His Palestinian contemporaries tried, mind you. They designed an assortment of boxes. But he never fit one. They called him a revolutionary; then he paid his taxes. They labeled him as a country carpenter; but he confounded scholars. They came to see his miracles, but he refused to cater. He defied easy definitions. He was a Jew who attracted Gentiles. A rabbi who gave up on synagogues. A holy man who hung out with streetwalkers and turncoats. In a male-dominated society, he recruited females. In an anti-Roman culture, he opted not to denounce Rome. He talked like a king yet lived like a pilgrim. People tried to designate him. They couldn't. We still try.
He goes on to point out how he's also not a "do-me-a-favor" Jesus... or a "make-me-a-buck" Jesus... or a "Jesus-of-my-making"... or "Jesus-of-my-politics"... In fact, he is not box-sized at all. That's what makes him so great, isn't it? We can't define him, but hopefully he will come to define us. That's what I want.
As far as this book overall... I know it probably makes me rather uncool in most circles, but I really enjoyed it, as I have enjoyed all of Max's books. I'm glad I read it.