Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father(59)

“Kennedy!” Roland catches up to me and puts his hand on my shoulder.

“What?” I snap. “What pastoral wisdom are you going to rain down on me right now?” I wipe my nose with my forearm and continue down the trial, walking.

“I don’t know,” he calls after me.

I turn around. “What?”

“I don’t know,” Roland repeats, catching up to me.

“What good does that do me?” Out of the corner of my eye, I try not to notice that we swing our arms the same way when we walk.

Roland stops, grabbing my wrist so I’m forced to stop and have the uncomfortable conversation. “If I knew everything, then God wouldn’t be so big, would he? I don’t have all the answers, Kennedy. I wish I did, believe me, sometimes I wish I did. But I know the One who knows all the answers. And, at the end of the day, I have to cast my cares at his feet and trust that I’m part of his plan. Not the star of the show.”

“Who is the star?” Joy? I think snarkily.

“Jesus Christ, Kennedy.”

“What?” I snap, assuming he was cursing.

“No.” Roland snickers. “Jesus. Christ. All the glory goes to Him.”

I huff. “So it’s really all about Jesus?” I feel stupid for asking.

Roland grins. “Now you’re getting it. Come on, let’s finish our run.”

“Wait,” I call out, suddenly hyperaware of my surroundings. “Won’t it be weird if we’re, like, seen running together?”

“No. I counsel students one-on-one all the time. Sometimes we run, play basketball, golf, go get coffee. Whatever.” His face is beaming with pride as we fall into an even cadence once again.

“You really love what you do, huh?”

Roland points to the sky again. “I’ve got the best boss.”





“Apparently, it really is all about Jesus,” I say to Chelsea and Asher while I tie on my apron for my Friday shift.

After Roland and I ran, we grabbed an ice cream at a custard place downtown and then he returned me to my dorm so I would have ample time to shower and change for work.

“Well, hallelujah!” Chelsea cheers in mock enthusiasm before turning on the blender.

Asher shakes his head and laughs. “What was it that you thought it was all about?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I guess. I mean, I guess I thought they were all fans of Jesus. Not followers. Not blessed children of God.”

Over the past few hours, I’ve been replaying almost every conversation and interaction I’ve had since the start of the semester. My friends aren’t perfect, I recognize, but they have a belief. Sure, I don’t know when some of them turn from dimply, honest smiles to hard-headed bureaucrats, but for now, in this moment, they love Jesus.

“And what did Pastor Roland say about branding?” Asher seems intently interested.

“That people make up their own way to follow Jesus. Assign words and rules to him that he never assigned to us. He spends a lot of time preaching about it. His sermon series from two weeks ago until the end of the semester is titled, Rebranding. You should come.”

Asher nods approvingly. “He sounds like a cool guy. I could get behind his brand,” he challenges.

“I don’t think he has a brand,” I defend. “I think his brand is Jesus. That’s it.”

“Uh-oh,” Chelsea says like a toddler. “Quick, Asher, get the life preserver. Kennedy’s becoming a Jesus Freak!”

Asher laughs. “She doesn’t need a life preserver. Jesus walks on water.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny guys.” I shake my head and begin grinding coffee beans in anticipation of the next rush.

“We’re just teasing,” Asher says apologetically. “I’m happy you’re questioning. The worst thing kids on the hill can do is stop asking questions.”

I stop the grinder. “Wouldn’t you say that’s the worst thing anyone can do?”

He nods. “I would. So, you’re telling me you want to get out an hour early tomorrow for the Bible study?”

I came in a few minutes early to plead my case. “Please.”

Chelsea rolls her eyes. “Oh, sure. So you’re telling me if I want to go to a Bible study, you’ll let me off early on our busiest night of the week?”

“Chelsea,” Asher sighs, “I’d let you off early with pay if you wanted to go to a Bible study. I’d literally pay to see it.”

She sticks out her tongue, exposing her black barbell piercing, and grabs and empty dish bin. “I don’t need the money that bad…yet.” She winks and heads to the cafe to clear tables.

I chuckle and push the button to brew a fresh pot of decaf. Roland will be in soon, and when he comes on Saturday nights, his coffee is sans caffeine.

“Hey,” Asher nudges my side, “don’t let her get to you.”

Looking up, I’m confused to see a semiserious expression on the rather goofball manager’s face. “Huh? Oh, Chelsea? She doesn’t. She’s just teasing. I’m kind of used to it. Kind of straddling the line myself these days.”

Asher’s eyes pinch at the sides as he seems to study my face. “What’s changed?”

I swallow hard and shrug. “I don’t know, really,” I admit. “Even though there’s a lot going on politically on the hill that I don’t agree with, I feel like that’s kind of missing the point. Like, if I use that stuff to judge Jesus, I’ll never want him. But, honestly, I’m feeling myself pulled in that direction, and I’m seeing that the political stuff and some of the day to day stuff is just clouding it all. I want to follow Jesus, not the latest brand. I think.”