God's Halfway House

Dear Brothers, Sisters and All Those In Between,

I am going to start by telling you about the most evil thing that I have ever done.

I was a young medic in Iraq, and I was most of the way through my first tour of duty there. I was the Medic on Duty at our small Forward Aid Station, and I was called into our "Holding Area" because one of our detainees (prisoners) was ill. I walked into the room, in which we were currently holding a large number of detainees on suspicion of killing one of our soldiers. The mood was decidedly angry amongst the soldiers guarding the detainees, and I shared it. One of these men - or several of these men - had conspired and killed one of our friends. We hated whoever that was, and so we hated all of them.

Back to my sick detainee. I learned, through an interpreter, that this man was a diabetic, and he had been without insulin for well over 24 hours. He had begun having mild seizures. He had lost control of his bowels and bladder. He had vomited all over himself. He was an older man, probably in his 50s or 60s, and it was unlikely that he had been responsible for the shooting of my friend. He was just a sick man, a man who would die if left untreated. He smelled, he was dirty, but he was dying, and I was asked to bring him healing.

I walked away.

Now, I can imagine what some of you are thinking. "Did he just publicly confess to criminal negligence and war crimes?" There's more to the story, and, fortunately for he and I both, someone grew a conscience and informed his medical superior about the issue - after agonizing over it for much longer than I should have. But, that's not the point of the story. The core of it is that when I was faced with someone sick, hurting, broken, frightened - someone who was as far outside of my identity group as anyone could be - when my empathy was tested at its limit, I failed. I walked away.

I have agonized over that act for years. The sin has become so intrinsic to my pscyhe that my mind has created two separate versions of the event: in one version, I walk away and ignore the man's suffering, but later realize my error and report his condition to the Doctor. The man is taken care of and released, all is well.

In the second version of the event, I walk away and the man dies. No one blames me for my indifference. He was, after all, one of THEM. He was dirty, he was smelly, he was probably a terrorist - or at least a sympathizer. Who could blame someone for not wanting to dirty his hands with the blood and bile of that kind of man?

I'll tell you who could blame someone: me. I could blame someone.

And I did, and I have. For years, I could not convince myself of the first version of the event. I constantly had nightmares and flashbacks of that moment when I turned my back on an old, dying man and walked away. That one event, that one moment of intentional indifference, has defined my life for nearly seven years.

Christians do this all the time.

When I was a kid of about 12, I attended a church that was very wealthy. The congregation wasn't necessarily wealthy, but the church had accumulated quite a bit of wealth - and the Pastor was very well paid - as a result of an aggressive campaign of "tithing" messages. If you were a member of this church, you had bought into this idea that you would be blessed if you helped the church raise a million dollars.

The memory I have is of a Sunday morning. I was sitting in service with my parents, and the pastor brought up this homeless person - I believe it was a young woman, though I can't be sure. The person was dressed in very ragged and dirty clothing, obviously hadn't had a shower in a while, probably no hot meals for a time. The pastor allowed this person to make their plea to the congregation, and then he/she was diplomatically escorted out of the building.

This person had come to our church, because they were in need. Life had not turned out the way that they wanted it to, and so they came to the one place where they thought that they would not be judged, where people would see their need instead of the perceived poor decision making process that led to the need.

All that he/she received was 2 minutes on a microphone, in a beautiful auditorium, while he/she had to bear the uncomfortable, and sometimes hostile, glances of a church congregation that just didn't want to hear.

We have a problem with indifference.

The Church of Peter

Simon is my favorite of all the original Disciples of Jesus. The first thing that I like about him is that he was a fisherman - his hands were undoubtedly dirty, he probably stank, and his language and appearance were probably rather "salty". He wasn't religious material, on the whole. The Gospels record him as being Jesus' most eager disciple, while also being the most thick-headed.

In a great story about both Jesus and Simon, Jesus is asking His disciples what people are saying about him. The guys are passing on the rumors: Jesus is Elijah, He's John the Baptist, etc.

Then Jesus says, "What about you? Who do you say that I am?"

Simon looks at Him and says, "You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God."

And then, Jesus looks at Simon. I can only imagine His expression. Jesus says, "Simon, I call you Cephas (Peter, or Rock) and on this Rock I will build my church, and the Gates of Hell will not prevail against it."

I'm pretty sure that Jesus knew, even then, the kind of person that He was charging with founding His church. Simon Peter has already displayed a singular lack of attention to detail. He irreligious, he's smelly, his hands are dirty. During the trial and crucifixion of Jesus, Peter will deny ever knowing Him, for the sake of his own life. Peter is a broken man. Jesus knows this, and He knows that Peter is going to get worse far more quickly than he is going to get better.

And yet, He makes a strong statement of confidence in Simon. He even gives Him a new name.

We are the Church that Jesus built on Peter. Peter, who jumped out of the boat, but didn't have the faith to walk on the water with Jesus. Peter, who swore to follow Jesus all the way to the cross, and then denied Him 3 times to save his life.

Peter, who wept bitterly when he realized what he had done. Peter, who was the first to acknowledge his friend Jesus as something more than just a wise teacher. Peter, who promised Jesus on the shore to bring the love of God to all of His lambs. Peter, who did follow Jesus to the cross - even though it was years later.

Peter the Broken.
Peter the Denier.
Peter the Faithful.
Peter the Redeemed.

When we look at ourselves as a church, what do we see? Are we a collection of suits and dresses, in a very nice building, looking out at the world? Or is the world in the church with us, sitting beside us, being comforted by us?

We are meant to be the Church that Jesus built on Peter. Jesus gave Peter an extraordinary amount of Grace and Love, and He only asked Peter to pass it on to His lambs.

What do we do with the Grace that God has given us? Do we find someone else who needs that Grace as much as we do, and show it to them? Or do we dress up our Grace and call it Righteousness? Do we let the homeless person speak and beg for money from the followers of Christ, and then turn them out when they get no response? Or do we sit that homeless person down, and invite them to hear about Jesus while we get them something to eat and drink?

Do we look at the broken and hurting of this world and see Them? Or do we see Us?

But, for the Grace of God

I asked a question on a Facebook post recently. The post was about "dress codes", whether official or unofficial, in church. There are many opinions on this topic, and most of them have a legitimate foundation in something good. The question I asked was as follows:

"If a prostitute walked into your church on Sunday morning, still dressed in the same clothes that she was hooking in on Saturday night, what would you do? Would you tell her to clean up and come back? Or would you welcome her (or him, really) in to the Grace of God and the community of believers?"

Sometimes, we forget that we were all prostitutes at one point. Prostitutes and pimps, tax collectors, pornographers, abusers, addicts, adulterers, cheats and thieves. We were all of those things, even if some of the specifics didn't apply. We all had a symptom of our brokenness, whether it was out in the open or we hid it well.

I've told you about my brokenness, but I still reflect on it daily. I never thought that I could be forgiven for my hatred, my indifference, for the murder that I had committed with my heart, even if I hadn't committed it with my hands. I was sick in my brain and in my spirit, hopeless and hating myself.

When I found Jesus, I didn't find Him by cleaning myself up and trying to be righteous. I didn't find Him because of some really excellent religious folks. I found Him because I found a community of people who were as broken as I was, who were relying on Grace to prop them up, and who really felt that their only calling was to share the Grace and Love that they had received. And that was transformational.

Jesus set us free from our addictions, from our hurts, from the burden of our sins and from our brokenness. Whom the Son has set free, is free indeed. He set us free with Love, and He commands that we love others. He set us free with Grace, and He commands us to be gracious to others. He even gave us an example of what His church would look like in Simon Peter: broken, unsteady, but clinging faithfully to a Savior, to the Christ, to the community that Christ had gathered around Him. We need to find that community again.

Jesus In Our Midst

I was talking with my pastor and youth pastor the other day. They are both good friends of mine, and while our conversation wandered a lot (80s movies was one of our random musings), we talked mostly about Jesus. And I started thinking about Jesus and community, and what it all meant.

After Jesus died, the disciples were in hiding. They had heard Him say that He would rise again, but they weren't sure if they could believe it. They had even heard some other people say that they had seen Jesus, but the disciples still weren't convinced.

So, there they are. They're broken, they're leaderless, they've lost all hope. They've just watched the object of their devotion killed in the most brutal way imaginable, and they don't quite have the faith to believe that there's more to this story.

So, they start talking about Jesus. This group of dirty, scared, broken men start to talk about the one that they love, and who loved them. I'm sure that they are swapping stories. Because I've been in a community where people have died, I'm also sure that there were tears - as well as laughter. There might be wine, because wine is appropriate for these sorts of occasions.

So, there they all are - Jesus' motley band of fisherman, tax collectors, lawyers and other undesirable people - getting drunk and talking about Jesus, crying and carrying on. They are living in community. And the craziest thing happens:

Jesus appears in their midst.

I believe that's what happens when we live in community together in Christ. He shows up. Our hearts burn, and we suddenly love one another more than we ever did - or even could - before Jesus was in our midst. Strangers become friends, friends become family - we become one with each other when Jesus is in our midst. He can't help Himself: He wants to be where we are, where His family meets to remember Him.

And He wants us to invite others in, so that them becomes us. He wants us to revel in our brokenness, and in the grace and love that make us whole. He wants us to celebrate that grace and love in the only way that we can - by sharing it with others.

There is a 3rd version of my story now, one that just came to me as I type this. I think of it with tears in my eyes, and I praise God for Grace and forgiveness.

In the 3rd version of my story, I see this man - sick, dying, smelly and dirty. Instead of turning away, I kneel beside him. I give him some water. I wipe the sweat from his brow, the vomit from his chin. I help him clean himself, and I take him in my arms to the doctor, to receive healing. Because, in the 3rd version of my story, that sick, dying and broken man is me. And Jesus is kneeling beside me, healing me.

I hope that we can recognize that the brokenness in the world is the brokenness inside us all. I hope that we will stop dressing Grace up in a suit and tie, and hoping that people will see it as Righteousness. I hope that we can kneel beside the hurting - in the sweat, the tears, the blood and the bile - and bring those who are hurting and dying, in our arms, to the only One who can heal them. And I hope that we keep them close, and hold them inside of our community. Because, when those of us who have been healed and set free by Jesus gather together and love one another, He is there in our midst. And He never leaves.

My love to you, wherever you are,

Michael Brian Woywood

Saved by Grace
Walking in Faith