Real Life Christianity

I couldn’t be exactly sure, but I surmised that the incredibly annoying backup on Massachusetts Avenue had something to do with the hoards of people winding their way out of the American University gate. It was my own fault for being late, though. I try to warm up the car 10 minutes before I plan to leave, but I thought I had a cushion this morning as I procrastinated with my routine. I was wrong.

“Why is there a line winding a half mile down Mass. Ave?,” I asked another student as we waited at the light for the crosswalk to change.

By the time I had navigated the unusually high volume of traffic, finally found a parking space in the lot across the street, and started hustling towards class, I was late. It didn’t matter now if I stopped to make small talk.

“They’ve been lined up since 6:30 a.m. for Barack Obama,” she said smartly.

6:30 a.m.? It was barely 10 a.m., with another two hours to go before the doors were even opened. Still, I couldn’t even see the end of the line. Had I not already known that I’d be missing the appearance because of class (No, I didn’t cut class. Don’t judge me.), it was unlikely I’d be able to get in to Bender Arena if I had wanted to.

Later that evening, in the library, a trio of loud and giddy girls interrupted the silence of the study area I was in. I could tell that they were trying to keep their news hushed as they eagerly regaled their friends at an adjoining table with some exciting tale. Every now and then, a name or phrase would be uttered just a smidge too loud and not only would I hear the related commentary, but a flood of oohs-aahs and giggles would follow from the listeners.

“I almost didn’t wash my hand!,” I heard one girl in a pink headband announce. “Ted Kennedy shook my hand SO HARD. I thought he left fingerprints!”

Gasping and sighs erupted from the table.

HonI was pleased with their enthusiasm. It was inspiring and endearing, even despite being distracting.

I couldn’t help wondering how different all of our lives would be if we exhibited a daily exuberance like that for Jesus Christ, though. It’s not that I wouldn’t stand outside waiting for him for six hours in the freezing cold. I would—and so much more! It’s just that when I’m actually put to the test, I end up being late for class not because I want to put a few more moments in to devotion, but because I stop to check my email or surf CNN.com. I get distracted and, like all of us, sometimes end up skirting through my time with the most important Person in my life.

Revelation 16:5 says, though, “Behold, I come like a thief! Blessed is the one who remains alert.” The Person that we need to be focused on the most—even despite the exciting and distracting things around us—is our Heavenly Father. He, unlike any politician, celebrity, or hero, not only adores our praise—but is as eager to spend time with us as we are with Him.

In heaven, He’s the one gushing to the angels about His love for us. It is He gently remembering the time that He first met us. He’s even allowed the marks we’ve made on His hands to remain indelible. He is more in love with us than we will ever understand.

If you haven’t spent your time with Him yet today, then go! The Master is waiting for you.

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“Oh, we both look so miserable,” my classmate said through a stuffy nose. She slid into the chair next to me before continuing,

“Aww, your nose is all red.”

It’s true. It is. Red, raw, and slightly irritated from the slow bruising by hundreds of tissues. The tone of my voice is deep and congested and I—who vowed never to wear sweatpants to classes after age 21—am wearing old track pants and a comfortable wool sweater. I’m the picture of sick and trust me, it’s not pretty.

Last week I rediscovered the miraculous power of antibiotics, though. I had sinus infections chronically as a child, but was fortunate enough not to have had one in the past two years. I had forgotten how miserable they can be and was praising the brilliance of antibiotics by Day 2 of their administration. Unfortunately, those little pink pills have the nasty tendency to annihilate all the bacteria in our body—not just the bad kind—and well, here I am. Two days of blissful recovery before my weakened immune system succumbed to a common cold.

Isaiah 35:5-6 reminds us that in heaven, all of our infirmities and disabilities will be wiped out. Illness, after all, is a consequence of sin and sin has no place in heaven. Exodus 15:26 also says that God is our healer. As my bout with antibiotics has proven, even our best efforts at healing ourselves are flawed and ultimately fail. God and God alone is the One who can heal us.

Physical suffering of any kind can plague us with terrible sadness, especially in the cases of chronic and terminal disease. Because of our sufferings, though, God has affected the hearts of countless physicians, nurses, and caregivers who witness His divine ability to heal—oftentimes, miraculously. Whether or not God chooses to heal us instantaneously, after a season, or not until His second coming, we have to trust that His timing is perfect. Whatever he purposes is for His glory and our salvation. Hopefully you’re not feeling ill as you’re reading this, but if you are, hang in there. Your healing is coming.

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The locker room at American University smelled of sweat and chlorine as I chose a locker and claimed it with my black combination lock. Swarms of screaming pre-schoolers raced around me—part of the summer swimming program—while some mothers attempted to corral them. Others remained oblivious to their bad behavior.

Their presence wasn’t really an issue until my twelve hour long days on campus forced me to start showering on campus. If I didn’t exercise during my five hour break between classes, my gym in Baltimore would be closed by the time I got home around 10:30 p.m. Therein lay the problem. In case the mothers whose children were hanging out in the locker room didn’t realize this, the women showering there have approximately twelve minutes after exiting the shower to towel off, dress, and sprint to their next activity. This is not usually enough time to gingerly maneuver a towel around yourself while trying to reprimand children that are not your own.

The first time a pair of peeping brown eyes appeared from around a stack of adjoining lockers, I didn’t know what to do. I felt it was his mother’s responsibility to discipline him and maybe instruct him on the finer points of women’s privacy. By the end of the summer, though, I had become fairly adept in parenting the less guided preschoolers with a firm, “Can you please stay over there?” My verbal reprimand sometimes solicited the embarrassment of the mother and when it didn’t, my pointed stare of disapproval and annoyance in her general direction was usually effective in communicating the same.

Having a four year old witness a split second of au naturale when your towel slips, though, is somehow different that blatantly showering naked next to a man in public. At least, this is how I feel about it. Lawmakers in my new county of residence, Montgomery County, seem to disagree.

I assure that you that I vote democrat, have gay friends, and generally do not ascribe to crazy conservative propaganda. But this time, I think the boundary extends beyond that. Should transgendered males be allowed to use the restroom and locker facilities of women? Is it our obligation to allow them to? I say no.

I realize I live far, far away from Baltimore now, but in case you do too, I encourage you to take a look at this. Even if you don’t, remember that legislation tends to have the nasty habit of affecting all of us eventually. Jan. 23 is the deadline to print and mail a petition preventing Bill 23-07 from being implemented in Montgomery County.

More Worth Reading : Citizens for a Responsible Government

Why I Can’t Send My Future Children to Public School in Montgomery County

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It didn’t occur to me–until today–that someone else might have added me to his email list. I mean, there is a lot of Adventist spam that rolls through my Inbox on any given day and it’s not like I hate his emails. In fact, they’re sort of thought provoking and witty. They make for quality study break material and occasionally fill the place of a more substantive devotion in the mornings.

As I was eating lunch over email today, though, I noticed his brief request for feedback and an open invitation to add friends or family to the list. Suddenly, I felt compelled to hit the “Reply” button.

Obviously, his emails are great and he deserves to know so, but that wasn’t my primary motivation in emailing. There are several individuals in my life who don’t know Christ. One text messaged me from India yesterday. Another I haven’t seen since 2005. I love both of them, though, and because of that, they would likely be surprised at how many times their name has ascended from my lips. They are purposely included in life update emails noting God’s favor in my life and prayers are routinely offered when I drive by their homes (I almost didn’t admit that because it makes me sound like a stalker, but what the heck, we’re all family here…).

I’m not sure whether or not the seeds that have been sprinkled into their lives have germinated yet, but should they–by miraculous chance–have reached a point in which they are searching and even praying to know more about Jesus, they will now be receiving a daily email devotional from a person they’ve never heard of, courtesy of a source they will never discover. Unless, of course, they read this blog. And then, well, I’m blaming you.

 

Feeling evangelistic too? Join the MT church family in our monthly community outreach–tomorrow, immediately after church.

Have loved ones who’d like to receive a daily devotional email? Email Rob Stewart at olenministry@hotmail.com for the one I receive. (I assure you that the devotions are SDA sound, but you may have to explain to loved ones who E.G. White is.)

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My mother waited until we were in the car to give me her real thoughts about my sermon. It had been my first time preaching at my home church in South Florida, and in the hallway amidst noisy and hungry parishioners lining up for potluck, she had merely declared that the sermon was “Great!” Now, it was time for the real confessional.

“You know that we always talk about the good things and the bad things,” she started.

I pushed the air conditioning button on as we pulled out of the church parking lot.

“So, your diction was very good…and your tone…”

This was the worst part of preaching in front of friends or family—hearing what they really thought about it afterwards. Especially having been raised by a high school English teacher, there were always considerations about vocabulary usage and pronunciation and depth of analysis. I was mentally disposing of her innocuous time fillers, waiting in anticipation for the criticism.

“You should have focused your sermon toward the youth.”

I may have fumbled out a mediocre defense, citing the fact that I had prayed about what topic to speak on and mentioning that I thought the message was universally important. Truth be told, though, I wasn’t exactly confident that I had said the right things.

I try not to second guess too much, but I always sort of wonder how effective the message really is. I sometimes edit out the “Amens” or verbal affirmations during the sermon and I question the sincerity of acknowledgments and praises afterward. I continuously replay my own actions and analyze them, not just when preaching, but in daily life. There’s always something that could have been said differently or done better, even in spite of my best intentions.

After an all night prayer meeting the week before in which unending stories of death, despair, and disappointment flowed from parishioners, I had ultimately decided that it was important to talk about why God takes us through periods of difficulty. I knew the subject matter was mature for a “youth speaker,” but I couldn’t shake the feeling that focusing on anything else would be watering down the message and doing the church a great disservice. So, I titled my sermon, “Leaving the Desert” and proceeded to expound upon how suffering factors into God’s plan for our life. I cited the importance of claiming the new year as an opportunity to start over and remembering that we do leave the desert eventually. But yes, I only briefly addressed my comments to the youth. And yes, I knew this.

I dismissed the experience as another life lesson learned and comforted myself with the knowledge that there is always an opportunity to do better next time. I returned to Maryland a week later and didn’t give any more thought to what I could have done differently.

Then, my mother called.

“I have to apologize to you,” she started. “I shouldn’t have told you that your sermon wasn’t geared enough toward the youth.”

An older member had asked for me on Sabbath and was disappointed to learn that I had already returned to Maryland, she said. Her son had left the church and despite the promptings of friends and family, hadn’t attended in years. When he asked his mother for directions to the church the evening before I was preaching, she didn’t even take him seriously. Instead, she hastily shoved a church bulletin into his hands and told him he could find the way himself.

“He said he was really impressed by the sermon. He’s even decided to come to church now!,” my mother told me. “Other people also told me the message moved them.”

I was shocked, but I shouldn’t have been.

When we pray for God to move someone’s heart, to give us the words to say, or even to use us as His vessels when we know that we are unworthy, He hears us. And, He answers us. Romans 8:28 reminds us of this by saying that all things work together for good for those who love the Lord. Also, Isaiah 51:16 reminds us that God Himself puts His words in our mouths. I have to remind myself often, but it doesn’t matter how good or bad we think the message sounds when it comes out. It only matters that we are saying it.

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