Last quarter I took a class called "Race, Ethnicity, and Nationalism." During the professor's talks, he sometimes grew passionate and began to rant, including pacing and carefully placed high-pitched expletives. On one such occasion, he retrieved the book from the overhead projector* on which were pictures chronicling the abuse of recently-freedmen of the post-Civil War South who were practically enslaved and humiliated and deprived of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, among other things like food, adequate living conditions (rivaling those of the Nazi concentration camps), and sleep. He flung the book open and angrily asked the whole class in a loud voice, "These things, racism, discrimination, abuse, degradation: are they just fucking words on a page to you? They are real!"
This brings me to a more salient point to the Christian, though we'll be setting aside the historical evils done in countries of yesterday and today [and, God forbid, tomorrow].
Do we who hear the gospel preached multiple times a week treat God's Word with less respect than this sociology professor with communistic leanings required of his students concerning racism? Do we, to be crass and probably more than a little bit blasphemous, think of Jesus or God as just a word on a page, here today and gone tomorrow? I know that I have certainly acted the part.
Here's an example of demonstrating that love of Christ which compels us in this life He breathes, that Word of words:
One of the preachers at CCM one time taught us about the love of God and what it means to "lay down your life for your friends." He taught us it's not necessarily limited to the theatrical jumping in front of a bullet or pushing someone out of the way of an oncoming bus, dying in one's valorous blood pleading that the living friend live his life for good and wisdom and truth and beauty. Laying down one's life means sacrificing weekends to paint a sick brother's house when he can't, visiting the poor one with food and friendship, providing jobs for those that need them, inviting the outcast sister into your home, and bearing one another's burdens in love.
Once upon a time**, a friend of mine named Christopher asked me to store his printer and lamp and other school-y stuffs while he went back home, far away. When it came time for him to be close and to need to use them again, I brought them over, but parked a long way away because his apartment had no guest parking. So I parked at a Trader Joes'***. I walked three blocks and up two flights of stairs, appreciating the build up of lactic acid.
Later that week, I told my dad of this, proud I was to be able to help my friend in this stupidly-simple way: letting his things collect dust and then sacrificing a few minutes of my time and strength in menial labor. They reprimanded me for wasting my energy. 'You should have just called him and told him you left his things on the curb. You should have required him to pay for keeping and delivering his things.' my dad said.
I was disappointed in his response and wept bitterly later when I recalled the voice of that preacher about loving friends. I remembered the ache in my arms and the awkward stares from drivers down that road. I remembered how I loved my friend enough to guard his belongings during the summers in order to save him from shipping them back and forth from his home in the north. And I remembered how it is these things, these living sacrifices, which demonstrate my commitment to my loving Savior who lived and breathed and died in obedience to God in my place.
*We still use these.
**Every summer.
***The only one in existence with enough parking!
This brings me to a more salient point to the Christian, though we'll be setting aside the historical evils done in countries of yesterday and today [and, God forbid, tomorrow].
Do we who hear the gospel preached multiple times a week treat God's Word with less respect than this sociology professor with communistic leanings required of his students concerning racism? Do we, to be crass and probably more than a little bit blasphemous, think of Jesus or God as just a word on a page, here today and gone tomorrow? I know that I have certainly acted the part.
Here's an example of demonstrating that love of Christ which compels us in this life He breathes, that Word of words:
One of the preachers at CCM one time taught us about the love of God and what it means to "lay down your life for your friends." He taught us it's not necessarily limited to the theatrical jumping in front of a bullet or pushing someone out of the way of an oncoming bus, dying in one's valorous blood pleading that the living friend live his life for good and wisdom and truth and beauty. Laying down one's life means sacrificing weekends to paint a sick brother's house when he can't, visiting the poor one with food and friendship, providing jobs for those that need them, inviting the outcast sister into your home, and bearing one another's burdens in love.
Once upon a time**, a friend of mine named Christopher asked me to store his printer and lamp and other school-y stuffs while he went back home, far away. When it came time for him to be close and to need to use them again, I brought them over, but parked a long way away because his apartment had no guest parking. So I parked at a Trader Joes'***. I walked three blocks and up two flights of stairs, appreciating the build up of lactic acid.
Later that week, I told my dad of this, proud I was to be able to help my friend in this stupidly-simple way: letting his things collect dust and then sacrificing a few minutes of my time and strength in menial labor. They reprimanded me for wasting my energy. 'You should have just called him and told him you left his things on the curb. You should have required him to pay for keeping and delivering his things.' my dad said.
I was disappointed in his response and wept bitterly later when I recalled the voice of that preacher about loving friends. I remembered the ache in my arms and the awkward stares from drivers down that road. I remembered how I loved my friend enough to guard his belongings during the summers in order to save him from shipping them back and forth from his home in the north. And I remembered how it is these things, these living sacrifices, which demonstrate my commitment to my loving Savior who lived and breathed and died in obedience to God in my place.
*We still use these.
**Every summer.
***The only one in existence with enough parking!
No comments:
Post a Comment