Tag Archives: gospel

Pride

PRIDE

Disclaimer: This is a *fictional* story, not an actual personal experience. I hope to do something like this some day, and to live out love like this every day. But this is just a short story.

It’s common knowledge that “God goes against the willful proud; God gives grace to the willing humble.” – James 4:6 MSG

I step out of the van and ignore the immediate hostility of passers-by.

Two cross-dressers glare at me as they head toward the parade route. A man is crawling on the pavement in leather chaps; he has a leash around his neck, and another man is ‘walking’ him. He barks at me.

These are among the more tame participants. It strikes me as odd that in such a crowd, I am the one who gets strange looks.

If I am embarrassed at all now, well… it’s going to get a lot worse.

I make my way to the edge of the crowd and try to squeeze through to the front. I need to be visible if this is going to be of any value. When people turn and see me, they assume they know what I’m here to do. I get jostled and shoved a few times as I gently push my way through. “Bigot,” one person says. “Homophobe! Go home!”

“Get out of the closet already, Bible-thumper.”

The police are out in force. Pride parades often get a lot of attention, not all of it good. That one church from Kansas is lined up farther down the street. Some local churches have put up their own signs, not willing to be outdone by these famous out-of-towners with the “God hates fags” posters.

The cops are busy keeping people marching in the parade from getting into fights with the various protest groups. None of them notice when I finally reach the rope that marks the edge of the parade route.

I stand at the edge and lean out, a Jesus in Teva sandals, a wig, and a polyester white robe with a red sash I borrowed from our church drama team. The beard is mine, scraggly but full enough after two months of growth.

The first few people to see me react in anger, swearing, shaking fists. “You don’t belong here,” they yell, along with some other choice words. People in the crowd throw half-empty Starbucks cups and large sodas and McDonald’s cheeseburgers. Ketchup and mustard splatter across my white sleeve.

No one throws rotten fruit any more. It’s not readily available, and it’s too expensive.

The folks marching in the parade are not happy to see me, either. Rainbow signs with witty slogans are shoved in my face. I don’t know if they’re meant to block my view with their message, or block the view of the other marchers so that no one else has to see another religious jerk condemning everyone in sight.

“What’s another name for the Crucifixion?” one guy asks the girl next to him, loud enough for me to overhear. She shrugs.

“A good start,” he says.

She laughs, and glances my way, her smile turning into a sneer.

I reach out a hand to those marching, and someone spits at it. The next person ignores me, stepping away.

“I am sorry,” I say, and he looks back, brow furrowed. But he’s too far past me now.

Mostly all I get from the faces in the crowd is the strong sense that I am unwelcome–a defensive posture and wounded expression that demands to know, “What are you doing here? You don’t belong here. This is ours… go away.”

I catch another guy’s hand, someone in a leather jacket, boots, and briefs. He recoils in disgust, but then I say, “I am sorry for how we have hurt you,” and he pauses.

Someone else spits on me. “Go back to the tomb, Jeebus.” His partner winks at me and says, “Hey, baby, I’ll nail ya.” They walk away laughing.

The man in the leather jacket, whose hand I grabbed–he simply nods to me, and I think I see his eyes glisten as he turns and continues in the parade.

A thin guy explodes into a rant with more f-bombs than actual words, arms waving, fists clenched. “What the f’ing f are you f’ing trying to do, f’er? You f’ing f’s think you’re f’ing doing any good with your f’ing ‘God hates fags’ signs and your f’ed up little white dress? Do you really f’ing think I give one good f’ing G-D what the f you f’ing have to say to me? F!!! I f’ing hate you, I f’ing hate your f’ing book that does f-all to teach love and tolerance, and I f’ing hate the f out of the f’ing God you represent! What now?”

He gets in my face.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and a tear runs down my cheek. “I’m sorry for how we have hurt you.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

I think of the recent news stories I’ve heard, the angry sermons on the Internet, the callous defenses of indefensible statements.

“I’m sorry for how we’ve let people say we should ‘smack the gay out of children,’ or put them behind electric fences.”

He says nothing now, but he continues staring at me.

“I’m sorry for how we’ve pointed the finger at all of you, instead of preaching against our own arrogance, our own pride, our own prejudice and hatred. I’m sorry for how we act like you are less than human.”

“I came to say I’m sorry for my people and what we have done.”

His friend grabs his arm and pulls him away. “Come on, man.” But he keeps looking back, and I see him mouth the words, “Thank you.”

Another person spits on me, and a big guy just happens to hit me with his elbow. “Bigot,” he mutters.

This pattern repeats itself for an hour and a half, some people accepting my hand in friendship, many slapping it aside at first, some of them turning back to acknowledge the apologies I offer.

One of the people in the crowd behind me tugs at my shoulder. He’s holding a black leather Bible, with the gold edges on the pages and a little fish over a monogram in the corner of the cover. “You’re in the wrong place, brother. We’re all protesting at the other end of this block.” He points to where the angry people are waving their signs and shouting Scripture like a battle cry.

I nod and remain in my spot on the street.

Two women walk by, arm-in-arm. The blonde says, “You want us to confess our sins, pervert? We’ve been verrry naughty.”

They giggle as they approach. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bible Guy watching.

“I would like to confess my sins to you,” I say.

“Ooooh,” the other coos. “Kinky. Yeah, do it.”

“I am sorry for the double standards we use to judge you,” I begin, and the smiles disappear.

“I am sorry for acting like one sin is worse than any other, for acting like our sins don’t matter to God as much as yours. I’m sorry for behaving like we’re better than you.”

They are quiet, holding hands, waiting as I continue. Bible Guy storms off to rejoin his protest.

“I am sorry for treating you like you don’t deserve our love–like you don’t deserve God’s love.”

The parade marches on behind them. I look at them through tear-clouded vision.

“I love you. We love you. I am sorry for how often we fail to show it. We shouldn’t see you as what you do, but I know we also do that. Please accept my apology on behalf of my people.””

I extend a hand after wiping it off on a clean spot of my robe. They hug me instead, ignoring the chopped onions and ketchup and diet Dr. Pepper.

We stand there, hugging, for about a minute before they thank me and move on.

Bible Guy is back with friends, and they’re not happy. “Don’t you know Leviticus says homosexuals are an abomination and the Bible says it’s a sin?”

“I know,” I reply.

“Yeah, well, maybe you need to get your Gospel straight before you come out here supporting all these queers.”

“I know what the Bible says about homosexuality, and so does the rest of the world,” I fire back. “What they don’t know, what they aren’t seeing, is what the Bible says about loving others!”

“Hey Jimmy,” Bible Guy says to one of his friends, “What do you think we should do with false Christs?”

It takes a couple minutes for the police to respond to the situation and break up the fight. I’m the freak in an offensive costume, so I end up in the handcuffs. “For your protection, bud,” one of the cops tells me as he drags me away from the parade.

Sitting in the back of the paddy wagon, I pull off the wig and rub a bloody jaw.

“Not the smartest move ever for the Son of God, eh, bud?”

“Yeah, I guess not.” I answer. I don’t believe that, though. I felt the hugs, I spotted tears, I saw the faces change from rage to respect. “Then again, things didn’t go so well for Him either, so it’s nothing new.”

The cop laughs. “I thought I saw those punks head back over to the protest after we grabbed you. You sure got them riled.”

“They’re mad because I used to be one of the ones holding signs.”

“Oh… yeah, I used to hate dealing with this parade each year, too. And then my son started marching in them.”

He offers me a cup of water. “Take it you get beat up by Christians a lot?”

“You’d be surprised.” I take a drink. “It was the religious leaders that wanted Jesus dead, not the so-called sinners.”

“Feh.” The cop looks back out to the crowd. “I just wish those guys would go back to their caves sometimes.”

“They can’t help it,” I reply. “They kind of belong here. The event is all about celebrating pride. They’re just full of a different kind.”

Ambassadors

He spoke to them again and said, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” (John 20:21)

Jesus came and told his disciples, “I have been given complete authority in heaven and on earth. Therefore, go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Teach these new disciples to obey all the commands I have given you.” (Matthew 28:18-20)

God has given us the task of reconciling people to him. For God was in Christ, reconciling the world to himself, no longer counting people’s sins against them. This is the wonderful message he has given us to tell others. We are Christ’s ambassadors… (2nd Corinthians 5:18-20)

At our church we were studying the term “apostle.” It comes from a Greek word that translates as “sent one.” This makes a lot of sense given Jesus’ commission and commands to His disciples (who are also referred to as apostles).

I’ve been fiddling around with a Vietnamese copy of the Bible. I decided to look up the word for “apostles” to see how they convey the meaning of that word. In so doing, I had one of the most interesting insights. The word is actually a combination of two words. One means “an ambassador” and the other means “a tracing” like a picture that is made by tracing another image. I’d like to share a little on that.

An ambassador is “an official envoy; an authorized representative or messenger” (Webster’s). They operate with delegated authority of the one they represent. Christ’s message that “all authority in heaven and on earth” have been given to Him is followed by the words “therefore, go.” Our act of going and making disciples is the expression of His authority. We can make disciples of all nations because He, having all authority, said so. We must because He said so.

An ambassador is an envoy– he or she must be sent to a location where the one they represent is not present. If we are called to be ambassadors, then we have to represent Christ in a location where His influence is not already present. In one sense, we can’t fully function as Christ’s ambassadors only within the church community, because we’re trying to represent God to the world that does not yet know Him.

An ambassador also must be faithful in representing the one who sent him or her. Jesus said that He was sent by the Father. At the same time, He made it known that He did nothing on His own– He only did what the Father was doing and what He had been sent to do (John 5:30). He faithfully represented the Father, to the point that when the disciples asked to see the Father, Jesus said, “Anyone who has seen Me has seen the Father, because I and the Father are one” (read John 14). In the same way, Jesus has sent us, and said that “anyone who believes in me will do the same works I have done, and even greater.” It sounds presumptuous, but our goal is to come to a point where we can say, “If you have seen me, then you have seen Jesus.”

An ambassador has to carry the message of the one who sends him. If I am Christ’s ambassador, I cannot pick and choose parts of the message that do or do not apply. That is not for me to determine. Christ’s commission included the command to “teach these new disciples to obey all the commands” He had given; not just the ones we like, or the ones that make us popular.

That faithful representation leads very nicely into the second aspect I referred to– being a “traced image.” Time and again, the apostles in Acts were noticed by others as being faithful representatives of Jesus, who had already departed the scene. In Acts 4, the teachers took notice, looking at Peter and John, that “they were ordinary men who had had no special training. They also recognized them as men who had been with Jesus.” Acts 11:26 shows us that at Antioch, the disciples were first referred to as “Christians.” This was probably a form of mocking, but there is truth to the joke– Christians means “little Christs.”

Many times we think that we are to simply learn the concepts and theology of the Bible in order to be good Christians. When someone is particularly interested in learning the teachings of the Bible, they may be called a disciple. Discipleship actually carries a much deeper meaning; in the time of Christ, discipleship meant a day-to-day, moment-by-moment training where the disciple learns in all things to follow the example of the master. A good analogy would be the way the Air Force does training. A bad trainer would simply throw you a study guide and say, “Read it and follow it, and you’ll be fine.” A good trainer sits down with you and shows you by example how to perform the various tasks that you are required to do. He or she teaches you from experience, from having been there before. “It was necessary for Jesus to be in every respect like us, his brothers and sisters, so that he could be our merciful and faithful High Priest before God. He then could offer a sacrifice that would take away the sins of the people. Since he himself has gone through suffering and temptation, he is able to help us when we are being tempted” (Hebrews 2:17-18).

Jesus became like us, so that He could present us an example to follow and make atonement for our sins. Now we are taught that we are to follow His example (not simply comprehend His teaching) until we become more and more like Him in all things. Here are, in closing, a few verses to express this thought:

2nd Corinthians 5:15, He died for all, that those who live should live no longer for themselves but for Him who died for them and rose again.

1st Corinthians 11:1, And you should follow my example, just as I follow Christ’s.

Ephesians 5:1-2, Follow God’s example in everything you do, because you are his dear children. Live a life filled with love for others, following the example of Christ, who loved you and gave himself as a sacrifice to take away your sins.

What a challenging and difficult calling, but what an exciting opportunity to recognize that wherever we find ourselves, God has sent us there to accomplish His purpose and be His representative, to literally be the visible image of the invisible God.

Therefore, go!

Proof-Reading Our Message

I’m studying the craft of writing, and one of the books I’m reading talks about the requirement for a writer to “take the reader there” in the story, wherever the “there” is that you want them to be. In other words, I know what I picture as I’m writing a story, but am I writing it clearly enough, descriptive enough so that what the reader “sees” is what I’m seeing? It’s common for new writers to assume that the reader will get the same picture as the writer, because the writer’s mind sees the full picture and fills in the gaps in the story.

At the Tuesday Bible study I go to, we were reading in Acts 4 and talking about what sort of message we should be presenting to the world. It hit me that perhaps many of us in the Christian community are like those new writers. We know what we mean to convey, and our minds fill in the gaps, convincing us that we’re actually communicating the Gospel accurately when we might not be doing it as well as we want to.

I’ve mentioned this book, unChristian by David Kinnaman and Gabe Lyons, in another thread. They take statistical research from polling data and show exactly what this generation thinks about Christians, the Church, the Gospel, etc. Then they talk about what Scripture tells us, and how we might better reflect Christ and the Gospel to a world that doesn’t know Him.

To me, their research is like taking what we’re “writing” and giving it to someone to proof-read. As I’ve been writing, I’ve been reading my stuff to my wife. Seeing her respond how I want, laughing at a joke or saying “whoa” at something shocking, and hearing her thoughts on the story– that all tells me that she’s getting it. In those parts, I feel like I’m taking her “there.” Other times, I see how she doesn’t laugh at a joke or doesn’t respond to what I thought was powerful. When she asks, “What does that mean?” then I know I haven’t written that part well, and I change it.

I’m not saying go buy this book. What I’m saying is, the short version of the book is that the world sees us as hypocritical, only concerned with making new converts, anti-homosexual (opposed to the people, not the sin), sheltered from reality, too political, and judgmental (not in the good sense of making moral judgments about right and wrong, but condemning everyone who is “not us” and de-valuing them).

I know that many might say, “Well, Jesus said the world would hate us, after all, and the Gospel message is an offense, so it’s no surprise that people don’t like us.” I thought about why the Apostles were imprisoned in Acts 4 and 5. I realized that they were imprisoned because of what God was doing in and through them, and because of the power of the message they preached. The religious leaders wanted to stop the message, and trying to stop the Apostles was the way to do it.

In contrast, I thought about the unChristian people in my life and the evidence presented in this book, and I realized how very few of the people I’ve dealt with have had issues with the Gospel. More often than not, they haven’t even gotten around to dealing with the Gospel because they can’t stand the messengers. As a result, they don’t care what the messengers have to say.

All I’m saying is, can we honestly suppose that (in general) we’re doing a good job of “taking our readers there,” making sure that the image we see is accurately described in the message our lives convey?

Small Beginnings

After (not much) cajoling from a few people whose opinions I value, I agreed to start a blog. I don’t quite know what I will do with this thing, but I’ll probably use it to post various written pieces, songs, poetry, and the occasional rant. There might even be some life mixed in, as I watch four insane children grow up around me.

If nothing else, I take this as an opportunity to share my life with anyone willing to go past a “Like” on Facebook, a “Hey man” at work, or a “Nice to see you, Brother” in church. If you’re reading this, it’s probably because on some level you know me already. So thank you for taking the time to let me share a little more.

There will possi-probably be a religious bent to much of what I post… but based on past experience, I suspect it will be a little too secular for some of my Christian acquaintances, and a little too Christian for some of my secular friends. Hopefully I can find that middle ground where anyone on either side of that equation knows that I respect them even if we disagree on a particular topic.

If there’s one piece I’ve written that closely communicates my religious feelings, it is the piece below. I feel that’s a good choice to begin with on this site, because it’s an attitude I hope I never abandon.

I’ve forgotten what it meant

that You reached out to the leper.

You saw the need and You responded.

I’ve forgotten what it meant that You ignored the condemning cries

and told the sinner, “Go and sin no more.”

I’ve forgotten what You came for.

Sitting with the wicked,

yet separated by Your virtue…

I separate myself by venue.

You reach down into the gutter

and lift up the one in need.

I’d be afraid to get dirt on my Sunday best.

My Christian tie could get ruined.

And You loved those You saw

as You traveled by foot from city to city.

I try not to get caught speeding,

since someone might see the fish

or the church bumper sticker on my car.

Miracles followed You.

They don’t seem to catch up with me.

You did all You could

to make the message known,

while I get scared someone might ruin

the gold edge of my Bible as I witness,

armed with a leather-bound book.

You were armed with a heart of love,

and You died innocent between two thieves

to heal the one who was sick but never knew it.

I’ve forgotten what it meant

that You reached out to the leper,

but now I remember Your touch.

And though nine others forget,

I’m coming back to thank You,

And I’m bringing some of my sick friends.