I grew up hearing about a character called Christ. Christ was the subject of wonderful tales. Christ was a law of the universe woven into theological formulas and turns of phrase. I didn't always know what people meant when they said things about Christ, but I knew that it was important to look like I knew. 

I was an odd child in that I read the Bible for pleasure. I couldn't help noticing a difference between the Christ I often heard about and the Messiah character I read about. Messiahs are rather earthy folks, often associated with messy political events. 

You may be wondering why I’m making such a thing about the two words – after all Christ is the Greek translation of the Hebrew word Messiah. For me, though, the point is that they convey something strikingly different. While Christ was otherworldly and serene, the Messiah in my Bible was homeless, Jewish, argumentative, merry, colonised and criminalised. While Christ was the singular figurehead of the Christian religion, Messiahs are always coming and going: this particular one would not have known what a Christian was. While Christ assured me of peace after death, the Messiah was rashly involved in the world of the living, with talk of casting down rulers, ending war and law, subverting money, and making the world a joyous and peaceful place. 

We are close to the Easter story of crucifixion and resurrection: a tale of supernatural things. Things beyond my experience. As some tell it, the death of Christ was a sort of regrettable tragedy, mysteriously orchestrated by God to save individual souls. But there’s nothing mysterious about Messiahs facing execution. Messiahs were usually outlaw figures on a knife edge, confronting violent political powers. The Romans had killed plenty of them. 

A serene and distant Christ calls people to follow him into some inward space of serenity. I try to go there every day. But when the Commoner’s Messiah calls me to follow him, to what am I called? To homelessness and poverty and marginal life? To drinking and feasting and partying? To giving time and attention to people who are commonly ignored? To welcoming the enemy? To the social position of slavery? To taking sides and speaking truth to power? 

The Commoner’s Messiah is not quite like that distant serene figure. He is dangerously present. No one who lives out the world as it could be, ever comes out unscathed. I am curious about this business. I want to spend Easter with this Messiah, and to allow his rather earthly practices to shine a light on my own place in this world, stretched as it is between the powerful and the powerless.