[THIS WEEK'S "VITAMIN" WAS ADAPTED FROM AN ENTRY WRITTEN SEVERAL YEARS AGO. THE MESSAGE IS TIMELESS.]
After
steering onto the side street that leads to a nearby city's fellowship, I
thought for a moment that I had taken a wrong turn. The familiar sandwich board
at the church's storefront was nowhere in sight. That’s because it was obscured—by
three cops, three cruisers, and one forlorn-looking young dude, handcuffed, and
sitting on the curb near the church entrance. Apparently, there had been a
high-speed chase out on the interstate. It could have ended on any of a
gazillion similar side streets in the heart of the city, but it ended here.
What are the odds?
Good
morning, Church. God calling.
When the
world shows up at your front door, He might very well be asking, “So, what will you do?”
Some churches might have called the cops to tell these other cops to please leave the property ASAP because it is scaring people away. Other
churches might have responded in fear or indifference, huddling inside and going
about their comfortable business even while Kingdom opportunity was knocking at the door. On
most days, that might have been my knee-jerk reaction, too.
That
morning, however, I was blind-sided by my response. God, apparently, was indeed calling. I didn’t
look for someplace safer, someplace comfortable. Instead, I pulled into a parking space right next to the
action, and blurted out, "Good morning, guys" to the cops, and even to the
kid in handcuffs. They all kind of smirked in response. But no sooner had I gotten
inside the storefront church when this petite little firefly we'll simply call Debbie was singing a similar tune: "C'mon, let's offer them coffee. Let's invite them in—all
of them. I tried to offer them coffee before, but they said no."
And so
Debbie rounded up a handful of early arrivers and grabbed coffee and again
headed out to the crime scene. "You guys want any coffee?," I found
myself blurting out again, far removed from my natural personality. The three cops did more than smirk this time—they laughed out loud,
"No thanks, we're good." The poor kid in the handcuffs, head hanging down, didn't say a
thing. There was a part of me that really wanted to grab that kid, get him to
his feet and bring him inside and let people Love on him. Where did that come from?
The
self-less Debbie, meanwhile, seemed momentarily disappointed but resolute: "It's OK.
Maybe someday they will remember this when someone says ‘Jesus’."
Another seed planted. And in
heaven at that moment, a great cheer went up for the cause of evangelism in the Church of New
England.
Everything about that going-to-church day was so over the edge. But so right. It was a reminder that praying
for revival begins from within, our actions and attitudes—not the cops,
forlorn kid in handcuffs, or anyone else in our circle of friends and acquaintances who we might consider cool to the
gospel.
It was a reminder that being a Church of the open door is really quite simple,
and more powerful and effective than handing out 10,000 tracts and walking away. It can also be costly—measured in time, convenience, pride, patience, and resources. Leave it to
the all-over-the-map Apostle Peter to remind us that if we are to be Christ-ones indeed, being
comfortable is not an option. Like Debbie and her friends that morning,
we are a set apart people called not to coast along and play it safe but
to declare, in some fashion, the
praises of Him who called us out of darkness and into His marvelous
light...
... even, and perhaps especially, when it seems to get greeted with a "No thanks, we're good."
("It's OK.
Maybe someday they will remember this when someone says ‘Jesus’.")
"My fear is that the
world knows more about what Christians are against than what we are for. We
have forgotten to make the main thing the main thing."—Greg Laurie,
pastor/author)
