Goals for My Jesus Year

I AM ABOUT to begin my Jesus Year. Which is to say, I’m one month away from turning 33, the age that many scholars believe Jesus was when he expelled demons, performed miracles, overturned tables and norms, and lived so counter to the expectations of empire that he was crucified for it, therein saving humanity with a radical act of peace and love.

Now, I don’t plan on doing all that. It’s already been done! But I love that Christians have transformed a random age into something significant. Most of the monumental birthdays of youth are behind me: I can already drive (16), I can vote (18), I can drink (21), I can rent a car without paying a surcharge (25), and I can get injured anytime I go for a jog without stretching (32). But 33 is even more special. While I don’t plan on dying, resurrecting, restoring, and ascending, I do have a few goals for my Jesus Year.

1. Fall asleep on a boat. Look, I know I can’t walk on water. Both my confidence and my ankles are too weak. But I think I could fall asleep on a boat, or like, an anchored canoe. I have solid experience falling asleep in public places: On the middle seat of an airplane while watching Finding Dory, for instance. On the C train to Manhattan while a talented, repetitive musician performed “In the Air Tonight” on a zither. And once from the utter exhaustion of trying to put sunscreen on my back without anyone’s help. I awoke to the splat of pico de gallo hitting my face. A seagull had stolen my burrito and was now flailing in the air, struggling to carry the weight of his crime. Beans, asada, and other burrito innards dropped from the sky — a storm of sorts — and beachgoers looked on in horror (amusement). But I’m not holding a grudge or anything; you can’t hold grudges during your Jesus Year.

2. Make friends. I know Jesus made at least 12 close friends in his Jesus Year, but I’m aiming for maybe two. It’s hard to make friends as a post-college adult! Especially given that I don’t have any cool party tricks like turning water into wine or casting demons into swine.

3. Make bread. Jesus sure had some memorable dinner parties: Eating with sinners and tax collectors at Matthew’s house. The epic whodunit murder mystery party (The Last Supper). And the time he fed thousands of people with just a few fish and loaves of bread. I don’t plan on feeding thousands of people, but I just bought a KitchenAid mixer on Facebook Marketplace, so I’ll be feeding all two of my new friends in no time.

4. Admit when I’m wrong. I’ve always been drawn to the Bible story of the Canaanite woman who comes to Jesus seeking help for her daughter who is suffering from demon possession. Jesus’ disciples are annoyed and urge him to send her away. Initially, he complies. I’m a dog lover, but I gasped the first time I read what Jesus said to the Canaanite woman: “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” But she didn’t flinch, replying, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” In a total reversal, Jesus praises the woman and heals her daughter. If Jesus, the literal son of God, can admit when he did something wrong, so can I. For instance, when that seagull stole my burrito, I should not have grabbed my habanero salsa and chucked it into the air, screaming, “You want some heat with that guacamole, you greedy [redacted] sea pigeon?!” That was wrong of me. Seagull, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry.