Can’t Shake Jesus

When I was younger, there was an evangelism program called, I Found It, complete with celebrities, booklets, and bumper stickers. One of the messages of the advertising campaign used the image from Revelation 3 with Jesus standing at my door and knocking, promising if I will just let him in, he will come in and be my friend.
As an adult, in Russia, on a trip I did not select as much as was sent, I was in the home of one of my new friends who had an almost life-size framed picture of Jesus standing at the door and knocking. “Do you know this passage?” he asked. “Yes,” I said, “but in my life, I feel more like Jesus doesn’t knock and wait hoping I’ll open it, but my experience with Jesus is that he kicks it in.” Even after translated by another in Russian, he did not seem to understand. I wish I had Gordon Kennedy with me to help explain. He has a marvelous way of singing about Jesus in songs like, Can’t Shake Jesus,

naked, alone, cold cobblestones
they beat Him until the blood ran
they brought Him to die, on a cross, up on-high
with spikes through His feet and His hands
a crown of thorns on His brow, His eye on the crowds
all of God’s daughters and sons
they’re spitting on Him, cursing at Him
“Forgive them for what they have done…

you can use Him, abuse Him, mock and accuse Him
sell Him out for thirty pieces
betray Him, slay Him, do the devil’s mayhem
but you can’t shake Jesus

well I’ve had my bouts, questions and doubts
you know there are those who deceive
I’ve tried to resist, escape and dismiss
but there’s one who’s shadowing me

 I can lose my religion, break with tradition
say I’ll hold out till Hell freezes
I can test Him, try Him, but I just can’t deny Him
no, I can’t shake Jesus

Here is Ricky Skaggs preforming “Can’t Shake Jesus”


Here is my promise. Run if you want. Hide if you can. I don’t see it going well for you. If he’s after you, he’ll find you. You can’t shake him. A warning Edith Lovejoy Pierce captured in her poem, Drum Major for a Dream,

Above the shouts and the shots,
The roaring flames and the siren’s blare,
Listen for the stilled voice of the man
Who is no longer there.
Above the tramping of the endless line
Of marches along the street,Listen for the silent step
of the dead man’s invisible feet.Lock doors, put troops at the gate,
Guard the legislative halls
But tremble when the dead man comes,
Whose spirit walks through walls.