Microsoft Word - Jakefinalnoappex.doc (5 page)

efforts at good works for him may be obscuring his love for you. Let God do the rest. He will draw you to

himself.”

I looked at my watch and knew I had to leave. “I’m sorry, I have to run. It’s been a long time, John, but I’m

going to give it a try!”

“Good. Won’t it be a joy again to wake up confident about being loved by God every day, without having to

earn it by any act of righteousness on your part? That is the secret to first love. Don’t try to earn it. Know

that you are accepted and loved, not for what you can do for God, or somehow hoping that you will be

worthy of his acceptance, but because his greatest desire is to have you as one of his children. Jesus came to

remove any obstacle that would prevent that from happening.”

I stood up to leave and grabbed for John’s hand. He squeezed mine and held it a moment. “This is not

difficult, Jake. In this kingdom you really do get what you seek. That is the point of the whole thing. If you

are looking for a relationship with God you will find it.”

“Then why don’t I have it? I thought that’s what I had been seeking all along.”

“No doubt, it might have been at first. But this works the other way around as well. If you look at what

you’ve ended up with, then you’ll know what you’ve really been seeking!” He let go of my hand.

His words ended with such finality and I was so pressed to get back for my appointment that I simply

nodded. I had no idea at the time what he meant.

“I hope I get to see you again.”

“Oh, I think you will... in good time.”

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I thanked him, waved good-bye and now late for my appointment took off running across the park. It has

always amazed me that the greatest journeys of our lives always begin so simply that we don’t even know

we’ve embarked on one until we’re well down the road looking back. So it would be for me.

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- 3 -

This Is Christian Education?

My brief time with John in the park turned out to be more frustrating than helpful. Though I left that day

excited about new possibilities and sailed through the rest of the day with none of the stress that had

overwhelmed me earlier, the excitement quickly faded.

I had a hard time remembering all he’d said and thought of a hundred questions I wished that I had asked

him. The fact that our time was so short and that he was unwilling to make any other arrangements made

me angry. Who was he anyway? Could he be a madman stalking me?

But he didn’t act mad. I had felt completely comfortable talking with him. It reminded me of the

conversations I used to have with my dad before he passed away five years ago in a car accident. Strangely, I

felt a similar affection for John, whoever he was. He had fueled my hunger to know Jesus better, which had

not diminished in the months that passed, though my efforts to feed that hunger had failed miserably.

After that encounter I set aside forty-five minutes each morning before the rest of the family woke up to read

the Bible and pray. Though I had been faithful to do it every day, I couldn’t tell any difference at all. The

same stresses of work and home had quickly crept back in. None of my prayers seemed to have any impact

even on those things I prayed about most diligently. I was discouraged, but nonetheless remained

persistent.

I had hoped by now I would have crossed paths with John again, but it hadn’t happened. For a few weeks I

caught myself looking for him everywhere. I didn’t go to a store, eat at a restaurant or even drive down the

street without scanning every person to see if he was there. Occasionally I’d spot someone similar enough

in build or gait to actually make my heart skip a beat. But as I got closer my hopes were dashed time and

time again. I even drove out of my way a few times to check the bench at the park.

Imagine my surprise five months later when I saw his familiar face where I least expected to find it—peering

through the diamond shaped window of one of our sanctuary doors. It was Sunday morning during our

largest worship service, and I was walking back up the center aisle with my best whatever-would-they-do-

without-me face, having just eliminated an annoying hum from our state-of-the-art sound system. All I had

done was jiggle a few wires plugged in beneath the stage, but that had done the trick.

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I could feel people’s eyes watching me walk up the aisle, even though the pastor was praying at the time. I

kept my head down until I got near my row when I took one quick look up the aisle. There he was. There

was no mistaking those eyes, and my heart almost stopped as I recognized him.

Walking past my vacant seat I slid out through the other half of the double doors. He stood there with a

frown on his face, and I remember thinking how awkward and out of place he looked in our building. I

don’t know why it hit me that way. It wasn’t his clothes. He was wearing a polo shirt and a pair of Dockers,

more than appropriate for our informal California services. We had others with similar beards and longer

hair looking like holdovers from the hippie days. But he just somehow looked out of place.

“John, what are you doing here?” I whispered.

He turned toward me slowly, smiled to acknowledge my presence and turned back to look inside. After a

few moments he finally spoke: “I thought I’d see if you had some time to talk?”

“Where have you been? I’ve looked for you everywhere.” He just kept staring through the window. “I’d love

to talk, but now is not a good time. Our biggest service is going on in there.”

He didn’t turn away from the window this time, “Yes, I noticed.” Inside I could hear the congregation

standing up as the worship team began to play the introduction to the next song.

“How about later? After service?”

“I’m just passing through and thought I’d see how you were doing. Are you finding some answers to your

questions?”

“I don’t know. I’m doing everything I know to do. My devotional life is really coming around, better than it

has ever been.”

His silence told me I hadn’t answered the question. I thought I might wait him out, but it got so awkward I

couldn’t help speaking again. “Oh...well...how can I say this? I guess not. In fact, it seems like the harder I

try the emptier and more frustrated I feel. It just doesn’t seem worth the effort.”

“Good,” John nodded, still staring into the sanctuary. “Then you’ve learned something valuable, haven’t

you?”

“What?” I thought he’d misunderstood me. “I said it wasn’t working. I’ve really been trying hard and

nothing seems to be happening. How is that good? It only makes me angry.”

“I understood,” John replied, turning towards me again. “Do you want to know why? Come, I’ll show you.”

With that he turned and motioned with his head for me to follow and started toward the hallway that leads

to our education wing. As he walked away from me, I glanced back in the sanctuary. I can’t follow him

now. I am supposed to be in that service. What if the sound system acts up again? What if...?

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He was turning the corner now. I’d lost him that way once before, hadn’t I? With no time to think it

through, I dashed across the foyer to find him.

Rounding the corner I almost knocked over a young family coming the other way. I apologized for bumping

into them, but they didn’t seem to acknowledge it. Their faces melted with embarrassment.

“The one time we’re late,” the wife sighed, “and look who has to catch us—one of the pastors! Honest, we

never come late.” Over her shoulder I saw John had stopped to wait for me. He was leaning against the

wall and watching our exchange. His eyebrows were arched upward and the smirk on his face looked like a

playful, “Caught you!”

Suddenly I felt like the church police. I had made a major announcement two Sundays ago about how

important it is to be on time so we don’t disrupt other worshippers by coming in late. I felt John’s ears

zeroing in on our conversation.

“We had a flat tire on the way,” the husband offered.

“You’re lucky. I’m not giving out tardy slips today.” I laughed, hoping to smooth over their awkwardness

and mine. “I’m just glad you’re here.” I hugged them both and walked with them back to the sanctuary

doors. As I pulled them open an usher turned to help them find a seat.

I dashed across the lobby and turned up the hallway to the education wing. There he was standing in front

of our Sunday school bulletin board, his eyes arching over the top of it following the three-inch letters that

read: I WAS GLAD WHEN THEY SAID TO ME, LET US GO TO THE HOUSE OF THE LORD.

“What’s that mean?” He asked, drawing an imaginary rainbow with his index finger tracing the words.

“That we should enjoy being in God’s presence.” My voice involuntarily turned up at the end making my

answer sound more like a question.

“Good answer. Why is it here?”

“That’s our mission statement for Christian education.” I answered, trying to appear nonchalant, but I

knew he was driving at something. I just wasn’t sure what it was.

“We are trying to provide an atmosphere where the kids really enjoy coming to their classes.”

“And ‘the house of the Lord’, would that be this building?” He pointed down both ends of the hallway.

Oops. I didn’t like where this was going. After a pause, I responded, “Well, of course we all know it means

something greater than this.” I was desperate for a right answer here, but I had the uneasy feeling that I

didn’t have one in my arsenal.

“But what do people think who read this?”

“They probably take it to mean coming to our church.”

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“Is that what you want them to think?”

I decided if I didn’t answer we would move on. But he again let the silence hang longer than I could bear.

“I guess we do.”

“Don’t you realize that the most powerful thing about the gospel is that it liberates us from the concept that

God dwells in any building? For a people steeped in the rites of temple worship this was either great or

terrible news. His followers thought it was great. No longer did they have to think of God as cloaked in the

recesses of the temple, available only to special people at select times.”

I detected sadness in his voice and stood silent a moment.

“So then, Jake, if it isn’t this building, where is God’s house?”

“We are.” I shook my head at how stupid that sign looked to me now. I wonder if John knew it had been my

idea to begin with. I certainly was not going to tell him.

“Then how can anyone go to themselves?” He sighed with frustration. “Do you remember what Stephen

said right before they picked up stones to kill him?” ‘The Most High does not dwell in houses made by

human hands.’ That’s when they turned on him. It reminded them of Jesus’ challenge to destroy the temple

and he would rebuild it in three days. People can get very touchy about their buildings, especially if they

think God dwells in them.”

I didn’t say anything, I just nodded my head in agreement.

“And are they glad when they come?”

It took me a moment to figure out what he meant. “We hope so. We go to an awful lot of work.”

“It certainly looks that way.” John’s eyes were roving all over the bulletin board where announcements

about training seminars, staff meetings, class activities and request forms for supplies spilled over the edges.

“A quality program takes a lot of work.”

“Undoubtedly. And not a little bit of guilt, either, to say nothing of manipulation.” I followed his eyes to the

center of our teacher-recruitment poster. It was a full color depiction of a teenager in punk garb on an

urban street at night. In big letters down the left side it read. “If only someone would have taken the time to

teach him about Jesus. Volunteer today.”

“Guilt? Manipulation? We’re not trying to make anyone feel guilty, just giving them facts.”

He shook his head and started walking down the hall. I glanced back up the hall toward the sanctuary,

knowing that’s where I should be. But instead I quickly decided I’d better stay with John who had already

turned down another hallway.

As I rounded the corner I could hear the strains of children singing,

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We’re all in our places, with bright shining faces

Good morning to you! Good morning to you!

John was peeking through the partially opened door. Rows of first graders sat facing the teacher in their

miniature chairs. As the song ended, there was lots of squirming, poking and laughter. One boy dressed in

a bright blue sweater vest turned around to stick out his tongue at one of the girls. When he did he caught

sight of us looking at him and immediately turned back around and pretended to pay attention.

We couldn’t see the teacher from our vantage point, but we could hear her pleading voice shouting from our

right.

“Let’s say our memory verse,” she shouted. “Come on! Settle down or there will be no snack later.”

Apparently the threat was effective because the room went silent.

“Who knows their memory verse?” Hands shot up throughout the classroom. “Let’s say it together. ‘I was