Some years ago, when I was in high school, I went to a Buddhist temple and had a blast. I ate tofu for the first time (it tasted like chicken), and learned there were nuns in other religions besides Christianity. I admired their sculpture garden and enjoyed their colorful sanctuary, and as I flipped through their pamphlets on reincarnation and setting aside worldly things, I grew angry to think that in the religion I grew up with, no matter how nice and calm I believed these Buddhists were, they would go to hell for not accepting Christ. It was so unfair, especially since the Buddhist monks and nuns I just met were more Christian than most of the Christians already I knew. They didn't go around starting wars and killing everyone who didn't believe the way they did. They didn't twist God's word to slake their own lusts and make themselves kings over men. They didn't look down on others, consumed and convinced of their own righteousness. They were good people who believed beautiful things, many of which were the same values held in Christianity: to be kind and humble and let go of earthly possessions, for example. Yet, many of those I knew would stomp in there and go around telling them they were wrong and would burn if they didn't convert. But I felt no need:

Why bring in Christianity, I thought. They were fine, just where they were, how they were. Christianity doesn't have to be for everyone. Does it?

I wouldn't have the semblance of an answer for many years until lunchtime in my sophomore year of college. I sat down to read the Bible. I'd been reading the gospels and that day, I read the story of the paralyzed man Jesus came to heal. As I read, all the recommendations I had been given to having a successful bible study didn't seem to be working. I wasn't paralyzed. I wasn't sick. Was I supposed to learn, take away from this story? It wasn't until I arrived at Jesus' words: "Take heart, my son. Your sins are forgiven." He wasn't speaking to the man. Not that day. That day, Jesus was speaking to me: "Take heart. Your sins are forgiven." I was overwhelmed. It worked; I felt something, and more than that, I understood something. I am the paralytic, because as Jesus approached him, he couldn't move any more than I can when I approach God. I am paralyzed, caught between my wanting to be close but too sinful to feel I can ask for it.

The Bible is not only a scripture of truth. It is an autobiography. It entails the story of every person on earth who ever lived still lives and yet to come. We are the lame, crippled, in need of Jesus’ loving hands to lift us up. We are the blind; prejudiced and wandering, in need of Jesus to grant us sight. We are the mutes: oppressed and dishonest, in need of Jesus’ truthful guidance and encouragement to spill from our lips. We are Good Samaritans: compassionate and attentive, caring for the needy and spreading Jesus’ goodwill. We are the corrupt kings: self-righteous and prideful, in need of Jesus to balm our lusts. We are Jonah, the cowardly. We are Esther, the brave. We are Pharaoh, the stubborn. We are Judas, the betrayer. We are the wise man. We are the foolish man. We are the enslaved. We are the free. No, everyone doesn't have to accept Christianity, but Christianity is everyone.