the time has come.

Her name was Tina. Is Tina, really. I'm sure I'd have heard if she had died. Nevertheless, I haven't seen her for three years, and her name was Tina then, too.

She was 26, which then seemed to me so far off. She had three children, each by a different father. I remember that her cell phone was always buzzing--texts and calls from various men she... courted. Ah, to heck with propriety. Men she had sex with. One-night stands, sometimes more, if she thought she could get money or gifts from them. Men she was constantly "sexting," even from work.

At one point, she was seeing someone outside of work (the psychiatric facility where we both served in the counseling department), she was having a long-term affair with a married man who worked with us whose wife also worked there, and she was having casual sex with a (married) consultant who came through every few weeks.

Her mother had been abusive. Her father had been largely absent. She had been sexually abused, and then some. And she was a mess.

We became friends. She trusted me because I knew that she was having an affair with both the coworker and the consultant. She let me into her life. She didn't hide her sexting, and came to me for advice. She had anger problems. Once, she punched a dent into the cabinet of our office. I baby-sat her kids when she needed it. The house was one of the filthiest I've ever been in. The youngest, a 5-year-old boy, put a Pixar movie into the VHS, laying aside the porn video that came out of the player.

When I think about Christ's love, I often think about Tina.

The nurses aids would drink on the clock, late at night. The counselors had to be there until 11. We'd get invites to the "party."

I was back reading in our office when Tina came through the door, giggling and trashed. She sat down, and we started talking about life. About sex, and men, and booze, and kids, and God. And as we talked, she started crying. She said she knew she was messing it all up, and knew she wanted God, but she just couldn't. She couldn't get there. Her Mom had forced her into church as a kid. Then abused her. When Tina started making bad choices, the church dropped her. Judged her. Hurt her. She was a screw up, and no well-dressed, do-gooder, suburban-comfortable Christians would accept a mother with three babies, and three baby-daddies, an anger problem, drug addiction issues, and too many men to count.

She didn't want nobody's charity. And if Christ is what she saw in the church, she didn't want Him either. She wanted respect.

I didn't blame her. I told her as much. I told her that I don't know what she saw in the church, but the Christ that I felt was a radical Christ. A Christ who saw her tears, and knew them. He's a Christ who sees her sins, and loves her still. A man who broke down the walls of sin, and prejudice. Who had the guts to turn over tables, and with them, whole economic systems, entire philosophical traditions. To stare into the worst kind of darkness without fear. But with love.

How incredible. I understood then, in one way. I understand now, in another. I wonder when this Christ she and I talked about will again spark a revolution worthy of His name.

When will Christians throw open our doors to the homeless? Invite the hungry to our tables? Roll up our sleeves, and take off our trended-up version of dress clothes, and get real with people who have real problems? When will I?

I believe in a radically powerful God. I'm short-changing Him. Are you?