He had patrolled the blood-soaked streets of Mogadishu and endured the harsh desert of Iraq, but it was the pain of events back home that brought him to the brink of hopelessness.
I received a call one morning from a guy in our church; a call from someone who never called. "I have a friend," he said. "He's going through some pretty rough stuff and isn't sure he can go on with life. Can you see him?" I just happened to have an opening that morning, something that can be quite rare in my schedule. "Can he come right away?" I asked.
The man walked in, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped. He spoke of his despair and his longing to know that Someone could offer him hope. At least a sliver.
That man, who today is a leader in our church, was a living picture of our first value at Stone Ridge: Come as you are!
To contrast, I saw a family walk into one of our recent services. Parents and two or three kids, who looked to be in their young teens. As I noticed the relatively conservative clothes they wore (girls in dresses and boy in sport shirt and slacks) along with the somewhat stiff way they walked, I thought, "Uh-oh. They may be in for a surprise." Our Ignite worship band was leading that morning; the same band that leads Ignite for teens on Saturday nights. Let's just say that they aren't "traditional." The young man who leads them used to be in a touring band and has body art all the way down one arm. He passionately loves Jesus, but he ain't, er, traditional. At the end of the service, I noticed that the family quietly left and I don't think they have been back.
Please don't get me wrong; I have a deep level of compassion and respect for the family I just described, but they struck me as people whose whole view of attending church is different than ours. We seek to embody the value "Come As You Are." For most of us, the button-down, spit-shined version of ourselves is a person we like to be, but we would admit that looking good is in many ways just a veneer. In other words, our lives are marred by schisms, struggles and stresses that take their toll on us. Nearly every day.
Unfortunately, many of us took the admonition to "give your best to God" to mean, "Act like everything is great even though it isn't." In an era when our culture regularly grinds people up and spits them out, we have learned to walk into church with what I call our "plastic Jesus smile" on our faces. Most of us desperately need healing, but we act like we're the people who have it all together.
Stone Ridge isn't like that. I have dubbed my office as a "free-cry zone." We have boxes of tissues sitting at various places all over our campus and they are not primarily for allergy season. Jesus called the weary and those carrying a heavy burden to come to him. He said that He was here to rescue the downtrodden. One day He told the religious leaders that it is the sick who need a physician; they saw themselves as having it all together and He couldn't help them.
At our church we urge you, "Come As You Are!" It's the first step to becoming someone different.
Showing posts with label Forgiveness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Forgiveness. Show all posts
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Defend or Decry?
Have you noticed how we tend to defend the indiscretions of those with whom we agree? And we decry the same indiscretions in people whose views are different than ours.
Two recent events, both involving people whose opinions are similar to mine, have given me a ray of hope. In each case, the leader took himself out of the picture because of his own weakness.
The first incident involved John Piper. Piper, a popular Christian author and pastor is currently on an eight-month Sabbatical from virtually all writing and ministry. Announcing his decision, he wrote, "I see several species of pride in my soul that, while they may not rise to the level of disqualifying me for ministry, grieve me, and have taken a toll on my relationship with [my wife] Noël and others who are dear to me." In other words, he wisely chose to pull away from the limelight and the rat race before more serious damage was done.
The second situation was unveiled just today. Indiana Republican Representative Mark Souder announced that he is resigning from Congress, effective Friday. He said that he has "sinned against God, my wife and my family by having a mutual relationship with a part-time member of my staff." Souder further explained his decision by stating, "As I leave public office, my plans are focused upon repairing my marriage, earning back the trust of my family and my community, and renewing my walk with my Lord."
We live in an era in which it is common for people to step over such weaknesses and fight on for the greater good. What's interesting is how we tend to evaluate indiscretions as large or small based on our perception of what the "greater good" actually is. If a certain politician was the swing vote in a cause we are passionate about, would we be tempted to overlook a moral failure? To put it differently, have we turned a blind eye to the past failures of leaders because we liked their public decisions?
Both Piper and Souder seem to be aware of that often forgotten characteristic of God: "Man looks on the outward appearance, but God looks on the heart." (1 Samuel 16:7) Also, God is "no respecter of persons." (Acts 10:34) In other words, God wasn't looking on from heaven and thinking, "This guy is normally on my side. I ought to overlook this failure so he can continue to influence people in the direction I want to go."
The Bible says that it is time for "judgment to begin with the household of God." (1 Peter 4:17) The promise of God's Word is that God will hear from heaven and heal the land of His who people humble themselves and pray, turning from their wicked ways.(2 Chronicles 7:14) For that reason I find the actions of these two men refreshing.
If you pray, please pray for them and their families. From their individual statements, Piper has probably inflicted far less damage on those he loves than is the case with Souder. As one who has far too often sat across the counseling table and watched the tears stream down the face of a spouse whose husband or wife has cheated, I am painfully aware of the grief they must endure before the relationship is truly healed.
Two recent events, both involving people whose opinions are similar to mine, have given me a ray of hope. In each case, the leader took himself out of the picture because of his own weakness.
The first incident involved John Piper. Piper, a popular Christian author and pastor is currently on an eight-month Sabbatical from virtually all writing and ministry. Announcing his decision, he wrote, "I see several species of pride in my soul that, while they may not rise to the level of disqualifying me for ministry, grieve me, and have taken a toll on my relationship with [my wife] Noël and others who are dear to me." In other words, he wisely chose to pull away from the limelight and the rat race before more serious damage was done.
The second situation was unveiled just today. Indiana Republican Representative Mark Souder announced that he is resigning from Congress, effective Friday. He said that he has "sinned against God, my wife and my family by having a mutual relationship with a part-time member of my staff." Souder further explained his decision by stating, "As I leave public office, my plans are focused upon repairing my marriage, earning back the trust of my family and my community, and renewing my walk with my Lord."
We live in an era in which it is common for people to step over such weaknesses and fight on for the greater good. What's interesting is how we tend to evaluate indiscretions as large or small based on our perception of what the "greater good" actually is. If a certain politician was the swing vote in a cause we are passionate about, would we be tempted to overlook a moral failure? To put it differently, have we turned a blind eye to the past failures of leaders because we liked their public decisions?
Both Piper and Souder seem to be aware of that often forgotten characteristic of God: "Man looks on the outward appearance, but God looks on the heart." (1 Samuel 16:7) Also, God is "no respecter of persons." (Acts 10:34) In other words, God wasn't looking on from heaven and thinking, "This guy is normally on my side. I ought to overlook this failure so he can continue to influence people in the direction I want to go."
The Bible says that it is time for "judgment to begin with the household of God." (1 Peter 4:17) The promise of God's Word is that God will hear from heaven and heal the land of His who people humble themselves and pray, turning from their wicked ways.(2 Chronicles 7:14) For that reason I find the actions of these two men refreshing.
If you pray, please pray for them and their families. From their individual statements, Piper has probably inflicted far less damage on those he loves than is the case with Souder. As one who has far too often sat across the counseling table and watched the tears stream down the face of a spouse whose husband or wife has cheated, I am painfully aware of the grief they must endure before the relationship is truly healed.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Locked Up In Haiti
I suppose it's inevitable that, in certain circumstances, right actions lead to painful consequences. According to Acts, chapter 21, it was certainly that way two millennia ago in the Roman-occupied city of Jerusalem. Paul, the man whose letters make up about half the New Testament, had traveled to Jerusalem on a mercy mission. He discovered that accusers there were trying to destroy his reputation among the Jews.
In an attempt to restore confidence in his integrity and gain hearers for his message, Paul joined some others in the observance and completion of a religious vow. His very presence in the Temple, it seems, caused such a stir that Paul was grabbed by an angry mob seeking to kill him. Paul's arrest led him ultimately to Rome, where he defended his actions (and shared about Jesus Christ) all along the way.
This weekend, as the world has brought aid to a tiny Caribbean nation, the actions of a group of modern-day Christ-followers have led to their own painful consequences. This group, comprised of church people from Idaho (along with one from Kansas and another from Texas) stepped into the chaos following a massive earthquake in Haiti. Their mission was to assist Haitian orphans by transporting them across the border to the Dominican Republic. There they would receive care, food, education and such acts of love that leaders could provide.
This ministry to orphans was actually conceived before the earthquake. The noble purpose was to help the children from this "poorest nation in the Western Hemisphere." Using the groundwork that had already been laid and seeing the emergency need of a Haitian pastor-leader who explained that his orphanage had been destroyed by the quake, the Christians flew into action.
Their first few days were to prepare the location in the DR for the arrival of children. They then set out into Haiti to attempt bringing the children across. They persevered through various challenges of culture and language to finally arrive at the border crossing on Friday night. With them on their small bus were 33 Haitian children. Upon discovering a paperwork difficulty on the Haiti side of the border, they stayed for the night with a group of soldiers who were assigned there. The plan was to go back into Port Au Prince on early Saturday, acquire the needed documentation and cross over. They already had their Dominican papers.
After a few hours at the border, the group was accused by officials of trying to smuggle the children across. They were detained and the children were removed to other aid workers.
In hindsight, it seems that this concerned group was unaware of a general alarm that has been sounded inside Haiti regarding the very issue of taking orphans from the country. The Haitian government has a growing fear that Haitian children who have been separated from their families by the disaster may be taken too quickly out of the country, then discover later that their family -- previously thought dead -- turn out to be alive. If this concern existed as has been expressed, the actions of these Christians provided the flashpoint to bring it to the world's attention.
I have been cautious in writing this post. First, I don't know all the facts. Some things I am writing, I can only glean from various sources. But there is another reason. My wife's oldest sister, Teri, was a wonderful Christian lady who went to be with Christ in 1997. She was just 47. The ten (five women and five men) Americans who have been detained include her son, her son-in-law and her grandson.
Our whole family are grateful for your prayers as they go before a Haitian judge on Monday.
In an attempt to restore confidence in his integrity and gain hearers for his message, Paul joined some others in the observance and completion of a religious vow. His very presence in the Temple, it seems, caused such a stir that Paul was grabbed by an angry mob seeking to kill him. Paul's arrest led him ultimately to Rome, where he defended his actions (and shared about Jesus Christ) all along the way.
This weekend, as the world has brought aid to a tiny Caribbean nation, the actions of a group of modern-day Christ-followers have led to their own painful consequences. This group, comprised of church people from Idaho (along with one from Kansas and another from Texas) stepped into the chaos following a massive earthquake in Haiti. Their mission was to assist Haitian orphans by transporting them across the border to the Dominican Republic. There they would receive care, food, education and such acts of love that leaders could provide.
This ministry to orphans was actually conceived before the earthquake. The noble purpose was to help the children from this "poorest nation in the Western Hemisphere." Using the groundwork that had already been laid and seeing the emergency need of a Haitian pastor-leader who explained that his orphanage had been destroyed by the quake, the Christians flew into action.
Their first few days were to prepare the location in the DR for the arrival of children. They then set out into Haiti to attempt bringing the children across. They persevered through various challenges of culture and language to finally arrive at the border crossing on Friday night. With them on their small bus were 33 Haitian children. Upon discovering a paperwork difficulty on the Haiti side of the border, they stayed for the night with a group of soldiers who were assigned there. The plan was to go back into Port Au Prince on early Saturday, acquire the needed documentation and cross over. They already had their Dominican papers.
After a few hours at the border, the group was accused by officials of trying to smuggle the children across. They were detained and the children were removed to other aid workers.
In hindsight, it seems that this concerned group was unaware of a general alarm that has been sounded inside Haiti regarding the very issue of taking orphans from the country. The Haitian government has a growing fear that Haitian children who have been separated from their families by the disaster may be taken too quickly out of the country, then discover later that their family -- previously thought dead -- turn out to be alive. If this concern existed as has been expressed, the actions of these Christians provided the flashpoint to bring it to the world's attention.
I have been cautious in writing this post. First, I don't know all the facts. Some things I am writing, I can only glean from various sources. But there is another reason. My wife's oldest sister, Teri, was a wonderful Christian lady who went to be with Christ in 1997. She was just 47. The ten (five women and five men) Americans who have been detained include her son, her son-in-law and her grandson.
Our whole family are grateful for your prayers as they go before a Haitian judge on Monday.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Light In Haiti's Darkness
Just over one week ago, we started this communication journey as we turned our hearts toward Haiti. Here is what I wrote in that first post...
Would you pray tonight for Haiti? I am drawn to the following verses…
16 The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light. And for those who lived in the land where death casts its shadow, a light has shined."
17 From then on Jesus began to preach, "Repent of your sins and turn to God, for the Kingdom of Heaven is near."
Matthew 4:16-17 (New Living Translation)
This morning I received a message from Edward Veloz, a pastor friend of mine from Santo Domingo, DR. Here is what he wrote...
Hey brother.. check the post from a Pastor from Haiti... just talked with Pastor Vijonet from Haiti on the phone and he asked me to share this: "if anyone is sad about Haiti - tell them God is in control and now there is a spiritual movement... people are crying, worshipping, and praising God! There is hope, spiritually!"
Would you pray tonight for Haiti? I am drawn to the following verses…
16 The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light. And for those who lived in the land where death casts its shadow, a light has shined."
17 From then on Jesus began to preach, "Repent of your sins and turn to God, for the Kingdom of Heaven is near."
Matthew 4:16-17 (New Living Translation)
This morning I received a message from Edward Veloz, a pastor friend of mine from Santo Domingo, DR. Here is what he wrote...
Hey brother.. check the post from a Pastor from Haiti... just talked with Pastor Vijonet from Haiti on the phone and he asked me to share this: "if anyone is sad about Haiti - tell them God is in control and now there is a spiritual movement... people are crying, worshipping, and praising God! There is hope, spiritually!"
Sunday, November 1, 2009
When Attitudes Change
"Is Halloween evil?" That's the question posed and discussed on our daughter C. Beth's blog yesterday. It's a great question that will keep stimulating discussion long after this year's sugar highs are over. Beth discussed her own metamorphosis on the issue, then referred to Cathy and me, "Interestingly, my parents don't think it's a terrible holiday anymore either."
That brings up an important topic. Is it okay for a person's attitudes to change on a subject so centered on the eternal conflict of Light and Darkness?
Well, obviously, people can change opinions almost as quickly as ping pong balls skip back and forth across the net. But, when is it appropriate? I will take a stab at a few questions we can ask ourselves. Hopefully, they will help.
1. Is my current opinion consistent with my other views on life?
Beth correctly pointed out that we had changed our mind. Why? First, because we were inconsistent. We were rejecting Halloween because of its history in paganism, but we weren't rejecting Christmas for the same reason. Yes, Christmas has it's December 25th roots in a pagan celebration.
But there is another inconsistency. On the one hand, we were trying build up bridges to engage our culture with the love of Christ. The more we embraced legalism, the more we built walls instead. I wrote about the positive side of our changed attitude last year.
2. Is my current opinion firmly grounded in my belief system?
One day a group of religious leaders pushed a woman to the feet of Jesus and said, "She was caught in the act of adultery." (John 8) Their attempt to trap Jesus was a sign of their own hypocrisy. It takes two, you know. Where was the man? If they were interested in righteousness, where was the man? In other words, they were more concerned about pushing their opinion on others than they were dealing with sin.
While a bit humorous, the radio commentator whom Beth mentioned; the one who considered Halloween a Democratic holiday -- because kids get something for nothing -- was just as dangerous as those religious leaders. You see, the religious leaders felt justified (some of them had likely used her services before) because they had paid for their sins by religious acts. What Jesus offered the sinful woman was something for nothing.
For Cathy and me, we came to grips that we are broken, sinful people in a broken sinful world. We can either embrace other sinners as we have been embraced or we can shun them because they don't live up to our religious standard.
3. What is my attitude toward those who disagree with me?
I think this question is very self-revealing. Many years ago, during the same season I went on the warpath against Halloween, I legalistically began driving the speed limit. Then I promptly got mad at every driver who passed me on the highway (which was most of them).
As God continues to do heart surgery on me year after year, I have an observation about my anger. I'm not so sure that I was really angry at those who drove like I used to. I was more angry that I couldn't do it anymore because of my legalistic choice. So much for, "Beloved, let us love one another..." (1 John 4:7)
If you find yourself constantly angry at those who disagree with you, perhaps it's because you aren't fully comfortable with your answers to the first two questions.
All that said, Happy Halloween. Enjoy your candy! I'm pretty much abstaining.
And, no, I'm not angry about it!
That brings up an important topic. Is it okay for a person's attitudes to change on a subject so centered on the eternal conflict of Light and Darkness?
Well, obviously, people can change opinions almost as quickly as ping pong balls skip back and forth across the net. But, when is it appropriate? I will take a stab at a few questions we can ask ourselves. Hopefully, they will help.
1. Is my current opinion consistent with my other views on life?
Beth correctly pointed out that we had changed our mind. Why? First, because we were inconsistent. We were rejecting Halloween because of its history in paganism, but we weren't rejecting Christmas for the same reason. Yes, Christmas has it's December 25th roots in a pagan celebration.
But there is another inconsistency. On the one hand, we were trying build up bridges to engage our culture with the love of Christ. The more we embraced legalism, the more we built walls instead. I wrote about the positive side of our changed attitude last year.
2. Is my current opinion firmly grounded in my belief system?
One day a group of religious leaders pushed a woman to the feet of Jesus and said, "She was caught in the act of adultery." (John 8) Their attempt to trap Jesus was a sign of their own hypocrisy. It takes two, you know. Where was the man? If they were interested in righteousness, where was the man? In other words, they were more concerned about pushing their opinion on others than they were dealing with sin.
While a bit humorous, the radio commentator whom Beth mentioned; the one who considered Halloween a Democratic holiday -- because kids get something for nothing -- was just as dangerous as those religious leaders. You see, the religious leaders felt justified (some of them had likely used her services before) because they had paid for their sins by religious acts. What Jesus offered the sinful woman was something for nothing.
For Cathy and me, we came to grips that we are broken, sinful people in a broken sinful world. We can either embrace other sinners as we have been embraced or we can shun them because they don't live up to our religious standard.
3. What is my attitude toward those who disagree with me?
I think this question is very self-revealing. Many years ago, during the same season I went on the warpath against Halloween, I legalistically began driving the speed limit. Then I promptly got mad at every driver who passed me on the highway (which was most of them).
As God continues to do heart surgery on me year after year, I have an observation about my anger. I'm not so sure that I was really angry at those who drove like I used to. I was more angry that I couldn't do it anymore because of my legalistic choice. So much for, "Beloved, let us love one another..." (1 John 4:7)
If you find yourself constantly angry at those who disagree with you, perhaps it's because you aren't fully comfortable with your answers to the first two questions.
All that said, Happy Halloween. Enjoy your candy! I'm pretty much abstaining.
And, no, I'm not angry about it!
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
The Man With The Shining Eyes
I read yesterday that Rev. Bill Watkins passed away over the weekend. Bill was almost 84 years young and had been scheduled to perform another man's funeral in a few days. I first got to know Bill in the early 1990s when we worked together on a Billy Graham associate crusade. He taught me more that he ever imagined about having a positive, loving spirit. He worked hard on that project and helped bridge the gap between otherwise disconnected churches.
Bill taught me something else he couldn't have known. I'm a bit ashamed to tell you the lesson, but I must. You see, Bill was a Presbyterian.
"So what?", you ask.
I grew up a Baptist.
Baptists were right. Therefore, we were right. Everyone else was...uh, not right!
We had the best Bible Study literature, the largest seminaries and the hugest protestant denomination in the country.
We sent out one of, if not the biggest missionary force in history.
Did I say we were right?
Everyone else -- including Presbyterians -- was suspect. If they were right, they would be Baptist.
(God, please forgive my arrogance!)
I met Bill Watkins, a man with shining eyes, a great sense of humor, a mature love for Christ and a deep well of compassion for people. He lived his sermons.
He helped open my eyes and change my heart.
I will forever be grateful to Bill. When I get to heaven, I can't wait to thank him personally!
Bill taught me something else he couldn't have known. I'm a bit ashamed to tell you the lesson, but I must. You see, Bill was a Presbyterian.
"So what?", you ask.
I grew up a Baptist.
Baptists were right. Therefore, we were right. Everyone else was...uh, not right!
We had the best Bible Study literature, the largest seminaries and the hugest protestant denomination in the country.
We sent out one of, if not the biggest missionary force in history.
Did I say we were right?
Everyone else -- including Presbyterians -- was suspect. If they were right, they would be Baptist.
(God, please forgive my arrogance!)
I met Bill Watkins, a man with shining eyes, a great sense of humor, a mature love for Christ and a deep well of compassion for people. He lived his sermons.
He helped open my eyes and change my heart.
I will forever be grateful to Bill. When I get to heaven, I can't wait to thank him personally!
Thursday, September 10, 2009
The Words We Can't Retrieve
Cathy got placed in a situation recently which at first broke her heart. Then it propelled her into action.
Lady A (Cathy knows everyone in this story) emailed Lady B. In the email, Lady A made some critical remarks about Lady C. Lady B sent out a group email to a large number of women. In it, she accidentally sent the original email from Lady A. Lady C is in the group.
Lady C then sent out her own email to the group expressing her extreme hurt and anger at what Lady A had said. Cathy knows and deeply cares for both these ladies and was driven to tears by the severity of what she was reading. "What should I do?" Cathy asked.
After consideration, she immediately wrote to Lady A. By then, Lady A had expressed her embarrassment and sorrow for what she had said and the hurt she caused. Cathy knows about the experience of letting words escape and wishing to goodness she could get them back.
I know, too. Do you?
Anyway, Cathy wrote, expressing her love and support of Lady A.
That's not all. Lady C lives nearby. Cathy, having chosen how to respond, went to Lady C's home to express her support for her, too. In both instances she encouraged the ladies to work through the problem. She even offered to help.
What would you have done?
"God blesses those who work for peace, for they will be called the children of God." (Matthew 5:9 New Living Translation)
Lady A (Cathy knows everyone in this story) emailed Lady B. In the email, Lady A made some critical remarks about Lady C. Lady B sent out a group email to a large number of women. In it, she accidentally sent the original email from Lady A. Lady C is in the group.
Lady C then sent out her own email to the group expressing her extreme hurt and anger at what Lady A had said. Cathy knows and deeply cares for both these ladies and was driven to tears by the severity of what she was reading. "What should I do?" Cathy asked.
After consideration, she immediately wrote to Lady A. By then, Lady A had expressed her embarrassment and sorrow for what she had said and the hurt she caused. Cathy knows about the experience of letting words escape and wishing to goodness she could get them back.
I know, too. Do you?
Anyway, Cathy wrote, expressing her love and support of Lady A.
That's not all. Lady C lives nearby. Cathy, having chosen how to respond, went to Lady C's home to express her support for her, too. In both instances she encouraged the ladies to work through the problem. She even offered to help.
What would you have done?
"God blesses those who work for peace, for they will be called the children of God." (Matthew 5:9 New Living Translation)
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Sometimes, life is doing 90...
...but my brain is standing still!
I heard about a pastor who forgot to attend a funeral. And he was the speaker! It was before cell phones were common and the church secretary couldn't find him anywhere. He wasn't doing anything wrong, but he certainly wasn't doing the right thing either.
You may be interested to know that the pastor made it through without losing his ministry. He had already been in that church for many years. When he discovered is mistake, he deeply apologized to the family. They were hurt, but they forgave him. Why?
Because he had lived faithfully through the ups and downs of the roller coaster. And he did it long enough to show himself full of integrity.
We can neither stay at the top of that metal mountain, nor let ourselves wallow in the trough of the deep valley. We must continue on the "ride" and allow our lives to touch others one good decision at a time.
By the way, I needed this story a while back. I was scheduled to pray the invocation at the grand opening of a new little league.
And I completely forgot.
Ouch!
I heard about a pastor who forgot to attend a funeral. And he was the speaker! It was before cell phones were common and the church secretary couldn't find him anywhere. He wasn't doing anything wrong, but he certainly wasn't doing the right thing either.
You may be interested to know that the pastor made it through without losing his ministry. He had already been in that church for many years. When he discovered is mistake, he deeply apologized to the family. They were hurt, but they forgave him. Why?
Because he had lived faithfully through the ups and downs of the roller coaster. And he did it long enough to show himself full of integrity.
We can neither stay at the top of that metal mountain, nor let ourselves wallow in the trough of the deep valley. We must continue on the "ride" and allow our lives to touch others one good decision at a time.
By the way, I needed this story a while back. I was scheduled to pray the invocation at the grand opening of a new little league.
And I completely forgot.
Ouch!
Friday, April 17, 2009
Adult Pain, Part 2
"This is the last one," her father snorted angrily as they waited. The flies seemed to dance with the dust in the sunlight coming from the small window. "I have used every extra shekel I made for the past seven years. I have nothing else left for you. The rest of your family has needs, too, you know!"
Then, more tenderly, he added, "Relax, daughter. Perhaps this physician will have some new potion that can help. He has helped others, I'm told."
She was leaning against the mud brick wall as yet another spasm started at her waist and inched its way up to her neck. She moaned. "If only I had listened to my grandmother," she thought. "If only I had stayed home that day my friends went to the hut of the witch." Her memory brought tears as she recalled the moment. She had been only thirteen years old at the time, not quite a woman. It the small, dingy abode, the old woman had looked at her with empty, black eyes.
"Are you willing to do anything to see my power?" the witch had asked.
"Yes, anything," came her answer with a giggle. The brew she was drinking made the room of the hut move. The moment the word of assent came from her mouth, she noticed the dark shapes hovering above the little table. One of them pressed close to her and suddenly disappeared. At that same moment, she felt the first spasm in her back. "My imagination," she thought.
By the time she turned sixteen, her back was noticeably stooped. The pain, whether light or intense, was always present. No longer able to force even a small smile, she became an outcast to everyone. Except her family.
She asked one or two of the Rabbis if they thought her problem had started that day at the witch's hut. "No," they would say as they softly scratched their beards, "some people just have maladies that can't be explained nor cured."
Her last trip to a physician completed, she resigned herself to the pain, the increasingly bent back and the humiliation. When she ventured out she could hear the whispers. "Mommy, what's wrong with her? Is she a monster?" "You must have committed a grave sin for the Eternal to punish you like that!" "Don't touch her -- she might be contagious!"
Finally, the only time she departed her father's house was to the synagogue for Sabbath.
She held her mother's skirt as she shuffled in and sat with the other women. At least here they weren't outwardly unkind. Some ignored her, others avoided her. It had been three years since she had been able to look up enough to see the sky. She took her place, stooped almost double. Saliva drooled from the corner of her mouth as the Psalms were read.
The visiting Rabbi began to speak. She knew she had never before heard his voice. He had only said his introductory blessing when he stopped suddenly. Something stirred within her.
"Woman, today you are free. I heal you from this sickness."
Her heart was pounding. She suddenly realized it. No pain!
Then, the touch of a man's hands on her bent shoulders. "Stand upright, sister."
....
10 One Sabbath day as Jesus was teaching in a synagogue,
11 he saw a woman who had been crippled by an evil spirit. She had been bent double for eighteen years and was unable to stand up straight.
12 When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, “Dear woman, you are healed of your sickness!”
13 Then he touched her, and instantly she could stand straight. How she praised God!
14 But the leader in charge of the synagogue was indignant that Jesus had healed her on the Sabbath day. “There are six days of the week for working,” he said to the crowd. “Come on those days to be healed, not on the Sabbath.”
15 But the Lord replied, “You hypocrites! Each of you works on the Sabbath day! Don’t you untie your ox or your donkey from its stall on the Sabbath and lead it out for water?
16 This dear woman, a daughter of Abraham, has been held in bondage by Satan for eighteen years. Isn’t it right that she be released, even on the Sabbath?”
17 This shamed his enemies, but all the people rejoiced at the wonderful things he did.
(Luke 13:10-17 New Living Translation)
Then, more tenderly, he added, "Relax, daughter. Perhaps this physician will have some new potion that can help. He has helped others, I'm told."
She was leaning against the mud brick wall as yet another spasm started at her waist and inched its way up to her neck. She moaned. "If only I had listened to my grandmother," she thought. "If only I had stayed home that day my friends went to the hut of the witch." Her memory brought tears as she recalled the moment. She had been only thirteen years old at the time, not quite a woman. It the small, dingy abode, the old woman had looked at her with empty, black eyes.
"Are you willing to do anything to see my power?" the witch had asked.
"Yes, anything," came her answer with a giggle. The brew she was drinking made the room of the hut move. The moment the word of assent came from her mouth, she noticed the dark shapes hovering above the little table. One of them pressed close to her and suddenly disappeared. At that same moment, she felt the first spasm in her back. "My imagination," she thought.
By the time she turned sixteen, her back was noticeably stooped. The pain, whether light or intense, was always present. No longer able to force even a small smile, she became an outcast to everyone. Except her family.
She asked one or two of the Rabbis if they thought her problem had started that day at the witch's hut. "No," they would say as they softly scratched their beards, "some people just have maladies that can't be explained nor cured."
Her last trip to a physician completed, she resigned herself to the pain, the increasingly bent back and the humiliation. When she ventured out she could hear the whispers. "Mommy, what's wrong with her? Is she a monster?" "You must have committed a grave sin for the Eternal to punish you like that!" "Don't touch her -- she might be contagious!"
Finally, the only time she departed her father's house was to the synagogue for Sabbath.
She held her mother's skirt as she shuffled in and sat with the other women. At least here they weren't outwardly unkind. Some ignored her, others avoided her. It had been three years since she had been able to look up enough to see the sky. She took her place, stooped almost double. Saliva drooled from the corner of her mouth as the Psalms were read.
The visiting Rabbi began to speak. She knew she had never before heard his voice. He had only said his introductory blessing when he stopped suddenly. Something stirred within her.
"Woman, today you are free. I heal you from this sickness."
Her heart was pounding. She suddenly realized it. No pain!
Then, the touch of a man's hands on her bent shoulders. "Stand upright, sister."
....
10 One Sabbath day as Jesus was teaching in a synagogue,
11 he saw a woman who had been crippled by an evil spirit. She had been bent double for eighteen years and was unable to stand up straight.
12 When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, “Dear woman, you are healed of your sickness!”
13 Then he touched her, and instantly she could stand straight. How she praised God!
14 But the leader in charge of the synagogue was indignant that Jesus had healed her on the Sabbath day. “There are six days of the week for working,” he said to the crowd. “Come on those days to be healed, not on the Sabbath.”
15 But the Lord replied, “You hypocrites! Each of you works on the Sabbath day! Don’t you untie your ox or your donkey from its stall on the Sabbath and lead it out for water?
16 This dear woman, a daughter of Abraham, has been held in bondage by Satan for eighteen years. Isn’t it right that she be released, even on the Sabbath?”
17 This shamed his enemies, but all the people rejoiced at the wonderful things he did.
(Luke 13:10-17 New Living Translation)
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Adult Pain
I sat in a meeting in which a church leader opened up about the pain he feels from something he did twelve years ago. Some dark sin? No. He wanted to serve and took a responsibility completely outside his area of comfort or expertise.
The experience was horrible. He followed through because he is a man who keeps his obligations. He is not a bitter man, but he has never forgotten and still carries some of the pain.
Another guy I know recently opened up to me about the pain he carries from growing up with a mom who is a drug addict. He is learning to pray for her after admitting his previously hidden hurt.
A third man I know has a similar story about a drug-addicted mother. He has dealt with his pain in a different way, but he still carries it.
Yesterday one of the readers of this blog requested prayer for her husband who obviously carries childhood pain. I'm amazed at the number of adults I am meeting who have this burden. Some of them were wounded by a family member or other trusted adult. Others received their wounds from the actions of the church.
I shared some things about this subject at church a few weeks ago. You can go here and click on "He Felt Our Pain" to get the sermon audio.
Would any of you care to share about the pain with which you are familiar?
The experience was horrible. He followed through because he is a man who keeps his obligations. He is not a bitter man, but he has never forgotten and still carries some of the pain.
Another guy I know recently opened up to me about the pain he carries from growing up with a mom who is a drug addict. He is learning to pray for her after admitting his previously hidden hurt.
A third man I know has a similar story about a drug-addicted mother. He has dealt with his pain in a different way, but he still carries it.
Yesterday one of the readers of this blog requested prayer for her husband who obviously carries childhood pain. I'm amazed at the number of adults I am meeting who have this burden. Some of them were wounded by a family member or other trusted adult. Others received their wounds from the actions of the church.
I shared some things about this subject at church a few weeks ago. You can go here and click on "He Felt Our Pain" to get the sermon audio.
Would any of you care to share about the pain with which you are familiar?
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
How Much Can I Give?
Part 2
Frustration and anger are poor foundation stones for a life. A mind clouded by emotional pain can make choices that were never considered on clearer days. Brighter days. More innocent days.
Her journey into darkness had started with a misplaced trust. A broken heart. One tiny decision that erupted into a volcano of destruction.
Her father spat on her when he found out. Her mother walked away, weeping. Her brothers called her vile, filthy words as she begged for forgiveness. They physically threw her out of the house. Even her few items of extra clothes were denied her.
Alone. Destitute. To whom could she turn? By now, every house in the village knew. Her shame. Her failure. Her impurity.
Nothing. She had nothing except her pretty, young body. Then she saw the vial attached to the leather strand around her neck. The gift from her parents when she had come of age. It was the custom. Every father worked for years to provide his daughter with this treasured gift. The gift she and her family would present to her husba...
But he, the one chosen, the focus of her dreams...he had spat on her, too. Remembering, she ripped the cord from her neck and raised her arm to fling it away. But she couldn't let go. She grasped it as she fell to the dirt, sobbing.
At first, she planned to sell it and and move far away. Until someone showed her another way to get money. Now she placed it on a small shelf in her little house. At times she broke into fresh tears when she looked at it. At other times she held it up in mock victory over the hypocrites who condemned her. The ones who quietly came up her path at night.
But, when she left the tiny place, she always took it with her. She had sown a hidden pocket in the folds of her dress. Thieves wouldn't easily steal her treasure.
It was in the afternoon when she heard the Teacher was in town. The entire marketplace was abuzz with word that he would be at a Pharisee's house that night. The despised religious leader gathered his robes and walked the other way when he saw her. He would not be so brave in front of this man whose reputation was of compassion, healing and hope.
She must see this Jesus of Nazareth tonight. She would cover her head and veil herself until she was inside. She didn't know why, but she was drawn to him. Just hearing the stories of those to whom he had spoken was enough. What would she say if he acknowledged her? What would she ask? She didn't know. For some strange reason, she didn't care.
She knew the whispers and the sneers she would receive. She no longer cared about that, either.
It happened the moment she looked into his eyes. He saw into her soul. He could see her bitterness. He felt her anguish. Tears formed at the corner of his eyes and he quietly said one word that no one else could hear.
"Forgiven."
She suddenly saw herself. As he saw her. The first sob burst from her lungs.
As her tears subsided, she wanted to say, "Thank you." But how? Then she felt it. The slight bulge of the vial she always carried near her.
..............
Thank you for joining me today. I have taken a few liberties to share this story from Luke 7. Historians say that the Jews of that day often gave small alabaster vials of perfume to their young daughters as a part of their dowries. We don't know if that's the way she received hers. We do know that she was a sinful outcast in her town.
Jesus said in similar passages in Matthew and Mark that this gift and the woman who gave it would always be remembered wherever people spoke of Him. Watchman Nee, a much persecuted Chinese pastor, wrote that the reason for remembering is simple. We, you and I, are alabaster vials. When we receive Jesus by faith, He is the costly perfume. His sweet essence is released from us through our brokenness.
In a very sobering way, I am like this woman. I have been forgiven much. She gave him her most precious treasure and so must I. I have few riches and relatively small talents. I have no fame and little influence.
So I give Him myself.
How much would you give?
Frustration and anger are poor foundation stones for a life. A mind clouded by emotional pain can make choices that were never considered on clearer days. Brighter days. More innocent days.
Her journey into darkness had started with a misplaced trust. A broken heart. One tiny decision that erupted into a volcano of destruction.
Her father spat on her when he found out. Her mother walked away, weeping. Her brothers called her vile, filthy words as she begged for forgiveness. They physically threw her out of the house. Even her few items of extra clothes were denied her.
Alone. Destitute. To whom could she turn? By now, every house in the village knew. Her shame. Her failure. Her impurity.
Nothing. She had nothing except her pretty, young body. Then she saw the vial attached to the leather strand around her neck. The gift from her parents when she had come of age. It was the custom. Every father worked for years to provide his daughter with this treasured gift. The gift she and her family would present to her husba...
But he, the one chosen, the focus of her dreams...he had spat on her, too. Remembering, she ripped the cord from her neck and raised her arm to fling it away. But she couldn't let go. She grasped it as she fell to the dirt, sobbing.
At first, she planned to sell it and and move far away. Until someone showed her another way to get money. Now she placed it on a small shelf in her little house. At times she broke into fresh tears when she looked at it. At other times she held it up in mock victory over the hypocrites who condemned her. The ones who quietly came up her path at night.
But, when she left the tiny place, she always took it with her. She had sown a hidden pocket in the folds of her dress. Thieves wouldn't easily steal her treasure.
It was in the afternoon when she heard the Teacher was in town. The entire marketplace was abuzz with word that he would be at a Pharisee's house that night. The despised religious leader gathered his robes and walked the other way when he saw her. He would not be so brave in front of this man whose reputation was of compassion, healing and hope.
She must see this Jesus of Nazareth tonight. She would cover her head and veil herself until she was inside. She didn't know why, but she was drawn to him. Just hearing the stories of those to whom he had spoken was enough. What would she say if he acknowledged her? What would she ask? She didn't know. For some strange reason, she didn't care.
She knew the whispers and the sneers she would receive. She no longer cared about that, either.
It happened the moment she looked into his eyes. He saw into her soul. He could see her bitterness. He felt her anguish. Tears formed at the corner of his eyes and he quietly said one word that no one else could hear.
"Forgiven."
She suddenly saw herself. As he saw her. The first sob burst from her lungs.
As her tears subsided, she wanted to say, "Thank you." But how? Then she felt it. The slight bulge of the vial she always carried near her.
..............
Thank you for joining me today. I have taken a few liberties to share this story from Luke 7. Historians say that the Jews of that day often gave small alabaster vials of perfume to their young daughters as a part of their dowries. We don't know if that's the way she received hers. We do know that she was a sinful outcast in her town.
Jesus said in similar passages in Matthew and Mark that this gift and the woman who gave it would always be remembered wherever people spoke of Him. Watchman Nee, a much persecuted Chinese pastor, wrote that the reason for remembering is simple. We, you and I, are alabaster vials. When we receive Jesus by faith, He is the costly perfume. His sweet essence is released from us through our brokenness.
In a very sobering way, I am like this woman. I have been forgiven much. She gave him her most precious treasure and so must I. I have few riches and relatively small talents. I have no fame and little influence.
So I give Him myself.
How much would you give?
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
How Much Can I Give?
The gathering darkness of the warm spring day took the edge off the heat in the small room. The guest had honored the host with his presence. As he reclined, the few others who were invited joined him at the table.
The people of the community, as was their custom, began to slip in the door and take their places around the perimeter. Some stood, others squatted on the floor. Occasionally a child would shoulder in, often being shushed by its father.
As the light waned, the burning lamps started making their presence known. They added heat with their light and this increased the closeness of the air. It didn't matter, though. Every eye and ear was focused on the unfolding conversation at the low table.
The finer points. The technicalities. The thrusts and parries of argument. These were the issues that brought people to this little room. On this night. The drama was too interesting to pay much attention to the heat. Would this be the night someone would finally stump him with a question? Would he have a response none of them had ever imagined, but, when considered, made perfect sense?
They listened and pondered, when, from somewhere back in the crowd, she slipped forward. She was right next to him by the time they noticed. What was she doing here anyway? Didn't she know her place?
He didn't say anything about her standing there. He looked on with apparent tenderness as she began to weep, but he said nothing to her. As she looked into his eyes, her body started convulsing with deep sobs. Her tears splashed onto his feet and she quickly dried them with her long, unbraided hair.
As she gained control of her weeping, she reached into the folds of her garment and pulled out a small vial. Alabaster. She broke the small neck on the vial and the fragrance overtook the room. Pure nard. Expensive enough to cost a year's pay for some of the poor farmworkers in the area.
For her, it was part of the dowry she never used. Instead of a husband, she had chosen a life of pleasure. The parade of men never stopped. Rich, poor, young, old. From miles away, they all knew the road to her house.
And every day, another small part of her died inside.
Until tonight.
He had said few words, but she knew he forgave her.
What could she give in return? Her most valuable possession.
The conclusion...tomorrow.
The people of the community, as was their custom, began to slip in the door and take their places around the perimeter. Some stood, others squatted on the floor. Occasionally a child would shoulder in, often being shushed by its father.
As the light waned, the burning lamps started making their presence known. They added heat with their light and this increased the closeness of the air. It didn't matter, though. Every eye and ear was focused on the unfolding conversation at the low table.
The finer points. The technicalities. The thrusts and parries of argument. These were the issues that brought people to this little room. On this night. The drama was too interesting to pay much attention to the heat. Would this be the night someone would finally stump him with a question? Would he have a response none of them had ever imagined, but, when considered, made perfect sense?
They listened and pondered, when, from somewhere back in the crowd, she slipped forward. She was right next to him by the time they noticed. What was she doing here anyway? Didn't she know her place?
He didn't say anything about her standing there. He looked on with apparent tenderness as she began to weep, but he said nothing to her. As she looked into his eyes, her body started convulsing with deep sobs. Her tears splashed onto his feet and she quickly dried them with her long, unbraided hair.
As she gained control of her weeping, she reached into the folds of her garment and pulled out a small vial. Alabaster. She broke the small neck on the vial and the fragrance overtook the room. Pure nard. Expensive enough to cost a year's pay for some of the poor farmworkers in the area.
For her, it was part of the dowry she never used. Instead of a husband, she had chosen a life of pleasure. The parade of men never stopped. Rich, poor, young, old. From miles away, they all knew the road to her house.
And every day, another small part of her died inside.
Until tonight.
He had said few words, but she knew he forgave her.
What could she give in return? Her most valuable possession.
The conclusion...tomorrow.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
What's Your Story?
You have one. If you're from the church world, you might have one of those "gutter to God" stories that pushes people to the edge of their chairs. Or you could have a story about growing up in a healthy family with parents who loved each other and loved you -- they truly believed what they said they believed! (That's my story.)
Yesterday we told stories. It was a room of 15 or 16 Prayer Partners. They didn't all know each other. They ranged in age from teens to a few in their 70s. Female, male. Seasoned Christ-followers, newbies. And each told her/his story.
I heard a teen weep as she described the abandonment of a biological father whom she really never knew. She talked about her feelings of guilt that maybe she was to blame (she was a baby when he left). She spoke of the love she receives from her stepdad who is fully and completely her dad. And she spoke of how she has forgiven her father and hopes he gets his life together.
A lady in her seventies (eighties?) sobbed as she told of her childhood abuse and the guilt she carried for years before she fully learned to live by the truth.
A man spoke of the pain he went through when he had to bury both his parents within a few weeks of each other. His dad had terminal cancer and was near the end when his mom passed suddenly.
Another man -- in his seventies -- told of how he couldn't live at home anymore because of a worthless father and a mother who wouldn't stand up to him. He left, hitchhiked across country, even living under a bridge with hobos. He was 13.
A young woman -- one of two young cancer survivors in the group -- spoke of the burden she carries because her little boy is autistic. The load has been so heavy of late that she thought God had abandoned her. "This morning," she said, "I realize that it was me who abandoned God."
These are just a small sample of the stories I heard yesterday. Most of them full of pain. All of them full of hope.
That's because each of them was telling a larger story. The story about their discovery of God's love and forgiveness. The story about stepping from the darkness into the light.
What's your story?
Yesterday we told stories. It was a room of 15 or 16 Prayer Partners. They didn't all know each other. They ranged in age from teens to a few in their 70s. Female, male. Seasoned Christ-followers, newbies. And each told her/his story.
I heard a teen weep as she described the abandonment of a biological father whom she really never knew. She talked about her feelings of guilt that maybe she was to blame (she was a baby when he left). She spoke of the love she receives from her stepdad who is fully and completely her dad. And she spoke of how she has forgiven her father and hopes he gets his life together.
A lady in her seventies (eighties?) sobbed as she told of her childhood abuse and the guilt she carried for years before she fully learned to live by the truth.
A man spoke of the pain he went through when he had to bury both his parents within a few weeks of each other. His dad had terminal cancer and was near the end when his mom passed suddenly.
Another man -- in his seventies -- told of how he couldn't live at home anymore because of a worthless father and a mother who wouldn't stand up to him. He left, hitchhiked across country, even living under a bridge with hobos. He was 13.
A young woman -- one of two young cancer survivors in the group -- spoke of the burden she carries because her little boy is autistic. The load has been so heavy of late that she thought God had abandoned her. "This morning," she said, "I realize that it was me who abandoned God."
These are just a small sample of the stories I heard yesterday. Most of them full of pain. All of them full of hope.
That's because each of them was telling a larger story. The story about their discovery of God's love and forgiveness. The story about stepping from the darkness into the light.
What's your story?
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Iiiiiit's Saturday
Since several of you have joined me the past few days, here's a bit about what I try to do schedule-wise. I do my best to post fresh material (even fun stuff like yesterday) on Sunday through Friday.
That's because I prefer Saturday In The Park -- or working in the yard. Or putting up Christmas decorations since we were gone last week. Sooo, I try to share one of my previous posts that most of you haven't read. It gives me a break and brings some of you along on a bit of my journey.
Entitled Mending Fences, this was one of my very first blogs...
Preaching three times on Sunday morning is mentally and physically taxing. By the time I arrive home, I wonder if my brain is mush or spaghetti. Fortunately, Cathy has lunch pretty much ready to go after my quick change of clothes. My custom is to eat, finish the Sunday paper and head to a nap.
It's almost never exciting when the phone rings right after lunch and Cathy says it's for me. My brain screams for the release of a dream and my head wants to shake "no" when I put the communication gadget to my ear.
"Sam, this is someone you haven't spoken to in a long time." As I hear the words, the voice is already sounding familiar. It belongs to a man who used to attend our church many years ago. I haven't actually seen him since my grown kids were in high school. We have spoken on the phone a few times since then. Each of those occurrences left me thinking that the man is buried in his problems and will probably never get better.
"Hi," I reply, "how can I help you?" I know my voice is tense. I don't want to be bothered and I'm sure he can tell. I feel guilty, but it is inconvenient. (I'd rather not admit that attitude.) Besides, the last time or two we talked, I'm not even sure the guy was sober.
"I'm actually getting my life together," he said. "I am being treated for PTSD because of Viet Nam and I'm better than I have been in many, many years. I have been giving it some thought and I can think of two people right now that I need to reconcile with. You're one of them."
A voice from the past. I relax, grateful for this turn in the conversation. I tell him truthfully that he owes me no apology. I invite him back to church because he says he has tried a few and wants to attend again. He seems relieved, promises to see me and says goodbye.
I have had to make many similar calls over the years. They have left me feeling joyful and relieved. I hope it did the same for him.
That's because I prefer Saturday In The Park -- or working in the yard. Or putting up Christmas decorations since we were gone last week. Sooo, I try to share one of my previous posts that most of you haven't read. It gives me a break and brings some of you along on a bit of my journey.
Entitled Mending Fences, this was one of my very first blogs...
Preaching three times on Sunday morning is mentally and physically taxing. By the time I arrive home, I wonder if my brain is mush or spaghetti. Fortunately, Cathy has lunch pretty much ready to go after my quick change of clothes. My custom is to eat, finish the Sunday paper and head to a nap.
It's almost never exciting when the phone rings right after lunch and Cathy says it's for me. My brain screams for the release of a dream and my head wants to shake "no" when I put the communication gadget to my ear.
"Sam, this is someone you haven't spoken to in a long time." As I hear the words, the voice is already sounding familiar. It belongs to a man who used to attend our church many years ago. I haven't actually seen him since my grown kids were in high school. We have spoken on the phone a few times since then. Each of those occurrences left me thinking that the man is buried in his problems and will probably never get better.
"Hi," I reply, "how can I help you?" I know my voice is tense. I don't want to be bothered and I'm sure he can tell. I feel guilty, but it is inconvenient. (I'd rather not admit that attitude.) Besides, the last time or two we talked, I'm not even sure the guy was sober.
"I'm actually getting my life together," he said. "I am being treated for PTSD because of Viet Nam and I'm better than I have been in many, many years. I have been giving it some thought and I can think of two people right now that I need to reconcile with. You're one of them."
A voice from the past. I relax, grateful for this turn in the conversation. I tell him truthfully that he owes me no apology. I invite him back to church because he says he has tried a few and wants to attend again. He seems relieved, promises to see me and says goodbye.
I have had to make many similar calls over the years. They have left me feeling joyful and relieved. I hope it did the same for him.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Sow What?
I'll call her JJ. First I met part of her family, many years ago. I got to know her mother because of my role as a pastor. I also got to know her little daughter, who was just a toddler.
JJ's mother was raising JJ's daughter because JJ was... Well, she was in prison. For theft. To feed her drug habit.
For two years after I met them, JJ's mother told me about visiting her daughter in prison. She spoke with great hope that JJ had learned her lesson and would get a chance to really start over while she was still young.
When she was released, I remember JJ's resolve to never go back. She want to stay clean and sober, to raise her daughter, to live a productive life. She settled down, took a few forward steps... And stumbled.
Fast forward twenty years. JJ never quite ended up back in prison. Not the kind behind bars and armed guards, anyway.
I talked to JJ's mother the other day. "At least she's not doing drugs," her mom said. "But she's in a mess that might be even worse." This sweet woman with a broken heart went on to describe how JJ has spent the last year in an abusive relationship with a man young enough to be her son.
Like so many other victims, JJ denies the problem and protects her boyfriend. He put her in the hospital recently and JJ admitted that he would have killed her if she hadn't gotten far enough away to cry for help. She went to her parents house for a few days and JJ's mom got a court order to keep the man away. Within no time, JJ was gone and her mom knows she went back to the man.
JJ admits that the next time could be her last time.
A prophet named Hosea wrote, "For they sow the wind And they reap the whirlwind." (Hosea 8:7 NASB) I used to think that maybe this was a scathing judgment, a "God's gonna get you!" Now I believe it's more of a tragic observation. Unfortunately, it sometimes takes just a few "small" steps in the wrong direction to throw a person into the path of a tornado bigger than Dorothy and Toto's.
JJ's little daughter is now grown up. She has two children of her own. She, too, is reaping some of the whirlwind.
I write JJ's story with a very sad heart. Would you like to share a bit about a "JJ" you know?
JJ's mother was raising JJ's daughter because JJ was... Well, she was in prison. For theft. To feed her drug habit.
For two years after I met them, JJ's mother told me about visiting her daughter in prison. She spoke with great hope that JJ had learned her lesson and would get a chance to really start over while she was still young.
When she was released, I remember JJ's resolve to never go back. She want to stay clean and sober, to raise her daughter, to live a productive life. She settled down, took a few forward steps... And stumbled.
Fast forward twenty years. JJ never quite ended up back in prison. Not the kind behind bars and armed guards, anyway.
I talked to JJ's mother the other day. "At least she's not doing drugs," her mom said. "But she's in a mess that might be even worse." This sweet woman with a broken heart went on to describe how JJ has spent the last year in an abusive relationship with a man young enough to be her son.
Like so many other victims, JJ denies the problem and protects her boyfriend. He put her in the hospital recently and JJ admitted that he would have killed her if she hadn't gotten far enough away to cry for help. She went to her parents house for a few days and JJ's mom got a court order to keep the man away. Within no time, JJ was gone and her mom knows she went back to the man.
JJ admits that the next time could be her last time.
A prophet named Hosea wrote, "For they sow the wind And they reap the whirlwind." (Hosea 8:7 NASB) I used to think that maybe this was a scathing judgment, a "God's gonna get you!" Now I believe it's more of a tragic observation. Unfortunately, it sometimes takes just a few "small" steps in the wrong direction to throw a person into the path of a tornado bigger than Dorothy and Toto's.
JJ's little daughter is now grown up. She has two children of her own. She, too, is reaping some of the whirlwind.
I write JJ's story with a very sad heart. Would you like to share a bit about a "JJ" you know?
Monday, October 27, 2008
Mending Fences
Preaching three times on Sunday morning is mentally and physically taxing. By the time I arrive home, I wonder if my brain is mush or spaghetti. Fortunately, Cathy has lunch pretty much ready to go after my quick change of clothes. My custom is to eat, finish the Sunday paper and head to a nap.
It's almost never exciting when the phone rings right after lunch and Cathy says it's for me. My brain screams for the release of a dream and my head wants to shake "no" when I put the communication gadget to my ear.
"Sam, this is someone you haven't spoken to in a long time." As I hear the words, the voice is already sounding familiar. It belongs to a man who used to attend our church many years ago. I haven't actually seen him since my grown kids were in high school. We have spoken on the phone a few times since then. Each of those occurrences left me thinking that the man is buried in his problems and will probably never get better.
"Hi," I reply, "how can I help you?" I know my voice is tense. I don't want to be bothered and I'm sure he can tell. I feel guilty, but it is inconvenient. (I'd rather not admit that attitude.) Besides, the last time or two we talked, I'm not even sure the guy was sober.
"I'm actually getting my life together," he said. "I am being treated for PTSD because of Viet Nam and I'm better than I have been in many, many years. I have been giving it some thought and I can think of two people right now that I need to reconcile with. You're one of them."
A voice from the past. I relax, grateful for this turn in the conversation. I tell him truthfully that he owes me no apology. I invite him back to church because he says he has tried a few and wants to attend again. He seems relieved, promises to see me and says goodbye.
I have had to make many similar calls over the years. They have left me feeling joyful and relieved. I hope it did the same for him.
It's almost never exciting when the phone rings right after lunch and Cathy says it's for me. My brain screams for the release of a dream and my head wants to shake "no" when I put the communication gadget to my ear.
"Sam, this is someone you haven't spoken to in a long time." As I hear the words, the voice is already sounding familiar. It belongs to a man who used to attend our church many years ago. I haven't actually seen him since my grown kids were in high school. We have spoken on the phone a few times since then. Each of those occurrences left me thinking that the man is buried in his problems and will probably never get better.
"Hi," I reply, "how can I help you?" I know my voice is tense. I don't want to be bothered and I'm sure he can tell. I feel guilty, but it is inconvenient. (I'd rather not admit that attitude.) Besides, the last time or two we talked, I'm not even sure the guy was sober.
"I'm actually getting my life together," he said. "I am being treated for PTSD because of Viet Nam and I'm better than I have been in many, many years. I have been giving it some thought and I can think of two people right now that I need to reconcile with. You're one of them."
A voice from the past. I relax, grateful for this turn in the conversation. I tell him truthfully that he owes me no apology. I invite him back to church because he says he has tried a few and wants to attend again. He seems relieved, promises to see me and says goodbye.
I have had to make many similar calls over the years. They have left me feeling joyful and relieved. I hope it did the same for him.
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