I have realized, too, that it is easy to feel sorry for these guys, but I'm not sure that is the attitude that God has called us to have for each other (no matter our situation or status), is it? He desires that we minister TO EACH OTHER & WITH EACH OTHER, with unconditional love overflowing from within. What an easy thing to say, but yet so hard to do. My heart longed to connect with these men, but I didn't quite know how to relate. So, I chose to busy myself with important tasks that I can label as "serving," but upon reflection I may not have served the real needs. I'm finding that it is much harder to reach out to others in my daily life when I feel sorry for them or feel disconnected from them. Do you ever feel this way? Is it pride, self-righteousness, sin or perhaps confusion, apprehension, or uncertainty that drives us away from serving with and to these "others?" Am I expecting the comforts of my own life to give me the strength to reach out or am I waiting on more riches with which to bless others? So much to ponder.
I want to share with you an excerpt from Erwin McManus' The Barbarian Way:
(a little background info.- Erwin has just shared with his daughter,Mariah, about an experience he had with an ex-convict, William, who wanted to kill him. Instead of being fearful of the man, Erwin seeks him out after he has been released from prison and stands face-to-face with an angry man "holding the same blade with which he has slit another man's throat; me with nowhere to go." Mariah asks, "Did he kill you?" )
pg. 43 "The barbarian understands the story we're in differently from the one who is civilized. Although Mariah should have known the outcome of my story, in some ways she has a better understanding of reality than some of us. We've been taught that every story Jesus writes with our lives ends with 'and they lived happily ever after.' Mariah knows better. She knows that good people die, that men and women who make heroic choices do not always live to tell their own tales. Sometimes another must tell the stories of their lives, recall the memory of their courage. The civilized view of Jesus is that He always comes through for us. Like Superman, He always shows up just in time to protect us and save us from disaster. His purpose is to ensure our safety, our convenience, and our comfort.
For years I have made it my mission to destroy the influence of the Christian cliche' "The safest place to be is in the center of the will of God," but just this past week my wife, Kim, introduced me to one of the earlier uses of this adage. It's found in the diary of Corrie ten Boom. Corrie's sister, Betsie, was encouraging her with this hope. I've always had a great disdain for this statement, but I have to admit this particular context shows me how far we've strayed from how it must have been understood. For Corrie and Betsie, the promise of safety in the center of God's will was fleshed out in concentration camps during the Nazi holocaust of the Jews. And although Corrie lived to tell the story, Betsie died in the midst of it.
Clearly neither of them concluded that this expression conveyed a belief that God would keep them from suffering hardship and even death. Betsie's statement was a declaration that to walk in the character of Christ is always the right choice, regardless of outcome or consequences. We have somehow perverted this more primal understanding to a far more civilized one. Instead of finding confidence to live as we should regardless of our circumstances, we have used it as justification to choose the path of least resistance, least difficulty, least sacrifice. Instead of concluding it is best to be wherever God wants us to be, we have decided that wherever it is best for us to be is where God wants us. Actually, God's will for us is less about our comfort than it is about our contribution. God would never choose for us safety at the cost of significance. God created you so that your life would count, not so that you could count the days of your life."
Erwin goes on to talk about the life of Paul (2 Cor. 11:23-27), and of Stephen (Acts 7), how each of these men did not live a safe life, but a life committed to carrying the news of Jesus to all men. He continues on page 47, "Paul had been a religionist. He had learned the art of condemning others while hiding behind his pompous self-righteousness- which, by the way, is one of the great dangers of religion.
There may not be a more dangerous weapon for violence or oppression than religion. It seems counterintuitive, but when human beings create religions, we use them to control others through their guilt and shame. True religion always moves us to serve others and to give our lives to see those oppressed find freedom. Paul persecuted followers of Christ and even instigated their deaths, but then he risked his own life so that others might live. He once personified the very worst that happens when a religion becomes civilized. It moves away from God and oppresses humanity in God's name. Paul was once consumed by religion, but then he was transformed by the living presence of God Himself.
We, too, must find the barbarian way out of civilization. How have we come to this sanitized view of the faith to which Jesus calls us? Somewhere along the way the movement of Jesus Christ became civilized as Christianity. We created a religion using the name of Jesus Christ and convinced ourselves that God's optimal desire for our lives was to insulate us in a spiritual bubble where we risk nothing, sacrifice nothing, lose nothing, worry about nothing. Yet Jesus' death wasn't to free us from dying, but to free us from the fear of death. Jesus came to liberate us so that we could die up front and then live. Jesus Christ wants to take us to places where only dead men and women can go.
I wonder how many of us have lost our barbarian way and have become embittered with God, confused in our faith because God doesn't come through the way we think he should. Is it possible that the transforming power of the church has been lost because we keep inviting people to step into the comfort, safety, and security of Jesus Christ? We've created a religious culture in which- even though we're the most blessed society in the history of the planet- our bestselling literature still focuses on how we can be more blessed. Maybe we need to step way back to the beginning of this movement.
The original call of Jesus was so simple, so clean, so clear: "FOLLOW ME." He wants us to surrender our lives to Him and to follow Him into the unknown. And if it means a life of suffering, hardship, and disappointment, it will be worth it because following Jesus Christ is more powerful and more fulfilling than living with everything in the world minus Him. Have we forgotten this? Have we become so refined and so civilized that the benefits of our faith have become more precious and more valuable to us than the Benefactor of our faith?
I wonder how many of us are in that place of John the Baptist, at that crucible where God is asking, "Are you willing to lose everything on My behalf to gain everthing I desire for you? Rather than living a long life, are you willing to live a life worth living?" "
If you are like me, this excerpt speaks right to the heart. I'm not drawing the comparison of the homeless men we served to that of the life of Christ or even to the life of John the Baptist or Stephen. I am, however, realizing that my mind's eye tends to view the comforts of my life or the provisions that He makes for me as a reassurance that God is present with me, that He is guiding me. This must be blasphemy to my Savior. Assurance is not found in provision, but in Him - the person of Christ. Knowing Him and pleasing God has nothing to do with my comforts, my intentions, my service, or my obedience. It has everything to do with His drawing me into Himself. This is where my soul receives satisfaction. I am struck by my distorted view of mankind. Even last night, my compassion for these men turned to pity - that they are stuck in some world which I have not the least bit of knowledge or experience. Yet, I see them as the unfortunate ones. What a pitiful assumption to make of them! Have they not pity on me for the life they assume I live?
I leave you with some questions that I, myself, am considering:
- What am I learning about God from this experience?
- How can I lead the barbarian way of life in which I follow Him?
- Am I walking daily in the Spirit in such a way that my life explodes with the unconditional love of Christ?
- Do I pity others for what they don't have while hoarding what I do have, finding comfort in what satisfies my carnal self? Or do I see "them" as God's creation and have true compassion, getting past my assumptions while seeking to genuinely know their hearts, their stories, their passions, and their lives.
- Do I view ALL (my friends, family, community group, even others who seem to "have it") with the same lens as those homeless men - as children of God with needs?
- Do I truly believe that Christ saved me to give me life...not the abundant life filled with blessings on earth, but a life of eternity with HIM?
- Am I currently "serving" God and His creation as Saul or Paul?
