Who's in Your Great Cloud of Witnesses?

This Sunday, as the church I serve gathers for worship, we'll remember and give thanks for members of our church family who’ve finished their earthly journey and gone home to heaven during the past three years.  Certainly, we feel a tinge of sadness as we see the names and pictures of people we’ve known and loved in the circle of our church family, people who are no longer physically among us.  But, All Saints’ Day is not a time for sadness as much as a time for gratitude for the lives and testimonies of great Christians who’ve loved us and served Christ through this church. 

Hebrews 12 teaches us that we are surrounded by “a great cloud of witnesses,” believers who have gone home before us, but continue to cheer us on as we run our race of faith.  We cherish the list of spiritual giants we find in Hebrews 11, great men and women of the faith whose example we’ll be blessed to follow.  All Saints’ Day is a time for you to make the reality of the “great cloud of witnesses” more personal.  Who have you known and loved whose life inspires and encourages you to live for Christ?  Who is cheering for you as you run your race?  Let me share a few of my spiritual cheerleaders as you think about yours.

 My parents gave me wonderful examples of devotion to Christ and faithfulness to His church.  My dad was especially vocal about loving his church as family.  My mom loved creative worship experiences and gave me my love of drama as a means to share the gospel. 

My pastor during my growing up days, Rev. W. Harry Floyd, became my role model for how to minister as a pastor.  I remember him coming to my home to see me as a young boy when he heard I was upset by the news that one of my counselors from Camp McCall had died.  He heard my profession of faith and baptized me as a new believer. He visited me one night in the hospital after feeling strongly led to pray for me.  I’ve never been led astray in my ministry by asking, “What would Preacher Floyd do?” 

Rev. Bobby Morrow, Linda’s home church pastor, took an interest in my ministry, affirmed my gifts, and spoke a good word for me as I sought ministry opportunities.  Knowing Bobby believed in me helped me believe in myself.

Creighton and Emily Edwards, a wonderful couple in one of the churches I’ve served, adopted our family, loved our children as church grandparents, and gave each of us a special blessing.  Our Josh sat in Creighton’s lap every Sunday.  Emily showed me how a Christian navigates through the rough waters of depression.  They live on in our hearts and cheer us on. 

As you remember and give thanks for saints who’ve gone home, I hope you’ll realize how rich you are and allow the lives of those who’ve gone before you to lift your spirits and renew your resolve to live for Christ. 

Stopping Violence Before It Starts

(Matthew 5:21-22)"You have heard that it was said to the people long ago, 'Do not murder, and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment.' 22 But I tell you that anyone who is angry with his brother will be subject to judgment. Again, anyone who says to his brother, 'Raca, 'is answerable to the Sanhedrin. But anyone who says, 'You fool!' will be in danger of the fire of hell.

A medical student told me that he had spent most of his day in the cadaver lab, dissecting a human body.  I asked him if that work, as important as it was to his studies and future service, was difficult.  He replied that he had learned a trick that made his assignment easier.  He said the first step in working with a cadaver is to cut off the face, making the body look less like an actual human being.  Once that's done, he observed, cutting that body to pieces is much easier.  

In times of conflict, we come up with demeaning names to describe our enemies.  Fighting is much easier when we make our enemies seem a little less than human. We use our words to cut off their faces, to categorize them as something less than human.  

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus describes three dehumanizing steps we take in our hearts: 

The first is anger, not a moment of frustration as we have with any person, but a ever-simmering anger that focuses on and broods over another person’s faults and failures. 

The second step, says Jesus, is to say Raca!  This is a name of contempt, a word that says that I see nothing to value, nothing to respect, nothing worth living in you. 

Jesus says that the third step in dehumanizing others is to call someone a fool.  This is a special kind of fool.  This is the fool who says in his heart that there is no God.  Calling someone this kind of fool means that you look at that person as being separated from God, even opposed to God.   That kind of person is a little easier to destroy. 

Resentment, contempt, condemnation—these are not just private thoughts and feelings.  Jesus says that these are steps toward murder.  Murder begins when I dehumanize another person, when I make him or her seem not quite like a real person to me.  When I cut off his face, I find it much easier to cut him to pieces. 

I must stop this violence in my heart if I am going to play a part in stopping it in my world.  I must ask Christ to touch my eyes and allow me to see others as He sees them.  My view of every person must be this:

This person is a miracle of God, created in His image, a person for whom Christ died. 

Every Guard is a Prisoner

A number of years ago I presented a children's sermon in which I used a pair of handcuffs as the object lesson.  I asked for a volunteer from the group, chose a very lively first-grade boy who usually was very active during the children's sermon, and proceeded to handcuff him to my wrist.  While I shared the children's sermon I had a smug sense of satisfaction that I had this young man under control for a change, right where I wanted him.  The moment came for my grand finale.  I reached for the key, attached to the handcuffs by an elastic band, to un-cuff my young friend and me.  That’s when I discovered that the band was not long enough for the key to reach the lock.  I could not break it.  I could not stretch it enough to make it reach.  And then I began to see my situation very differently.  I realized that I had not only bound my young friend to me, I had also bound myself to him.  I had visions of leading the rest of the worship service bound to a first grader.  Before I resorted to gnawing off my hand to get free, a kind deacon with a pocket knife took mercy on my young friend and me and cut the band which held the key.  Freedom was sweet for both of us. 

          What happened to my hands also happens to many of our hearts.  We can choose to bind others to the wrongs they have done to us in the past.  We can wrap those events around that relationship just as we would slap shackles upon the wrist.  For a while, we feel a sense of satisfaction from this.  They are paying for what they have done.  They are getting what they deserve.  But what we must see is that when we bind others with the shackles of their sins, we bind ourselves as well.  We wear a blindfold which keeps us from seeing joy and beauty.  We bind our hands and keep them from reaching out in love.  Worst of all, we chain our hearts to what is evil instead of freeing it to fly toward what is good. 

          Forgiving is important because we cannot bind others in the shackles of unforgiveness without also binding ourselves. 

Unity Comes from Knowing We Fight the Same Battles

This past week, a woman walked into our church, asking to speak to the pastor and obviously in need of help.  As I sat down with her, I thought we could hardly be more different. 

·        A man and a woman

·        White and black

·        Provided for and painfully poor

·        Clean clothes and clothes worn too long

·        Clark’s tie-up shoes and a pair of bedroom slippers she’d walked in for miles

·        A talker and one who struggles to speak clearly

Through her tears, this sweet lady told me of the very difficult circumstances she faced.  As she spoke, I noticed that her body was jerking slightly, like many small convulsions.  As I continued to strain my ears to understand her, I learned why her body was in such turmoil.  “I’m bipolar,” she said, “and I’ve run out of medicine.”  “How long have you been without your medicine?” I asked.  “Five days,” she replied as she buried her face in her hands and wept. 

In that moment, I felt a profound connection with this lady.  We had something in common.  We’d faced the same enemy.  We’d fought the same battle.  She didn’t need to know anything about my medical history, but I wanted her to know that, at some level, I understood. 

“I’ve needed that kind of medicine before,” I said, “and I know you don’t need to be without it.  Let’s see what we can do.”  Our church helped her get her medication that day and she helped me see that no matter who we are or where we’ve been, as human beings, we’re fighting the same battles. 

We begin to experience unity in the human family when realize, once again, that we fight the same battles. 

·        I know what’s right and am so tempted to do wrong.

·        I let little things keep me from giving my life to what matters to God.

·        I’ve allowed unresolved differences to tear Christ’s body, His church, to pieces.

·        My life is very busy, but also very barren.

·        I’ve kept my faith a secret while people are dying without Christ. 

The church is not a museum for saints; it’s a support group for sinners and strugglers.  When we’re honest about the battles we’re fighting and dare to share them with each other, Jesus makes us one.