An old friend of mine (we haven’t been friends for a really long time, he’s just old) posted a devotional to his blog yesterday. Our church is putting together a booklet with submissions from different members. ?I thought that since most people I know have learned that I have nothing valuable to say, I’ll send something in. I normally wouldn’t post something like this, but I figure that mine probably won’t make the cut, so this is about the only way that I’ll get published. Feel free to dissect, debate, or discuss it as you see fit. You won’t hurt my feelings…much.
. .
As we reached the doorway of the couple’s house, I knelt down beside my girls and instructed them that they were to be very quiet. Such hushed reverence is required on two occasions: at funerals and in the presence a newborn. Fortunately, we were there for the latter. We congratulated the new parents, and Kelley held the tiny baby. My girls remained quiet, calm, and model examples of sweet little angels…for thirty seconds. Why waste such a beautiful afternoon by sitting and being good? When their little bodies could sit no more, I escorted them outside to run around and act like the monkeys that they are.
Sometimes I wonder how many spiritual children are within our congregation. (Given my failure to remain serious on any subject, I probably qualify.) On Sunday morning, some are whispering instead of turning their “hearts and minds to Jesus.” On Wednesday night, their prayer requests aren’t as eloquent or as important as ours. During the week, they visit establishments that no good Baptist would frequent. Don’t you wish they would grow up? I have observed that many church members take a similar approach to helping these spiritually ignorant people reach maturity. We give them a stern glare and avoid the possibility of having a conversation with them. They know what they’ve done wrong, and if they repent, I might talk to them again.
As I read about the life of Christ, I am amazed at the way he interacted with those who did not follow the proper rituals. He invited himself to their houses for meals. He started conversations with them in public. He wrote in the sand and sent their accusers away. As a matter of fact, it was the religious that often received his most stern warnings. The gospel is not something that is to be isolated to a pulpit on Sunday mornings, nor is it something relegated to those who are worthy of hearing. The gospel is a message that is intended to be lived outside of our church walls and beyond our small groups.
While I expect my children to obey me, I understand that there are some concepts their young minds and energetic bodies cannot grasp. In those moments, I find it easiest to engage them on their level in a setting where they are free to be children. Not only do they begin to learn, but I savor the experience as well.
For more than a month, my house has become the central location for a battle that mankind has never seen. We’re fighting a scourge of the mighty flea. (I’m referring to the small insect and not the bassist from the Red Hot Chili Peppers.)