The Reason I Still Believe - Part 4

In the days before my Papa died, I had a problem—a big problem, or so it seemed at the time. The university was only giving me six tickets to my college graduation. Of course, I wanted the people most important to me to be there. That meant my mom, dad, sister, Grandma and Grandpa, my Nana…and Papa. Seven people…I needed seven tickets, but I was only going to be given six. How could I choose? How would this be okay? Not only was someone going to be hurt, I would also miss having one of the people I loved most in the world share one of my greatest accomplishments as I walked across the stage. I couldn’t choose; I wouldn’t choose. I wouldn’t have to. My mom just kept telling me to pray, saying that God would provide. Of course, at the time we both hoped that meant I would be able to get another seat. Yet again, little did we know what God had in mind.

I remember walking down the same hallway my mom did the day John died. Our entire family was there at Nana and Papa’s house. My mom met me at the front of the hall, and again with tears in her eyes said, “You know Jared, God knew that we only needed six tickets.” We both just stood there and cried. As strange as those words sounded, we knew that God wasn’t surprised. What we were just learning, He already knew. We knew that he was holding us in His hands, and this wasn’t something that was ‘just happening.’ God was in control of our lives.
The blow-off class that I had ‘just taken for credit’ had made me ready for a season in my life where the storms would blow. I was able to look back and see how God had prepared me. How awesome is a Father’s love.

Many days would follow when I would doubt not only the goodness of God, but also His very existence. One such time is still very fresh in my mind. How many times did the Israelites see the power and might of their Creator, only to turn and create gods of their own a short time later? Remember what preceded forty years of wandering in the desert? Four hundred years of slavery. Moses had led the children of God out of Egypt in a dramatic exit. They had seen God send plagues to torment their captors; they had seen Him part the sea and then send the waters back to destroy an entire army. Yet, reality would soon be that their memories would fade and Moses would come down from the mountain to find them worshipping a golden calf. Talk about short-term memory.

I find my greatest weapon against unbelief is to remember the times when God was most real to me. I can’t help but believe that God was never more real to Jonah than when he was in the belly of the whale in the sea—or to Samson when he could no longer see. You see, his eyes had been gouged out and he was forced to grind grain after betraying the one secret God had commanded him to keep. Both men came again to believe in God’s mercy and asked to receive. Jonah was spit out onto dry land after reconciling. Samson’s strength was restored, and he brought down the house on the Philistines. I endured loss, but God has restored me. I am still waiting to see what God will do next.

The Reason I Still Believe - Part 3

More than two years later I remember getting into my Explorer to drive to class at the university that I was attending. For some reason that day I felt compelled to pray something I hadn’t been ready to say: ‘God, I can finally freely forgive you for taking John.’ At long last I was through with the condition that said my commitment was dependent on whether those I loved lived or died. Not that I was saying I was ready to endure additional loss, but this time I wasn’t putting my love for God up as collateral. Little did I know He was preparing my heart for what was to come.

It would be months, years before I would see God’s plan for me in it all. Why did He take my best friend from me? What I would one day come to understand is that God used John’s death to strengthen me. I needed to stand on my own. If ever there was a new door to be walked through, John would walk through first—every time. Without him, I had to learn to walk through on my own, alone. I had to become bold--or at least bolder than I was before. I know that revelation alone is not why John died; God had a much greater purpose. For me it was comforting to know that God had a plan for me and was using my greatest loss to change me.

My senior year of college came, and I had elective hours to take. I just needed to find something to sit through; it didn’t even have to pertain to my degree. My good friend Jen and I settled on a class we had heard wasn’t all that hard--big surprise, two college kids looking to get off easy. The class was called Psychology of Grief. We had it a couple of evenings a week I think. Basically the entire class was about the mourning process. The teacher lectured, we talked about our own personal experiences, wrote about them, and watched a couple of films. Sometimes it was even morbidly fun, like when we had to write as many terms or phrases for death that we could think of. Hmm, lets see…like ‘pushing up daises’ or ‘bought the farm’ or ‘six feet under’ or ‘kicked the bucket’—all quite tongue-in-cheek.

A weekend came where I had planned to go home, but I thought about not. After all, it was a three-hour drive home, and I would just have to turn around and make the trek back again less than 48 hours later. Still, for whatever reason I conceded. That Sunday we had just arrived at church and were walking into the sanctuary. Our usually wise-cracking, loveable pastor Brother Bob came to meet us with such solemnity. He asked us to follow him outside. It was there, on the sidewalk in front of the church where I grew up that I learned my Papa had died. Brother Bob said he had gone fishing alone and a passerby had found him lying beside his boat on the ramp. A family member had called the church to find mom and asked our pastor to tell us. I remember my mom being in complete disbelief, telling our pastor that he was joking--it wasn’t true. But we all knew it was—there was no way it couldn’t be.

I knew that I would be the one to take the keys for the ten-minute drive home. It was so close and yet seemed like a long journey. My mother and sister were in no shape to sit behind the wheel, and probably neither was I. As we drove, I remember thinking that we needed to pray. I desperately desired to cry out to God for understanding and for peace. So we prayed, asking for His great mercy. At least I think we did, maybe it was just me. All I remember is hearing God more clearly than at any other time in my life. It was as though he was standing in front me. I heard Him say, ‘Everything about this day will change who you are, but nothing about this day will change who I Am’; words of truth I will carry with me to eternity.

We stopped to pick up my dad at our house and left immediately for Nana and Papa’s house across town. We would spend that day and several of the next there with family. It was my senior year of college, my cousin’s of high school—major milestones that our Papa wouldn’t be there for. It wasn’t that he would miss my graduation in a few months or my cousin’s wedding the next year. It was that he would miss every one for the rest of our lives.

The Reason I Still Believe - Part 2

The day we buried him was darkened by an overcast sky. The cold, December air was broken only by a slow steady drizzle that quickly became a downpour. The scene was more than fitting for what we were about to do.

Dressed in our Sunday best, my family and I shut the doors of the Jeep to begin the five-minute drive to the school’s auditorium for the funeral. Within minutes we had pulled into the parking lot across the street. What happened after that still remains a blur all these years later.

As I walked to the street’s edge to cross, I paused. There was a rushing stream of rainwater that ran along the roadway’s edge. Strange that on a life-changing day like that I would remember something so insignificant. I stepped across the water’s line and kept walking. My family and I crossed the street to the high school’s auditorium. Inside, John’s family and friends found their way to empty seats. I started to follow my family in, but I was asked to stay behind and sit with my classmates. Through the open doors I could see down the aisle to the front. What I saw made me sick, and I turned away.

As my classmates and I made our way to the seats reserved for us, I did my best to avoid looking at the scene at the front of the auditorium. Somehow in the confusion I was separated from my close friends. I simply followed my fellow students and sat in an empty chair by the far aisle. The girl in the next seat turned and began talking to me. I suppose that she believed she was making this easier for me. Nothing she said in that moment made any sense to me, but I tried to answer out of politeness. Suddenly, something she said brought me back to reality.

“So, what do you want for Christmas?” she asked.

I stared at her with a blank look on my face.

“I…I don’t know,” I managed to stammer.

I couldn’t believe what she was asking. My best friend was dead in a box a few feet away, and she was asking me what I wanted for Christmas.

The room boasted a solemn reverence that hung stiffly in the heavy darkness. I slowly drew a tissue to my eyes to slow the steady stream of water that ran along the sides of my face. I clenched my fists in an attempt to steady my composure. Whether anyone knew or even noticed, I would face that day with both dignity and grace. Of all his friends, it was me who had to stand strong. As I turned to face the crowd, I memorized the faces of those who had come that day to honor my friend.

Softly, music accompanied by a voice began to play through the air. The words…those words…they were the words of his favorite song. Those words were the anthem of our friendship. Those words were his heart. The voice sang, And, friends are friends forever / If the Lord’s the Lord of them / And, a friend will not say ‘never’ / ‘cause the welcome will not end / Though it’s hard to let you go / In the Father’s hands we know / That a lifetime’s not too long to live as friends.
When the song had ended, John’s pastor and youth minister stood to speak. I heard few of the words they spoke, and those that I did hear I took little comfort in. I found it nearly impossible to focus, simply casting short glances to the scene at the front of the room.

When the service was over, six men and boys wheeled the box that held my best friend into the foyer. The family stood and followed behind. I cannot remember if the entire room stood next, or if my class rose to leave. I just remember standing in the foyer; feet from where he lay. The tear-stained faces of the people were matched by muffled-sobbing. Somehow I made my way outside. I remember standing there thinking, “It’s raining. It’s raining…it’s raining.” Close friends came up to hug me. I wanted to shy away, but I didn’t. All I could do was simply stand and take it.

The Reason I Still Believe

We were barely into our junior year of high school when John got sick. At first, he thought it was just some ‘little thing’, but the symptoms seemed to persist. A short time later we would know why. I was sitting in Algebra class when the counselor decided to come by and tell us how John was doing. As his best friend, I wanted to know everything. At sixteen I probably was ill prepared for the brevity of what would be. Mrs. Albright announced that the doctors had discovered cancer. There was the word, but what did it mean?

John and I first met at swimming lessons the summer before kindergarten. I don’t really remember how we became friends, we just did. We were alike in so many ways, so different in others. We weren’t the cool kids or the athletic kids, and at our school they were one and the same. We both liked music better than ball, and when the other kids were playing baseball in P.E., we preferred to swing or just sit and talk. We were aware that we were outside the circle, but I think he cared a lot less about that than I. He never needed to impress people…except for girls. The boy was girl crazy, and he didn’t have a mild case. From early elementary on he would buy the girl who caught his eye a Valentine, write her notes, or at times send me as he hid behind one of the big old oak trees. Remember those innocent days when you were too shy to ask ‘Do you like me?’

I can still recall going to visit him during a brief time he was home from the hospital. My friends and I would go together to support him. Perhaps we were too cowardly to go alone. Our visits were brief, but I remember asking John if he was keeping up with his homework. One might think that I was just making small talk, but to me it was the promise that he was coming back to school—the certainty that he would be all right. Maybe even I didn’t realize that was what I was thinking at the time. When he told me that he hadn’t done any of his schoolwork I became concerned. How could he not? He would be behind. We had to graduate together—on time. We had college ahead, and in case he didn’t know it we were going together. Wherever he went I probably would’ve followed. Looking at him, I knew his heart wasn’t in it—the homework anyway. His eyes were tired, his body weak. It was all his heart could do just to keep him alive. He didn’t have the energy or the time to bother with trivial things. John must’ve known; I just wish he would’ve told me.

The final time that I saw him, and spoke to him was all too brief. We were allowed back in teams of two, so the four friends who had made the drive to the hospital split up. I remember walking in to ICU to meet someone I hardly knew. The only thing I remember from that final time was John asking me to move from in front of a fan they had blowing on him. I just remember feeling out of place. Many saw the signs and knew the fate, but I believed. He would be transferred to a hospital another hour away. It was a long way, but my mom made the drive for me. She knew how important this was. The last time we traveled to the hospital I didn’t even get to see him. His mom told me that she didn’t want me to—she said I wouldn’t recognize him and wanted me to remember him how he was. I said I wanted to anyway but deep down I was afraid. I resented that decision being made for me for a long time. Today, I think I’m thankful for her foresight.

I believed—right up until the end. I believed naively, no selfishly, that God would save him if only for me. He had to—after all, I believed. That was my part, right? Just believe. Those around you are quick to offer hope by saying, ‘All you can do is pray’. So I did. I prayed and believed for a miracle I would never see. I can remember vivid details from the day he died. We were at my Nana and Papa’s house visiting my mom’s family. I was in the kitchen. My mom had gone to the back bedroom to call the hospital and check on John’s condition. She wasn’t gone all that long. When she came around the corner into the dining room, I knew. It was obvious; I could see it in her tear-stained eyes. He hadn’t taken a turn for the worse; he was gone this time. I remember sinking to my knees against the kitchen cabinets, saying and shaking my head ‘no’ on the way down. The kitchen was quiet except for my crying. No one knew what to say—there was nothing to be said. My mom comforted me. It was over in a few short months.

THE COMPASSION OF THE CHRIST

The news that she had been married five times was shocking to say the least. She didn't seem like the type of woman who would take a vow before God so lightly; and yet she had. I didn't know what to think. One marriage, maybe; but even that I would have frowned upon greatly. Five? Really? You've got to be kidding me. All I could do was shake my head. But that's not it; she also had a live-in boyfriend. I won't mention her name, because there is no need. After all, it's not her name that's as important as her deeds that serve the purpose of my point.

Funny what can come up over a cup of coffee. I was tired from a long day and had stopped at the local Starbucks for something to drink. The barista smiled as I asked for a cup of hot chocolate with mint, one of my favorites. Perhaps her smile was because there I was, standing in a place known for their espressos and lattes, and I was ordering the one thing that would be on a kiddie menu if the coffee giant had one. I noticed how tired she looked and commented on how it must have been a long day.

“Too long,” she laughed. “But, I'm about to be off, and then I have to go pick up my kids from my ex-husband.” The conversation sort of carried itself from there. I'm not sure why, but people seem to bare their souls to me sometimes.

As much as I liked her, I didn't feel sorry for her; after all she had made choices. Perhaps if she had decided differently, she wouldn't be standing there talking to me as she made my drink. She wouldn't have to bother picking up her kids from their father. While that may sound somewhat cold, keep in mind that I just met this woman and didn't know her from Adam or Eve. Yet, here she was speaking as if she were searching for something; for someone possibly. I don't know what she wanted or expected from me. I was just an average Joe who stopped in for a cup of one. She handed me my cup, and I smiled back as I turned to walk away. I didn't know what she needed; I just knew it wasn't me.

Though this story may be heavily veiled, I am of course writing about the woman at the well. The difference is that her encounter was with Christ and it turned out, well very differently than this simple parable of mine. Jesus had been on a long journey, and he sat down to rest at Jacob's well. Soon thereafter a Samaritan woman came out to draw water, and Jesus asked if he could have a drink. Forget the fact that Jews did not associate with Samaritans; here was God himself associating with a sinner he knew was guilty. He had her rap sheet. Yet, Jesus knew she was searching for something; for someone. She just didn't know this was Him sitting by the well. The woman said to Him that the Messiah would explain everything. Jesus told her that it was He. And He did explain everything. He named her sin and then, He had compassion. What happened next is amazing: the Bible reads that many others believed because of her testimony.

In the Catholic church divorces are not granted. Neither are they recognized from other institutions. You are married for life. The Vatican only permits annulments in a case where the couple can prove the marriage was never valid. Yet just because the Pope doesn't recognize it, doesn't mean that people aren't getting divorced. In protestant churches they are so recognized that you are likely to be relegated to a back pew out of view. After all, we Christians want to contain the spread of sin. God forbid we fail to judge you; better you than us. In Malachi, we take God's words, 'I hate divorce' to mean that you're unclean for all eternity.

But divorce is only one sin of which we fail to find compassion for our fellow human beings. Speaking to Moses, the Lord called himself 'the compassionate and gracious God'. David again prays those words in one of the psalms. In the New Testament we read that Christ 'had compassion' many times during his ministry. So what exactly does the word mean?

compassion n. a feeling of deep sympathy and sorrow for another who is stricken by misfortune, accompanied by a strong desire to alleviate the suffering

The word compassion itself comes from the Latin compassus meaning 'to sympathize' and is combined with pati, translated 'to suffer'. Simply put, compassion means to sympathize with suffering.

One of my favorite songs is called 'Give Me Your Eyes' by a Christian artist named Brandon Heath. In it he sings, 'Give me Your eyes for just one second/ Give me Your eyes so I can see/ Everything that I keep missing/ Give me Your love for humanity/ Give me Your arms for the broken hearted/ Ones that are far beyond my reach'. How different would people appear to us if we looked at them through the eyes of Christ? Would we see someone who's made one too many mistakes or one who's never too far from grace? And would we look at the ugliness of their sin, or the beauty that is God's salvation offered to them?

In Matthew 9 we find Christ preaching to the people and healing them of disease and sickness of every kind. The Bible again reads that he had compassion on them. Then in Chapter 15 of the same book, Jesus has compassion on the crowd of 5,000 because they are hungry and in need. He saw fit to meet not only their spiritual but also their physical needs. I love in Matthew 20 that as Jesus passed by a pair of blind men on the road, they cried out to Him. The Scripture says that the crowd rebuked them, but Jesus had compassion on them. He touched their eyes, gave them sight, and they followed behind.

Christ did not simply have pity on people; He healed the hurting. Jesus not only sympathized with with them, He worked to alleviate their suffering. He wanted to lessen the pain and lighten their load. So in the end, the question is this: Do you have compassion on them?

Compassion will cure more sins than condemnation. -Henry Ward Beecher

THE FACE OF RACEism

xenophobia: an intense dislike and/or fear of people from other countries or of people significantly different from oneself

We know what racism looks like, right? Images of the Ku Klux Klan dressed in flowing white with their pointed hats that stand so high; eye holes cut out to reveal the darkness of their souls. Flash to the scene of a burning cross on a family's front yard or a noose hanging loosely from a tree. But those are just a few of the things we consider racism to be, when in reality those are only things that represent what racists believe. So, why is it that I've never considered me? I refuse to look in the mirror because of the fear I too will be found guilty.

Not long ago I walked out of work to get in my car and head home when I happened to see a roofing nail embedded in my tire's tread. Thankfully, the wheel was at an angle where it was visible. I contemplated changing the tire there but decided against it seeing as I was in my perfectly pressed pants. It was getting late, but I figured I could find a shop open of some kind. I drove down the streets hoping that I wouldn't have to go very far with a puncture hole in my tire. There was a station open and I slowed down, but decided to drive right on past. The sign read, 'Le' something, and because it was on the north side of town it wasn't a far stretch to guess that it was owned and operated by Hispanics. I tried to rationalize that I probably would have trouble communicating with them, and so I simply drove on to Wal-Mart where I was certain that wouldn't be a problem. Still, I couldn't shake the guilt of feeling as though there was something much more sinister in my heart; something that threatened to tear it apart. Keep in mind there is no small sin, because we die in the end.

18 He defends the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and loves the alien, giving him food and clothing. 19 And you are to love those who are aliens, for you yourselves were aliens in Egypt.
-Deuteronomy 10

How quickly we forget. God reminded his people that there was a time when they too had experienced racism. Hitler's Nazi Germany was not the first time in history that the Jews had been oppressed. I love the Lord's command to love those who lived among them because of the favor and grace he had shown when they lived in the Land of the Pyramids.

But do those words from the Old Testament apply to us today? Yes! Not only would racist words never have passed through Christ's lips, He never would have entertained the thoughts in His mind. As one of our pastors recently reminded us, Paul charged us as Christians to take every thought 'captive'. Just as a child born into wealth knows not what it is to be poor, so Americans born into freedom know not what it is to be oppressed. Those in the majority can sympathize with those in the minority. In fact, I believe it is our calling as Christians to do so; not only our calling but His command. After all it is He who said that He defends the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and loves the alien.

My trip to Honduras was the first time that I've ever been out of the country, one of the first times that I've ever flown, and the first time that being white didn't quite feel right. It wasn't apparent at first. After all, I was in a group of Americans and it was as though I projected the subconsious security of my citizenship. Yet there came a time where I became keenly aware that I was not like the Hondurans. My skin color, my language, and my way of life was in stark contrast to theirs. Here I was living albeit for short time among them, I was somehow out of place—the gringo. It was like a slit of light in the night, giving me a glimpse into what it must be like.

I've prided myself (perhaps that's the problem) on being color blind; and think that I am most of the time. But am I really so blind to think that I am above the same sin that others are caught up in? Who are we to think that we are of such a great gender, denomination, or even race? We are called to embrace those God has created; not merely tolerate them. The antonym of racism is not tolerance. God expects more than minimum obedience. With Him it is all or nothing; everything not something. So love as He has loved you, or don't expect His love at all.

"Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere." -Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

That said and read, his words are still being fought for today. We will soon begin our first four years under the leadership of America's first black president. While we may or may not agree with President-Elect Barack Obama's policies and politics, we as Christians can come alongside and celebrate the further fulfillment of Dr. King's dream. But we must remember that this was not a vision unique to Dr. King. God was and always will be the first to defend those who are oppressed and in need. So, I urge you to look in the mirror and see what signs of racism, if any, there may be.

Tough Love

Sometimes love comes so easily from others and flows freely from us to another. Rarely do we feel as though love must be earned; we simply want to return this gift of grace. But let's trade place. What happens if love must first come from us?

The reason for this blog is fairly apparent: I'm struggling to love a particular person right now, and I feel as though I have a justifiable reason for not. I could do without them in my life, after all they're not exactly a candidate for my wife (for that I will make a great sacrifice). Perhaps that's not reason enough for you, but it suits me perfectly in the pursuit of covering my sin to save my own skin. The thing is I'm completely content with mere politeness in passing but that's not what God is asking. Relax by the way...if you're reading this it's not about you! LOL

19We love because he first loved us. 20If anyone says, "I love God," yet hates his brother, he is a liar. For anyone who does not love his brother, whom he has seen, cannot love God, whom he has not seen. 21And he has given us this command: Whoever loves God must also love his brother. 1 John 4

What I am relieved to know is that I cannot possibly do this on my own. We love because He first loved us... Notice the word in bold: first. Love is not inherent. It does not come from us; it is a response to Him. As fallen men of sin there is no one in Heaven or in Hell apart from God himself who can compel us to do this thing we were created to do that's been corrupted—life interrupted. We'd like to blame Adam and Eve but we probably wouldn't have written the beginning any differently had we been given the same opportunity.

Answer this question for me: Why do we expect others to earn our love? We fail to give the grace we've been given. A high price was paid for us. We owe nothing. Christ picked up the check by dying a brutal, painful death; and he did it without our love. Basically, we're taking a gift we've been given and attempting to sell it on the open market that's meant to be our mission field.

Somewhere we got the idea that love is supposed to be easy. Perhaps it was the quiet whispers of the Enemy. That explains why we bail on friendships instead of offering forgiveness, and we opt out of our marriages because of 'irreconcilable differences'. Loving first without the promise of it being returned requires us to do so selflessly.

45bHe causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. 46If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? Matthew 5

I say bring on the IRS man; I'd rather love him. But seriously, what would it look like if we show the same love we give our family and friends to another human being in desperate need of him? That person may have fallen from our good grace, but they haven't fallen from His. My flesh can't really comprehend.

So what do we know to be true about L-O-V-E? It is part of our pursuit of God-like perfection. Matthew 5:48 Love sums up all of God's commands. Matthew 22:40 It is a sign that we are followers of Christ. John 13:35 Love is part of living a life worthy of the calling we have received. Ephesians 4:1 It is a sign of purity in us. 1 Peter 1:22 Those who love know God. 1 John 4:7-8 And God will be seen through us. 1 John 4:12

Leviticus 19:18 is another great verse about love: Do not seek revenge or bear a grudge against one of your people, but love your neighbor as yourself. I am the Lord. I am the Lord...I love that line. Simply translated, he's saying 'Who do you think you are to not do as I have done unto you?!'

The lesson on love can be summed up in one simple verse. And this is love: that we walk in obedience to his commands. 2 John 1:6 Sometimes we have to get our godly girdle on, cinch it up and love even when it's tough.