I had a wonderful conversation today with a dear friend who has just written a piece about recovering “Jesus” out of the debris of a lifetime of having related to him in various ways and forgotten or lost touch with him during disillusionments with religion. Reading his writing and hearing him talk reminded me sharply of the moment when my relationship to Jesus shifted irrevocably and wonderfully. It literally took place in a moment’s time.

My ex-husband and I had traveled to Israel on a pilgrimage to visit sites related to the life of Jesus – Bethlehem, the Sea of Galilee, Jerusalem. I was thrilled to the core to be there, I felt it all deeply and profoundly. The stories in the New Testament came vividly alive for me.  A Mormon guide took us to a few sites around Jerusalem. We arrived at the place where they honor the Last Supper – the last evening of Jesus’ life on earth, when he knew that he was about to be arrested and crucified. He had gathered his 12 disciples to have a last meal with them somewhere in the vicinity of this room in which we stood, and it would have looked something like where we were. The 13 of them broke bread and drank wine. Jesus said to them, “Do this in remembrance of me.” I was in tears thinking of it. Then our guide said, “And that is when he established the priesthood.”

Excuse me? Press pause. Where did you get that? Jesus was having a last meal with his closest followers while grieving, ate bread and drank wine with them, said that he wanted them to do the same while remembering him —  and you get a priesthood out of that?

At that moment human interpretations regarding Jesus severed from the Jesus that felt so alive and throbbing in my fleshy heart. I think, truth be told, it was the moment when religion, which is a man-made thing, died in me. What was left was a living thing, strongly felt and interpreted in my personal heart. All other impositions of translation faded away like watching a ship sink, like Orpheus watching Eurydice fade back to the underworld.

Since that moment, the personal relationship I have had with this figure Jesus has since been just that, personal – sweet and powerful, precious and priceless, and just between me and him. I trust it. I don’t trust anyone else’s interpretations of what it should be any more than I would trust someone else telling me how to relate to the most private things in my life.

This is a story worth telling, I suppose. I’m grateful to my friend for reminding me of it.