Trying to teach teenagers about the Bible in a school setting has been my most difficult calling because the idea of Jesus as a friend is ironic. There’s a lack of loyalty and depth in friendships among our youth, so why would Jesus be any different?
At some point in the years between when I felt like a useless 16-year-old boy and the man I have become today, I started realizing that I was focused on a very narrow view of God’s desire for us to love one another. I was slowly realizing that I could use the gifts and abilities that God gave me to spread the love of Jesus.
I don’t think it’s coincidental that I found my diary from 3rd and 4th grades just weeks before I would be leading an AWANA group of girls at this very same age. I know now how God’s fingers weave their way through our stories, and this felt significant to me.
There is a holy way to deal with the hard of this world. Lament reveals our deepest fears, our deepest selves to the One who created us, the One who gently waits for us to reveal to Him what He already knows.
Cardboard boxes, shoeboxes to be specific, unveil miracles. My friend, Lilian, was carrying some of those boxes in the trunk of an old Venezuelan taxi. She smiled as she looked back through the rear window. Through the dust, she could see another taxi carrying her friends, and like her, carrying more boxes for an organization called Operation Christmas Child.
There will be those among our church family in the coming weeks contemplating the frightening step of opening up to someone about their burden. Most of us don’t have degrees in counseling, and when friends come to us with a serious struggle, it can be paralyzing—we don’t quite know what to say and we can be afraid of saying the wrong thing.
When I first heard we were going ‘undercover’ with the Exodus Road I had visions of grandeur. I saw myself as Clint Eastwood or Bruce Willis, wearing a ‘Murica’ t-shirt and kicking some serious butt. But instead of being a hero, I just sat with them like Jesus would and shared communion with prostitutes and pimps.
My tolerance for seeing another tragedy responded to by “sending thoughts and prayers” or posting a hashtag is at an end. I don’t want to be this man of resignation. I want to be a courier of hope. A trumpeter of God’s hard work to restore all things and move us towards the forever table of peace.
Every day is different, but every day there is a table and there is Jesus. And there has been this beautiful image of Him sitting at my table reclined with a good drink in hand and without an agenda. He laughs more than worries and He is relaxed. I’m reminded that the table is not for lists or problem solving. The table is for receiving his company and His acceptance.
My soul has been on a journey. From knowing God as Creator to loving Yeshua as dear brother and friend, to experiencing the love of my loving Father. He has shown me that He, as my kind and loving Father, walks in those dark places with me.
For the past couple months, Thomas has been walking us through all the times when Jesus met people at tables and the importance of what he accomplished over food. Although we have been focusing on who we can invite to our table, sometimes instead we might be is invited to their table.
About a week ago, I was sitting in a brothel in Southeast Asia with a young girl. She was shivering with cold. And I put my arm round her hoping it would make her a little warmer. And hoping that maybe she would experience a moment of comforting touch that seeks to give life in her world of the constant groping touch of men who seek to take something from her.
