Living Our Stories

There has to be more to it than just telling stories, doesn’t there? Well, yes, there is. We have to live our daily God-stories. We have to “walk the talk.” How often do we take this to mean that we have to keep close tabs on some list of rules, and how well we are keeping them? How often do we think if we’re not going door to door and asking people if they want Bible studies, we’re not “witnessing”? In one sermon, the speaker read Isa. 58:6, 7 and equated loosing the bonds of wickedness and breaking yokes with that very thing. Door-to-door Bible studies. Dare it be said that insisting that everyone be giving Bible studies is making another kind of yoke, one Jesus didn’t make?

Is there one single story of Jesus knocking on any door and offering a Bible study? He used the methods of His day, beginning in the synagogues, and then taking His message to the hillsides. People were free to come to Him or not. If they came, whether to His door in the middle of the night or hunting Him down when He was in need of a break, He was ready for them, and never turned them away. But He never hunted anyone down, nor did He ever once say anything harsh or judgmental except to one particular group of people—religious leaders who put burdens on the people that they were not willing to bear themselves (Matt. 23:4) and steadfastly refused to accept anything Jesus had to say. That’s it. No one else. Occasionally He said, “Don’t sin anymore, or worse will happen.” That was after He had already rescued the person, no questions asked, from the consequences of said sin.

Why is it, then, that we so often get caught up in nagging, judgmental carping or arguing instead of bearing witness to changed lives and abundant grace of forgiveness? Two reasons jump to mind. One is that we are surrounded by people we love dearly, who don’t see what we see, don’t think they need any changes in their lives, and don’t feel a need for forgiveness. We were loving and friendly and kind the first and even the tenth time we tried to talk to them about godly subjects. Now they don’t want to hear it anymore. And they’re smart, good people. It’s frustrating. But worse than that, it’s frightening. What if my child is not in heaven? What if my wife never gives her heart to God? Will my mother burn in the flames outside the New Jerusalem? These are very real fears, and they are nightmarish. They are enough to make anyone want to redouble their efforts to convince, to restate, to urge, to desperately plead.

“God,” said Paul, who knew the feeling well, “has not given us a spirit of fear.”  We can take the fears and the tears to Jesus. He loves our loved one more than we can imagine. And if anything is ever going to turn their eyes to Jesus, it won’t be our nagging, judging, fear, or anger. They, like Saul of Tarsus, have to meet Jesus for themselves. It may not be through us, either. But there are two things we can do, and they are both absolutely vital. We can pray. Hell has no power that can hold a candle to the prayer of a mother, father, sister, brother, friend who faithfully and steadfastly holds someone in the light of God’s love.

We can show the love of Jesus. Yes, we really can. We can breathe in the Holy Spirit and ask for just that winning, irresistible, charisma of love that surrounded the Son of God when He walked here. In fact, He can walk here now, on our feet. He can touch others with our hands. He can speak in our voices. We can check our attitudes against His.