Drawn to a Drip

I could not avoid its incessancy.

Drip, drip, drip, drip.

It was an unusually hectic day. My men and I oversaw the execution of three condemned men. Having carried out dozens before, I’d developed a rather callous indifference to the procedures. Keeping a hardened distance was the only way a man could successfully serve on my squad. Several had tried, but found they were not suited for the task.

I knew the two men on the outer crosses to be common thieves, but that man in between them - I wasn’t sure what his real crime was. Many said he claimed to be some sort of king. My men mocked him earlier as he was whipped and beaten. I draped a purple robe over his bloody back to call attention to his proclaimed royalty, complete with a crown of thorns we’d jammed into his scalp.

We had beaten him so badly he could hardly make it up the hill. Despite people screaming wretched insults and spitting upon him, forward he trudged, his eyes seemingly fixed upon an objective of which only he knew.

Submissively, he fell on the rocky Golgotha ground. I then realized that from the abusive whipping, punching, and slapping to the agonizing walk through the streets to this laying himself down, he had voiced not one objection. No, not even a scornful look our way.

Now, it was always my practice when nailing men to the cross to make no eye contact. Attribute it to insensitivity, if you will, but though I’d hammered through many a man’s hands and feet, that grisly sound of piercing flesh and tendon, accompanied by the agonizing screams could penetrate the most thick-skinned amongst us. But driving the jagged spike through the man’s right hand with my heavy iron mallet, my eyes were drawn toward his. And though he screamed out in pain, that same expression of determination to finish this task remained. The blood gushed forth, and I watched as it ran down his arm.

We erected all three crosses and began the long wait for death to overcome them. Some men die quickly, while others battle death right up to their last gasp. If it carried on too long, we’d simply break their legs, rendering them unable to raise themselves up to breathe. Though seemingly cruel, it was perhaps the most humane act that we performed.

My men were shouting and laughing as they gambled for the man’s clothing. The mob both screamed in hatred and cried out in sorrow. Above all this commotion, I began to hear it...It drew my attention away from the turmoil. That sound began to penetrate my soul. My mind could not elude it.

Drip, drip, drip, drip.

What was it? Where was it coming from? I looked with determination for its source, as if it were calling to me.

Drip, drip, drip, drip. 

And then I saw it. The blood I’d seen running down the man’s arm was now falling off at his elbow, down upon the rocks below.

Drip, drip, drip, drip. 

No matter what I did, I was transfixed at the rhythmic sound of his blood splattering one drop at a time.

Drip, drip, drip, drip.

I heard the man cry out in agony and call out to God. At one point, he did something truly remarkable - he asked God to forgive us. He pleaded that we didn’t know what we were doing...and maybe he was right. He was like no other man I’d ever encountered.

The day grew darker and darker, until it was pitch black as the night. The ground shook violently, knocking me face-down, paralyzed with fear. Never have I witnessed such an event, and yet through it all, I remained drawn to the drops of blood hitting the rocks below.

Drip, drip, drip, drip.

I'm not sure what overcame me exactly. Looking up, I felt an undeniable love from this now dead man hanging limply in front of me. Getting to my feet, I stumbled forward. As I reached the foot of the cross, I blurted out what was churning in my soul, though I didn’t completely understand it all:

“Truly this man was the Son of God." *

The instant I professed what I knew to be the Truth, I heard a drop fall yet again. But this one landed with a softer, more comforting sound. You see, that last drop...fell on me.


* Mark 15:39 (KJV)

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John's Journal

– Third day after the Passover

All quiet, for now. Peter’s sitting by himself again, sharpening that old sword and staring off into space. It seems so unreal. We were just having the Passover meal with Jesus...and now he’s dead. I’ve relived the events of the past few days over and over in my head, but I can’t change the outcome...Jesus is now dead.

We’ve spent the Sabbath in the shuttered darkness of this room, like cowards, in fear of being found. Mary Magdalene went to the tomb this morning to care for his body, and none of us had the courage to accompany her. He loved us so much and I feel like we’ve abandoned him.

Peter acts like he’s harboring an inner guilt beyond what the rest of us feel. At least he’d followed Jesus and saw what was going on that night. But he gets angry when we ask him what went on in the high priest’s courtyard and refuses to talk to us. He just sits there in the shadows, working that stone back and forth on the blade of that old sword.


The morning of his execution is sort of a blur now. On either side of him were two thieves being executed for their crimes. Jesus had spoken to one of them and, though I’d strained to hear, his words were absorbed by all the shouting and wailing around us. At one point, he looked down at me standing there with his mother, crippled with the unbearable pain of watching her son’s crucifixion. His eyes locked on mine, and he told me his mother was now my mother. How typical of Jesus, to care for others, even at the height
                                                      of his own suffering.

Surely I could have done something to stop this. I don’t know. But I do know that I’ve never felt so loved as I did that night, eating our meal in that borrowed upper room, listening to Jesus speak as I leaned against him. Earlier, he’d gone around the room and had a special moment with each of us as he washed our feet like a servant would. His love for us was unquestionable.

Later that night, we walked to a nearby garden area. It was a favorite spot, one where Jesus often went to pray. The rest of the men waited at the entrance, while he took Peter, James, and me inside with him. He walked on a little further by himself. I’m so ashamed that we all fell asleep, waiting for him to return.


We awoke to see Judas Iscariot leading a mob up the hillside, carrying clubs and swords. I burned with rage when I realized that Judas was the betrayer Jesus had spoken of earlier that evening. I thought of Peter and that old sword he’d been carrying. Though I’d scoffed at the notion before, I wished then I had one myself.

But Peter is a fisherman. He’s not much with a sword. One of the high priest’s men grabbed Jesus by the arm to take him away. Peter pulled his sword out and started swinging wildly. He awkwardly lunged downward at the man’s head. The man moved just enough that the only thing Peter struck was his right ear. Evidently Peter had sufficiently sharpened that old blade, because it severed the ear completely. The man bent over, crying out in shock and pain.

We stood in disbelief at what Peter had done. Even though there was another sword somewhere amongst us, there was no way we could stand up to this gang that Judas had brought to abduct Jesus, and now Peter had struck the first blow. But Jesus quickly defused the situation.

"Shall I not drink the cup which My Father has given me?"* Jesus admonished Peter. He told him to put the sword away. Then he knelt down and healed the man's ear. We were all astonished, even though we’d seen Jesus heal many before. The servant felt his ear and slowly moved his hand away. He gave Jesus a dumbfounded look as others stepped up to grab the Master and tie his hands. Fear overcame us and we all ran off into the darkness.

I’m not sure I can tolerate this painful agony much longer. The guilt of betrayal is gnawing unbearably at my gut. Jesus would never have left us this w

Mary’s at the door. Something’s happened. Will write more later.



*John 18:11 (NKJV)

God Wasn't Lost in Translation

My interpreter for the afternoon was a 21-year-old college student, Jessica. For her services as translator, Jessica was receiving school credit for the English classes in which she was enrolled. Pastor Luis had taken us to the home of a family directly across the street from his church. Only an hour or so before, I had been introduced to the church as my host church for the week. My read was the gathering was social, not evangelical in nature. From all appearances, we were there for coffee, cookies, and chit chat, and nothing more.

As an interpreter, Jessica ’ s competency was marginal, at best. I had great difficulty understanding her thickly-accented English as she translated her fellow Peruvians ’ Spanish. Likewise, she struggled with comprehending my English responses. Despite her delightful personality, and willingness to serve a Lord she ’ d only hours before accepted herself, Jessica ’ s efforts as our communications conduit made the afternoon social a fairly quiet event. 

After short while, I sensed a bit of restlessness from the diminutive Pastor Luis, perched directly across from me. While he spoke not a word of English, with his head tilted somewhat to the right and his bushy, graying eyebrows slightly raised, the Pastor was definitely communicating strongly in my direction. The longer the social conversations lingered, the more urgent his body language became. 

I began to reassess the situation. Perhaps this was more than an afternoon reception for a foreign missionary. Taking inventory of the family of five seated before me, I decided I should find out their spiritual situation, just to be certain. 

“ Are they Christians? ” I subtly asked Jessica, leaning over to where she was sitting.

“ Yes! They are Christians, ” I heard her reply. At that point, I again went back into tea and crumpet mode. But the urgency from the Pastor Luis did not cease, but rather, seemed to increase. I began to wriggle uncomfortably in my chair, having no idea what he was trying to communicate.

Finally, his impatience with me reaching a crescendo, Pastor Luis instructed Jessica to have me tell the family about how Jesus was “ working in my life. ” So that ’ s what he wanted . . . a testimony. I began giving an account of a life fortified with Christ in hopes that it would encourage the brothers and sisters sitting before me. But Pastor Luis seemed even more annoyed and, at some point in my testimonial rambling, he snatched the conversational reigns from me. 

I sat perplexed listening to Pastor Luis. While there was no denying the passion with which he spoke, I received no help from Jessica about the content of his oration toward the family, now collectively leaned forward listening to Pastor Luis. My limited Spanish began picking up key phrases and words here and there. I realized that he was sharing the gospel of Christ with this family and inviting them to receive Jesus as their Lord and Savior, the very reason I had come to Peru . . . but, thinking back to the words I ’ d heard from Jessica, “ they are Christians," just what was going on??

My confusion continued as suddenly the family bowed in prayer. Pastor Luis led them in what was obviously a prayer to received Christ. Tears were now flowing from the family members as they lifted their faces, beaming with joy from a new found Lord and Savior. Though I rejoiced in the moment, part of me still wondered what I ’ d missed. 

At that point, the family surprisingly got up to leave, hugging the Pastor, Jessica, and me exuberantly as we walked them outside to their waiting car. They loaded a suitcase or two into the trunk and piled into the small vehicle. Standing on the curb, watching them speed away, I turned to my interpreter in an effort to grasp some understanding of what I ’ d just
witnessed . . . 

“ Jessica, where are they going? ”

“ They go visit family now in Lima. Had to leave by two-thirty. Be gone for ten days. Pastor want speak to them today before they leave. ”

“ Jessica, when I asked you, are they Christians, why did you tell me, ‘ yes ’ ? ”

“ Because they did. ”

“ They did? ” 

“ Yes, they did have questions. But don ’ t worry, Pastor answer them for you and now they know Jesus, just like me! ”

And with that, the dense fog in which I ’ d been immersed suddenly lifted, as five new brothers and sisters motored off into the Peruvian sunshine.

Surprise Shots from Guatemala

When I first hired on with the Bureau of Prisons in the early 80's, I had a firearms instructor that used an expression that always stayed with me when having to go through the yearly firearms qualifications. The instructor told us the most accurate way to fire any weapon was to have a "surprise shot," achieved by not anticipating the gun going off, but rather, by focusing on the gun’s sight at the end of the barrel and maintaining a slow, steady squeeze on the weapon’s trigger until it fired. If you maintained the proper focus, the shot would come as a surprise and your accuracy would improve. Earlier this month in Guatemala, I experienced several "surprise shots," things that happened that I really wasn’t expecting...

On the hour long van ride out to a mission church, I sat in the back seat casually watching the scenery of a beautiful country pass by. Our main interpreter during the week was a 29 year old young woman who, by all appearances, seemed as ordinary as any young lady you’d want to meet. But looks can be deceiving. You see, Falon had been widowed 10 months earlier, her husband of only one year killed in a motorcycle accident. On the drive out to the mission, for the first time since the tragedy, she began tearfully unpacking how torturous the past 10 months had been, and how God had delivered her through the darkest days of her young life.

When I got up to speak that afternoon at the mission church, my topic "faith," having true faith even in the most trying times. I had an illustration from my own life that I’d planned on using, but I realized that standing next to me was a much more powerful testimony...Falon’s. Though she’d never spoken publically about any subject, I felt led to ask her to step outside her role as mere interpreter and share what she’d told me in the van that afternoon. With all the composure of much more experienced speaker, Falon gave a powerful testimony that didn’t leave a dry eye in the house...a surprise shot that hit dead center every heart in the room.

Later in the week, we were visiting an elderly lady in her home. She made a profession of faith and we rejoiced in her decision. My mission partner for the week, Keith, asked if there was anyone else in the house we could visit with. She went back in the back of the house and returned with another woman around her age, and an 18 year old young man I’ll call Juan.

We visited for a while with the woman, and she came to the same decision as the previous lady had: she, too, wanted Christ as her Savior. The whole time I was watching the body language of Juan. He seemed stereotypically teenaged in his actions, completely uninterested, seemingly desiring to be anywhere else but listening to two foreigners talk about Jesus.

But then something was said, I’m not sure what, that cracked the hard shell the young man had shielded himself with. Before long he was openly weeping about being 18, and having a father who’d abandoned the family when he was 10. We counseled with Juan and loved on him for over an hour. Normally stoic Keith wept with him over the hurt Juan had harbored all this time. Juan never committed to Christ that afternoon, but he made great strides in coming to terms with the pain that had been inflected on him and acknowledge that he did need God’s love in his life...certainly a surprise shot moment from what I’d expected from Juan.

A couple of incidents that took me by surprise occurred during visits to different classes at a Guatemalan school. One morning we were speaking to a classroom full of teenage girls. I was standing in the back of the room, listening to Keith’s testimony, trying to figure out some way to connect with the girls. God quickly provided the answer. Glancing down, I saw a magazine cutout taped to a desktop of a familiar face. It provided me with a foot in the door...

"How many of you girls know Justin Beiber?" I asked the young ladies, opening my message to them about their beliefs. Every one of the girls gleefully raised their hands, their eyes opening wide.

"Really? You know Justin Bieber??" They nodded with great enthusiasm. "Really?...when’s the last time you talked to him?" The girls broke out in laughter.

"You see, you know who Justin Bieber is, but you don’t really know him, do you..." I went on to explain that it can be the same way with our spiritual relationship. Many people know who Jesus is, know much about the Bible, etc., but don’t really know him, personally. Eight of those young women became sisters in Christ that morning...and Justin Bieber got a surprise shot assist.

Later in the week, we were talking with a group of 3^rd and 4^th graders. After I’d finished speaking, I found myself with about 10 or 15 minutes left in our session. Improvising, I asked if anyone had any questions about Jesus. Several hands shot up and the questions came fast and furious. I wondered what I’d gotten myself into, I must admit...

Then toward the very end of the session, a little girl on the front row meekly raised her hand. Something drew my attention to her hand, despite the others that had been frantically trying to get my attention. In a sweet, but very serious voice, Amanda asked, "Can I give my heart to Jesus right now, would it be okay?" You see, Amanda’s grandmother had been teaching her from the Bible for some time, she’d just been waiting for a chance to proclaim Christ as her Lord and Savior...a surprise shot indeed, dead on target.

The Guatemala City crusade saw 2935 professions of faith as 36 Americans on mission joined with Central and South Americans across the large city. I will remember many beautiful people that we worked alongside. The church we were assigned to witnessed 83 new Christians during the week, many via a surprise shot.

A Look Back, A Look Ahead...

Jeremiah 29:11 "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

I’ve seen enough "year in reviews" and "predictions for the coming year" to shake a proverbial stick at. But that’s what we tend to do at this time of year, look back and forward, simultaneously. So, if you’ll allow me, let me look back at 2012 and peek ahead at the coming year...

Teri and I celebrated 20 years of wedded bliss in 2012 by returning to Eureka Springs, Arkansas, where we’d exchanged vows in 1992. It was a wonderful trip, but there were a few reminders of the advancing years. For instance in ‘92, we rented motor scooters and zipped around the hills of Eureka Springs, hair flying in the wind. In 2012, we had the trolley car take us around town where we visited antique shops and enjoyed sitting in shady areas, eating ice cream and people watching...We excitedly found the over 100-year old stone church where we’d been married in ‘92, only to sadly find the building no longer was used as a church. Instead, a nightly magic show was housed there...we didn’t buy tickets. But like our 20 years of married life has been, the trip was a wonderful blessing. Three great kids, seven wonderful grandchildren...We look forward to the blessings of the next 20.

In 2012, we united with a new church family and praise God for leading in this matter. Stepping away from our old church was difficult, to say the least, but we never doubted God was moving us toward a new phase in our lives, church-wise, and have rejoiced in His doing so. We also cherish many memories from our old church and hold dear the many friendships we will always maintain. The past was wonderful and we expect nothing less with the future.

 

With International Commission, I made two mission trips in 2012. Going to Piura, Peru and Goiania, Brazil gave me fantastic memories that I’ll always treasure. The crusades saw over 4700 new commitments to Christ. Many of you partnered with me in prayer and financially in making these trips and, for that I can’t thank you enough. In 2013, God has led me to be involved in upcoming trips to Guatemala and Belize. Looking back at what God accomplished through the trips of 2012 excites me as I anticipate what He has in store in 2013!                                  

 

This blog ended 2012 with at its highest month ever, reader-wise, and I truly appreciate all the support I received. Looking back at its beginning in June, 2011, I really didn’t know where it would lead, but dutifully followed Teri’s urging me to write. An interesting twist in 2012 is the type and number of international hits the blog gets. For instance, last year Russia surpassed Great Britain in foreign readership of Reflecting the Light. I would love to hear from someone abroad who’s been reading regularly. ((Drop me a line from way out there.))

I think it’s a good thing to sometimes step back and look at the past, as long as we don’t linger too long. Someone once said "It’s fine to look at the past, just don’t stare." I agree. But, when looking back, we should also look forward. In order to know where we’re headed, it’s sometimes necessary to see where we’ve been. In my case, I thank God for what He’s done in the past year and look forward to what He has in store in 2013.

Prayers for you and yours this coming year,

 

Allen

In God We Trust?

As I prepared a lesson for a Bible study recently, something jumped off the page at me. It’s one of those moments in scripture that make you realize why we refer to God’s Word as the "Living Bible." No matter how long our world exists, the Bible will always be completely applicable.

In the Hosea 8:1-3, we read:

8 Put the horn to your mouth! One like an eagle

comes against the house of the Lord, because they

transgress My covenant and rebel against My law. 

2 Israel cries out to Me, "My God, we know You!"

3 Israel has rejected what is good; an enemy will pursue him.

The nation of Israel at this time was in full-blown rebellion to God, as verse three states, rejecting what is good. And, although they might have symbolically cried out "My God, we know you!", Israel lived perversely. They worshiped idols and false Gods.
 

What really jumped off the page at me was the word ‘eagle’ in verse one. "...an eagle comes against the house of the Lord." An eagle...the national symbol of our country. I mulled about it for a minute, then realized how perfectly applicable it was today. Substituting the word ‘eagle’ with ‘United States’, how real it seemed today. "...the United States comes against the house of the Lord, because they transgress My covenant and rebel against My law."

The unthinkable tragedy of the past week at Newtown, Connecticut is a blistering reminder of how our country has painstakingly removed any sign of God from our public places, as if any spiritual reference is some sort of virus that needs to be scrubbed from societal walls. At public school Sandy Hook Elementary, the mere mention of God would no doubt been challenged by forces of opposition who have won battle after battle to disregard the spiritual roots this country was founded upon. A word of prayer, a posting of the Ten Commandments, a Christmas manger scene, all would have been viewed not just as inappropriate, but illegal, all in the misguided name of freedom, liberty.

On the contrary, like at every public school in the land, Sandy Hook Elementary is mandated by law to teach doctrine directly opposed to God’s word. Lifestyles considered perverse abominations in the Bible, and at one time, in our country, now are presented as normal alternatives in our culture and in our classrooms. Teaching the scriptural-preferred practice of abstinence is considered controversial in modern sex education classes, though a recent study indicated it was preferred by 80% of all parents. By the way, that’s where the instruction should begin, at home, with the parents.

I could write ten pages on the subject, but you get the drift. As long as we continue to drive God further and further from our lives and from our country, the void will fill with ungodliness.

Like Israel in the Old Testament, the United States has our own version of the false cry,

"My God, we know you, " >>> In God We Trust.

How realistic is that motto these days? Do we as a nation put our trust in God? And sadly, how long will it be before that, too, is declared illegal??

Nightmare in Connecticut

Genesis 3:6 - When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it.

Genesis 4:8 - Now Cain said to his brother Abel, "Let’s go out to the field." While they were in the field, Cain attacked his brother Abel and killed him.

 Like all of you, I sat, once again, in disbelief as the atrocity of the day’s news unfolded before us. Twenty kindergartners were killed in a Connecticut grade school this morning. Another school, another massacre of children, this time, unimaginably, a classroom of five-year old kindergarten kids.

As the grandparents of two kindergartners, my wife and I sat watching the horrific scenes from a Connecticut grade school in mostly stunned silence, only interrupted by Teri’s occasional sobbing as her heart broke over the loss of these precious lives.

The news broadcasters are in unison. No matter what pundit you turn to, they all seem to be asking a form of the question, why. What is going on in this world? Where did all this evil come from? Reread the above passages. Genesis 3:6 documents the fall of mankind. Adam and Eve escorted sin into the world.  One generation later, one of their sons, Cain, murdered his brother Abel.   Sin’s effect on mankind moved quickly then...and continues to do so.

In 1962, the United States Supreme Court abolished what we commonly knew as school prayer. A routine part of the school day was a simple moment of prayer. But now days, school is a place where God is not welcome in any way, shape, or form. And yet, there will be those who, upon hearing today’s tragic news, cry out "Where was God in all this?!?"  I wonder if those same folks think it mere coincidence that these type of mass killings in schools did not exist before the 1960's.

A few minutes ago, I watched from our back deck as a young mother waited for her child stepping off a school bus. She walked him back to their house about a block away.  I’ve seen her on that walk dozens of times, but today she must have had a sense of reflection about the 20 Connecticut mothers and fathers that won’t have their children home with them tonight.   I know I did...

Please Lord Jesus, comfort those parents, grandparents,and other family members who are suffering through this nightmarish night. Love them in a way that only You can. Forgive us, Lord God, for the measures we’ve taken as a nation to move further and further from You, for the evilness we’ve legislated, for the ungodliness our country’s embraced. We fall on our knees and cry out to You for mercy.

Amen