My Fourth of July weekend was spent the old-fashioned way: family, barbecues, swimming, listening to the tinkling (or distressing, depends on how you take it) sounds of children shrieking, and staying inside during the fireworks so as not to end up the inadvertent victim of one of the bullets that people in the Southwest are so fond of firing up into the night sky along with their fireworks. All in all, it was a good time.
At one point I was relaxing in the hot tub, when my brother’s neighbor’s 6 year-old son (you still with me?) with whom I had had a relatively long and detailed conversation earlier in the day about the positive traits of strawberries, climbed in the hot tub, filled his little mouth with water, paddled over to me, put his face right up to my cheek and opened his mouth. Chlorinated water and spit drained down my face. Huh.
Now, had this been my 6 year-old nephew, Z, this rather odd behavior would be a declaration of eternal love. Not knowing this little boy all that well, I chose to calmly say, “Please don’t spit on me.” This little guy just stared, smiled then went to sit by his mother. Until I’m told otherwise, I’ll choose to see this spitting incident as an indication of admiration. (This poor judgment is probably why I’ve been divorced twice.)
The Sunday after Independence Day, I went to church with my parents. Now, they choose to attend a more “Spirit filled” church than I normally do when at home, and I was not quite sure what to expect. The worship time was wonderful, the choir was fabulous. I was a bit uncomfortable as I normally attend more along the lines of “the chosen frozen” kinds of churches, but I was doing okay, wasn’t even freaked out by the pastor’s jumping up and down or shouting into the microphone or multiple references to the alter calls that would come later.
Nope, where the pastor lost me was right up front, right when he started his message. You see, the message was in three parts: for a country to be free a soldier must die, for a person to be free a Savior must die, and for your soul to be free, your “self” must die. But I wasn’t following along with his breadcrumbs because I was stuck back at the opening lines; I had been diverted.
The pastor had opened his message by announcing that the first settlers of America came seeking religious freedom and equality for all. The little buzzer in my brain went off like on “Jeopardy!”, right before Alex gives that fake sympathetic look. Nooooo…the first Massachusetts settlers came seeking religious freedom, but they were not the first ones here. Even were we to discount our large Native American population, which the pastor must be, the Spanish (and French) came long before those Yankee Pilgrims, and how about the Roanoke Colony in North Carolina – the “Lost Colony” with Virginia Dare, “Croatan” carved into a tree – disappeared. Those settlers came looking for financial prosperity. And as far as equality for all, it took us until 1865 to get rid of the horrible institution of slavery. In fact, many of the signers of the Declaration on Independence owned slaves. And on and on and on.
Do you see where I’m going with this? My all too human brain had latched onto something that was factually, historically inaccurate, and because of my distraction I was missing out on the pastor’s real message, a message that had validity and depth. Did it really matter that the Spanish came looking for gold and tried to turn everyone they came across into a Roman Catholic? No. What mattered was that Love required sacrifice, Love required the ultimate gift and brooked no denial.
“No man has greater love than this, that he lay down his life for another.” When pushed, Jesus said the two most important laws are to love God and love people. Isn’t that what we’re called to do every day in little ways as well as big? And if I love God, if my heart is so full of love for my Lord, I’m going to love His people as an extension of that love.
That overflow of love looks different for everyone; for some it’s death or disfigurement on a battlefield, for others it’s teaching in a classroom or designing fossil fuel-conserving cars. Maybe it’s being as kind as you can be to the person who drives you the most crazy, or paying for someone else’s groceries. Maybe it’s letting your vulnerabilities finally show, honestly broken, letting the world know you don’t have it all together (None of us do.) – this one leads to the dying of self because once in this place, the Spirit can take over.
What made me realize I was missing the forest for the trees? Love told me so – a baby – beautiful, tiny, dressed like a doll, was a row in front of me, and she didn’t make a sound, not even once. I could see her fingernails, and her perfectly shaped ears, and her shiny cap of black hair, and it made me remember, that if God loves us enough to form our fingernails and tiny shells of ears in the womb, that nothing is overlooked. There is a purpose to everything, even to my sitting in a “Spirit filled” church listening to a pastor scream into a microphone historical inaccuracies because something more was coming, something bigger, something important that I couldn’t miss. So, I sat forward, snapped to, and listened for Him. And, as always, He came.
It’s that simple: Love came.
I hope your Independence Day was filled with small children spitting, strawberries, and Love.
The Unexpected Life 