Pathways to God, reflections on a healing service
For three weeks or so I’d wrestled with the fact that as an infant my parents had me Christened instead of waiting for me to reach the age of reason, when I could choose Baptism. By default my younger brother had been given the choice because my parents left “the church” before he could be Christened. That bothered him so much so that as a twenty year old man he chose Jesus Christ and was baptized. Sunday September 30, 2007 my pastor says, “We’ll wait here, until the person here in this place, comes forward to renew their Baptism or is baptized. I know he’s here. I’ll wait all night if I have to. We’ll wait until the sanctuary is empty if that’s what it takes!”
I see it clearly, God is working in this service, the cause of some of my fears and anxiety have just been laid out in front of everyone, and those words hang heavily in the air. The entire weekend has been filled with emotion for me and now this. The protesters at pride were filled with venom and meeting them with love is a new experience for me. The morning service that I almost didn’t go to because I felt afraid; I found myself weeping with joy as the praise team sang. Lunch was a warm and rewarding event with newly found and trusted friends and helping to clean up and bring order to God’s house soothes me. The afternoon passes too quickly.
Then, here I find myself, in my new church hearing these words from a Pastor whom I’ve grown to admire and love. Yet, a failing on my part, not fully trusting yet, my baggage from what’s been programmed into my head, I was christened not Baptized. It isn’t the same, I know it. I know that I should have told her. Why haven’t I? Pastor has given us permission to tell her anything. Is it that once I do, then I’m all in, fully engaged, the focus of my life changed to where it should be. Why is it after all of this time it is so hard to just say yes, three letters, three easy little letters, an affirmation to God?
Still through my Pastor, God is telling me exactly what I need to do. Yet, I sit. The praise team sings. I sit still, debating, wrestling, scared; frantic on the inside but not moving forward. I hope it will pass if I stay still. Even with the vibrating in my head from the sermon, the story of the Prodigal son and his journey home. Could it be made any more crystal clear to me? All I have to do is get up and move but I won’t, I’m paralyzed by my fear and lack of trust and the recording playing in my head. I’m praying too, hoping and praying that someone else will get up and move to the front of the church and that will let me off the hook. I ask God for one more sign. Me, little small man hasn’t heard enough, seen enough of God working in my life; he still needs one more sign, one more demonstration of love and acceptance.
Then I hear it. Crystal playing the piano starts the first few notes of “This is the air I breathe.” The song that I mentioned to her at lunch, eight hours earlier, I told her, “I love that song.” I was delighted that she sang it for us, truly a gift, a message from God through Crystal. Silently I’d said to myself if she plays it again I’ll get up. I’ll move forward, I’ll say yes and let God change my life. Now she’s playing it. Now I have to let something be done for me.
I loved hearing her sing that song it when she first took over on piano at evening service and communion was being offered, and here this Sunday she’s sung it once and is about to sing it again. I know that God is telling me to move and I do, I can’t deny Him any longer. Suddenly up and moving it’s easy; and into trusted arms I go. I go into the arms of my Pastor and Kayla and I step with them at my sides, finally, into the arms and warm, tender embrace of my God. The God who loves me and who knew on this Sunday, at this time, at this moment, I would choose to say yes again but as a man.
My glasses come off, tears are falling, not sad but joyous tears, tears of relief, my pain, my anguish, my mistrust are all washed away with three handfuls of water and very powerful words of affirmation. Saying those words out loud as a man is wondrously empowering, like a weight lifted off my shoulders and an easing of my mind.
It’s all right now. I’m not a ten year old boy holding my well intentioned and loving Nana’s hand as I say to her Preacher that I accept Jesus as my Lord and Savior. The ten year old boy saying those words didn’t know what they meant. He didn’t understand the depth of the gift, the sacrifice that was made for him at Calvary. He didn’t comprehend the fact that if he and Jesus were the only two to walk the face of the Earth, that his God would have sent Jesus to die for his sins on the cross at Calvary so that he could be reconciled with God. He didn’t understand that more than anything God wants his people, all people to be at peace with themselves, with each other and with God, their father. The ten year old boy is gone and the forty three year old man, finally trusting says yes. He says yes to God, understanding the gift given to him so long ago, so far away by an eternal and ever present God. It is a gift of love, sacrifice, redemption and salvation.
The water just like the blood, and saying yes have washed away the painful years of running, denial and anger. He’d directed the anger at the world, those he “loved,” at himself and at God. Yet through all of it God waited, a silent witness, steadfastly standing in the corners of his mind, waiting for him to come home and say yes. God waited for this man to have the courage to say a simple three letter word, the word yes.
This forty three year old man knows on this healing Sunday, September 30, 2007, that his life is changed. His life changed for the best because it has been passed with friends at his side and behind him into the hands of a loving, generous, forgiving and eternal God. It isn’t over, but at the pause he’s tired, all of that running and anger have made him tired and the final relief of saying yes is like a warm soup made with loving hands heating up his soul.
Just a glimpse at part of my story
Michael Sullivan, REALTOR/Broker/SRES/E-Pro and
Believer
No comments:
Post a Comment