You Cry? by Irish Calvinist
Randy Alcorn on "The Scream of the Damned" (A letter to C.J. Mahaney and John Piper. See half-way down the page)