The Pest

I was twelve; my brother was eight. We rarely got along. We lived in a big house which my family had converted into a mission chapel in Grand Island, New York.

Sometimes, my brother and I played together--or tolerated each other, at least--for a while. "War" was an ever-present threat.

I was the bossy older sister. He easily earned the label, "The Pest." I was still mad at him for demolishing my doll collection when I was six. He'd done a lot since then to aggravate me, too.

We weren't allowed to hit, but sometimes we'd shove each other a little. Mostly, we just argued, becoming quite adept at "murder by sharp tongue."

(Later, as a chubby teenager, I discovered that the best way to control his pestering was to get him down and sit on him until our parents arrived.)

He got home from school before I did. I didn't like the fact that I had no control over what he did to my "stuff" for an hour or so each day. He delighted in the opportunity--as long as Mom didn't catch him.

Walking home from the school bus stop one day, I could see that my bike was moved from where I'd left it the day before. The Pest had been at it again! How dare he ride my bike!

Mad, I flung open the front door. My mother was playing the piano in the "sanctuary" (our large, extra living room, set up for chapel services). The Pest was standing near her. Startled, they both looked up as I began my tirade.

Suddenly, without a word, he walked toward me, thrust something in my hand, and quickly left the room. I looked down and opened a card he had carefully made in school that day. Inside were scrawled the words, "I love you, sister."

Speechless, I looked up and silently shared one of those memorable moments with my mother, who was looking at me with teary eyes. I was a changed person.

Today, as I continue my Lenten pilgrimage toward Holy Week, this childhood memory prompts my reflection on God's transforming love.

Throughout history, we mortals have given God a lot of reason for dismay:

     •Israelites complaining on their way to the Promised Land

     •crucifixion of Jesus, dissention in the Early Church   

     •murders, bombings, wars (often "in the name of God") 

     •domestic violence, sexual abuse, bullying, unkind words

     •self-centered, God-blaming "pity parties"

     •…the list goes on and on...

Yet, amazingly, God's response to the dark side of our humanity is always: "I LOVE YOU. After all, I created you. You are my beloved."

Henri Nouwen, in Bread for the Journey, says: "God's unconditional love means that God continues to love us even when we say or think evil things. …It is important for us to hold on to the truth that God never gives up loving us even when God is saddened by what we do. That truth will help us to return to God's ever-present love."

We mortals are sometimes able to change our outward behavior because of a strong will ("I will not do that again!") or external forces (parent to teenager: "You will not do that again!").

But those who are enlightened know that real, lasting, satisfying change is always internal. It is the transformation of one's Inner Self that brings serenity to one's soul.

Recovering alcoholics speak of serenity as the difference between being dry (living without alcohol through determination) and being sober (experiencing internal release through surrendering to a Higher Power).

Only God's expansive, overwhelming love has the power to transform us completely, from the inside out. Christians speak of this process in a variety of ways: sanctification, spiritual growth, redemption and conversion, among others.

Popular spiritual author Richard Rohr says: "God's love is total, unconditional, absolute and forever. The state of grace--God's attitude toward us--is eternal. We are the ones who change. …We have to allow God to continually fill us. Then we find in our own lives the power to give love away."

God is not only loving, God IS love (1 John 4:8). Ultimately, it is only to the extent that we fully realize the depths of God's eternal love for us that we are able to become thoroughly changed persons.

"What wondrous love is this, O my soul . . ."

See you in worship this Sunday - Naomi

A Boy Named Chris

His name was Chris. I don't remember his last name. He was about 8 years old and lived a few blocks from the Louisville church where I served as Associate Minister of Music. I only knew him a couple of months.

Chris had the husky build of a future football player. His eyes shone bright blue, and he had freckles sprinkled on his nose. Wild sprigs of cow-licked blond hair stuck out all over his head—the result of a bad haircut made even worse by classroom scissors.

Chris' friendly smile and pleasant temperament were charming, and he was unusually comfortable with engaging adults in casual conversation.

I don't think Chris was ever really clean. He always had more than the normal childhood smudges on his skin and ill-fitting clothes. He never seemed fresh, often looking seedy and smelling bad.

There was no doubt that Chris was neglected. What was unusual was the absence of some typical behavioral problems for a child in his situation.

I first met Chris when he wandered into the church parking lot one day, little brother in tow. He approached some adults, and they steered both boys towards our children's activities.

On his own, Chris began to attend older children's choir, which I directed. He seemed oblivious that the other children were openly reluctant to sit by him. I'm not sure he ever sang on pitch, but he would smile and participate intelligently, and just looked "happy to be here."

Ministering to his family was difficult, despite our repeated efforts. We never could figure out the situation. Our impression was that they moved frequently.

During choir one Wednesday evening, Chris asked us to pray for his family because his dad was in jail for trying to kill his mom. (I hoped he and his brother hadn't witnessed it.) Their house was vacant soon afterwards, and we lost track of them.

A few weeks earlier, I was introducing a new song to the choir. When I asked the children to think of reasons why we love God, their responses were typical, mostly having to do with creation and God loving us first.

Suddenly, Chris' face lit up as he waved excitedly, gushing, "I love God because God gives us second chances!"

I thought to myself that if there was ever a child who was going to need a million second chances just to survive, it was Chris. He already had so much to overcome.

My encounter with Chris was brief, but God often uses my memory of this special child to remind me of the many grace-filled "second chances" I've been given.

By now—assuming he's still alive—Chris is all grown up. Odds are, we will never meet again here on earth. But I will always remember him. I will always wonder how he's doing.

Most of all, I will always wonder if our brief ministry to him—sowing the seeds of God's love--ever took hold in his life.

I can only hope that Chris has already experienced enough of God's abundant love and grace to overcome his adverse circumstances and grow into the fine young man that God created him to be.

"Jesus loves the little children, ALL the children…"

See you in worship this Sunday - Naomi