For most of my life, I assumed Jesus was an effeminate white guy. Of course, that had something to do with the fact that every depiction I saw confirmed that: shoulder-length brown hair, blue eyes, creamy skin, clean-shaven face, slim figure. Basically, Jesus looked a lot like me.
The result was that I felt all cozy around Jesus. I felt extra comfortable about sidling up to a guy who habitually cradled babies and lambs in the crook of his delicate arms. He was not the sort of guy who would have guzzled beer while shouting at his favorite team on TV. He was not the type who drooled over his computer watching porn. And, for heavenâ??s sake, he did not curse his mother under his breath when he stubbed his toe.
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