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The word is: beautiful

The summer after my freshman year of college, I took a job at Goodberry’s Creamery — an ice cream store and deli in Myrtle Beach, SC. During the winter months, the elderly manager of the store ran the entire operation by himself, with a little help from his wife. He always hired extra staff for June and July though — usually students from Europe or South America who flock to the beach each summer intent on getting a taste of American culture, but knowing they have to work at least a little in the hours between early morning bonfires on the beach and evenings spent crowded into pulsing nightclubs alongside sweaty strangers searching for — in one form or another — love.

Because I was able to start a few weeks before the summer crowds arrived, Doug, the manager, decided to train me to run the store, so that I could help teach the other new hires that hadn’t yet arrived, and also act as an assistant manager, giving him a chance to break away from the shop every now and then, whenever the stress of working in a tourist hotspot during the summer became too much for the older man to bare.

Just as Doug predicted, on the 31st of May, five college students from Europe, having just arrived in the country on various flights that morning and settled into their apartments, came looking for work. We hired them all: an Irish boy named Charlie; two Irish girls, a tall blonde named Christine and a more reserved red-head named Colette; a very serious Romanian boy name Bram and his girlfriend, a truly beautiful young lady called Catalina, who was venturing beyond the borders of her homeland for the first time. All six of us were the same age, give or take a year or two, and we all had the same goal in mind for the summer — enjoy living at the coast as much as possible, and try to save at least a couple hundred dollars to take back to school in August.

By the second week of June, the summer business was in high gear and our store stayed packed well into the night. One Thursday evening, Doug was burning up the cash register taking orders faster than most of our sun-bleached customers could spit them out, while Catalina and I were doing our best to keep the ice cream coming. I noticed that Catalina had been drawn over to an angry customer upset because the sundae she had made wasn’t exactly what he had ordered. His frustration didn’t phase her a bit, and she told him that he could keep the incorrect sundae and she would make him another right away. At this point, my assertive personality, eager to prove myself as a straight-laced businessman, despite my apron and ice cream scoop, forced me to step in and tell the complaining customer that, although we would quickly fill his order as he expected, I would need to discard the compromised bowl of ice cream. Catalina gave me a sideways glance, took the ice cream from my hand and slid it back over to the customer as she told me that we couldn’t let it go to waste; it was an honest mistake, and the right mix of ice cream would be coming up soon.

I stood firm and said yes, we would make a new sundae but this first one had to go to the trash. From a business perspective, this is a matter of consistency, protecting one’s image and resources. Customers may intentionally place an “incorrect” order in an attempt to exploit hospitality and steal free food; employees may intentionally prepare the wrong item as well, using the “mistake” as an excuse to set the product aside and enjoy free food on a break later on during their shift. Consistently disposing of mis-made orders is the only way to avoid either of these practices.

Of course, I didn’t explain any of this to Catalina, or to the customer. What ended up happening was Catalina ran to the back of the store to cry while I ended up filling the rush of orders and getting the customers in and out as quickly as possible. As the line died down, I went to the back to apologize to Catalina and explain the reasoning behind the policy. Before I got halfway through my apology, she broke through her tears and interrupted me. “Of course if it is the rule, it is the rule. That is fine. But I didn’t know, and you shouldn’t have corrected me in front of the customer,” she said. “It is not very nice, and it is not beautiful.”

I was dumbstruck. I realized just how bad I had goofed everything up. I let business get in the way of people, and that’s not good for the bottom line, no matter where you draw it.

As I drove home that night, I kept hearing her words over again in my head. “It is not very nice, and it is not beautiful.” Not beautiful? That didn’t make much sense. I started to think about the process one goes through in learning a second language, as Catalina had done in preparation for coming to the United States. A simple definition of “beautiful” could be “to look very good.” If this was the way she understood the word, then it would make more sense. I know what someone means when they tell me my actions don’t look good, and I knew that my management that night didn’t look very good at all; not to the customers, to my coworkers, or, in retrospect, to myself.

Though the literal meaning is nearly the same, the phrasing makes a big difference for us native English speakers. When making decisions that impact our relationships with others, do we simply seek to do what looks good, or do we truly try to make every aspect of our lives beautiful?

Absolutely, undeniably, beautiful. That’s the lesson I learned from working at the ice cream shop.

29 Jun 2011

The High Costs of Bargaining

My sermon from this morning, delivered at Chadbourn Baptist Church.

Scripture reading:

Psalm 46

Genesis 25:19-34

Everyone loves to get a deal. Whether it’s a sought after discount on a new car, a buy-one-get-one-free special on a new set of summer shoes, or just a free cup of coffee with a biscuit at Bojangle’s — getting a deal on the things we want makes us feel good. But what is a good deal? Sometimes, we find out only too late that that new car shine blinded us to the real costs of ownership — expensive maintenance, high insurance and low gas mileage. Sometimes those shoes that felt so soft and comfortable in the store end up falling apart the first time you wear them out on the town. Sometimes even Bojangle’s messes things up, and that free coffee I was so excited about ends up burning my mouth on the way down, leaving me with nothing but a bitter aftertaste.

Everyone likes a deal, but not all deals are as sweet as they seem.

My grandmother loves to shop at Belk. Her closet is full of clothes that have only been worn once or twice; quite a few things hanging in the back still have the tags on them, waiting for the right occasion to take them out and show them off. She checks the sale papers every week, whether she needs anything or not. The employees at Belk know her by name, and know what types of things to point out to her when they need to earn a commission. But that’s not why she makes a trip out to Belk every Wednesday afternoon, coupons in hand. It’s not the quality products Belk has, or the friendly staff or the catchy slogans. It’s the hope of getting a good deal. My grandmother will buy baby girl clothes if they are marked down low enough — and there haven’t been any baby girls in our family for years! She just loves to think she’s getting a good deal. One weekend shortly after Kristen and I got married, we were visiting grandma and somehow, we found ourselves in Belk. Grandma knew we needed some new pillows — we were slowly getting the household items all new couples work for when they set out on their own, and new pillows weren’t really at the top of the list, although we definitely could have benefited from some. Our mismatched, thin and torn pillows had made it through four years of college and six moves into new dorm rooms, and that takes a toll on things. Grandma saw that the pillows at Belk were marked down to 50% off, and, unable to let a good deal pass by, she insisted on buying a set for us. We turned her down, trying to make a point of providing for ourselves and living as independent adults. After a few minutes of going back and forth with each other, Grandma realized she wasn’t going to be getting the pillows for us that day, but she couldn’t let the deal slip by either. She motioned for the saleslady to come over, and when she did, Grandma asked her, “How long are these pillows going to be on sale? I think I’ll have to wait and buy them next week, when I’m shopping by myself.” The clerk stumbled over her words for a minute. She wasn’t going to lie, but she didn’t want to upset her best customer with the truth that many a Belk-shopper has already come to realize. Finally, she came out with it. “Actually mam, you can wait until next week. Those pillows aren’t really on sale. We always have them marked half off.”

Everyone wants a deal, but most bargains aren’t really as good as they seem.

Sometimes the things we bargain for are a little more serious than discounted pillows or cheap coffee. Just ask the elderly widow trying to get her insurance company to give her a fair deal, because she knows she can’t afford to buy her groceries and her medicine next month, but she needs to find a way to get both if she wants to keep living on her own. Then there’s the husband and father who knows he’s let his family down one too many times, but he feels in his heart that if he can just get his wife to give him one more chance, things will be different; things will get better. A job interview at the corner convenience store may seem like no big deal to me and you, but for the teenage mother, abandoned by her family and cast out from the church she grew up in, it’s the most serious thing in the world. She fights for that opportunity with all she has, because in that moment of bargaining, it’s the only hope she can see, for herself, and her baby boy.

Everyone likes a deal, but we often find ourselves blinded when it comes to knowing what things are really worth bargaining for.
Read more…

12 Jun 2011

Where the Rubber Meets the Road

These past few weeks, my commute back and forth to Campbell has become a lot more pleasant. In fact, several days I’ve found myself looking for excuses to take a detour or two and just enjoy an afternoon drive to nowhere. The pleasant autumn weather — marked around here by snow-white fields blanketed with cotton blossoms and tall oak trees that drip a never-ending stream of orange and brown leaves — certainly has something to do with it, but that’s not the only reason for my surge of motoring delight. The main motivator behind my pavement pounding has been the excitement that comes along with driving a new car. Sort of. Actually, our car is over three years old and quickly approaching 80,000 miles. But it drives like new — because it just got a new set of tires.

Tires are the single most important piece of equipment on any car. It’s true that a fresh set of rubber can’t do much of anything without the help of an engine, some spark plugs, an axle and a driveshaft or two. I’m all for finding balance in things, but I believe tires are often the most under appreciated component on cars. There may not be many people out there who get excited about buying a new set of tires like I do. It is true that in my high school and early college years, I may have even had an unhealthy obsession with tire technology. Whenever a new rubber compound was introduced that claimed to hold the perfect balance of soft, sticky, pliable tread that hugged the road like a long lost love, but still remained hard enough to endure abuse from rocks, trees, nails and all sorts of other debris that comes at it, I was hooked. Whenever I came across a new off-road tread design that promised to paddle through mud and climb up rocks better than anything else out there, I wanted to see it. My wife (although she wasn’t my wife at the time; resolving this issue was a prerequisite for marriage) told me, on more than once occasion, that she was jealous of the way I eyeballed another guy’s set of Mickey Thompson Baja Claws (a very fine directional radial that happens to be way out of my league) in the parking lot at Outback, when I was supposed to be on a date with her. Even if you don’t share my appreciation of designer rubber, I hope you can understand why I think tires are, without a doubt, the key part of any automobile.

You see, everything a car does depends on the tires’ ability to grip the road. Any cool track tricks a driver tries to pull off — every message sent through the car — must be processed through and executed by the tires. High-tech engine systems, custom gear ratios, locking differentials, finely-tuned turbo chargers and other high dollar accessories designed to squeeze a few more horses out of a car are all absolutely useless if they aren’t matched with a good set of tires that can faithfully transfer that energy to the road.

See my point yet?

Similarly, I’m afraid a lot of us spend way too much time spinning our wheels in life instead of actually accomplishing things that matter; I know I do. It’s important to prepare ourselves for the future, and every now and then it’s nice to take a turn around the block just for fun, but how much of our energy in life and ministry is lost to things that end up being just for show — things that never make the transition to pavement?

I love the feeling of riding on a new set of tires, but if my wheels stay free of blemishes and wear for more than a few days, I know I’m doing something wrong.

8 Nov 2010

los vivos y los muertos

And what more should I say? For time would fail me to tell of Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, of David and Samuel and the prophets — who through faith conquered kingdoms, administered justice, obtained promises, shut the mouths of lions, quenched raging fire, escaped the edge of the sword, and won strength out of weakness … Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus — the pioneer and perfecter of our faith — who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God.

Hebrews 11:32-34, 12:1-2 (NRSV)

Tuesday was a busy day. For anyone following the classic Christian calendar, November 2 was celebrated as All Souls Day — a day of remembrance and prayer for all of the saints who have gone before us. For those of Mexican ancestry, Tuesday was the final day of celebration for Día de los Muertos. Contemporary symbolism associated with the Day of the Dead draws on mixed traditions, but the key focus is to celebrate the lives of family and friends who have finished their mortal journey, offering prayers of thanksgiving and blessings on their behalf. And of course, for those of us in the United States, six-times-out-of-seven, the first Tuesday in November means Election Day.

Kristen and I have always been intrigued by the colorful decorations and beautiful art that comes along with Día de los Muertos, but beyond that, I’ve never really given much thought to either religious celebration. Voting, on the other hand, is something I’ve taken very seriously ever since 2004 — the first election I was eligible to vote in. This year, however, being aware of all three events, I was struck by the serious juxtaposition of these very different activities.

Honoring deceased loved ones, celebrating life with friends and family and praising God for the gift of grace that leads to eternal life is a very corporate experience. Whether it’s done in Spanish or English, with dancing skeletons and paper flowers or with fragrant incense and solemn liturgy, prayer and worship are acts that compel us to join together, offering the best of our community up to God.

Voting is done in private. It is uncouth to talk about who or what you voted for. Whenever political ideas are shared with a gathered group of people, division, frustration and contentious arguments are not far behind. Voting is also a symbol of personal power — and rightly so! Each person has the right to cast a vote for the candidate or issue that she believes is best. Each person’s vote is weighted equally: the voting booth knows no economic class and has no bias towards race, gender or intellectual ability. Voting reminds us that each individual has the power to enact real change in the world. Of course, for our votes to hold on to that power, they must be joined with the votes of thousands of other individuals — but standing alone in a voting booth, its easy to feel like my vote is the one that really matters. It’s easy to be consumed by the lure of individual power.

I’m afraid that this fever of individualism isn’t confined to the voting booth. It permeates every aspect of our culture — even our religion. We use words like “personal Lord and Savior” to remind others, and maybe ourselves, that we have been chosen to be among God’s elect. It is a wonderful truth, revealed in the first two chapters of Genesis and affirmed throughout scripture, that the almighty Creator of the universe is also a deeply personal God that calls each of us by name. But we must never forget that it is God who first called us, and not the other way around. When we move into relationship with him, we are doing it on his terms, not so that we can have him at our disposal like a personal assistant, but so that we can fit into the specific place made for us in his creation. I’m afraid that sometimes we may shout out “I am a child of the King!” so boldly, we forget that every man, and every woman, and every child has been crafted in the very image of God.

Individualism has no place in Christian community. We may have unique gifts that enable us to work towards the specific tasks God has set before us, but we are really not living for God if we’re living in isolation from his people. We may do great things tomorrow, but let’s not kid ourselves; we are, indeed, surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, and we wouldn’t be able to do much of anything without their support.

As you seek to serve God today, take the time to remember those who have gone before, and be sure to spend every opportunity you get celebrating life with those who walk beside you.

3 Nov 2010

Healers and Hoarders

I don’t make a habit of starting up, or even joining in on, political discussions nowadays, but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe good discussions aren’t important. They are. It just seems harder and harder to have a good, honest, respectful talk on controversial issues with any depth. It seems like so many people are quick to make up their minds on the best course of action, either to one extreme or the other, and thus, debate and discussion becomes futile at best — and aggressive shouting matches at worst.

I hate the fact that the word “politics” in our culture has come to mean something along the lines of professional networking, image-crafting, backstabbing, people pleasing and basically anything else that will advance a politician’s idea of personal success. Politics, at its core, is about making policy. Families make policies — whether they know it or not — for how the household will be run. Businesses make policies for how they will operate. Societies make policies for how citizens and aliens should be treated, how justice will be administered, what services should be provided for the community and what should be the responsibility of the individual. Crafting these policies is a never-ending process; it is a process that each person should take seriously, contributing in whatever way he or she can.

Politics are important, but still, I tend to be silent. I have found that the more I learn, the less I know, and the less prepared I feel I am to make a black-and-white decision on a technicolor issue. So I listen, I learn, and I think. I think about when it will be appropriate for me to lend my voice to the discussions. Should I speak up for what I believe is right if I find myself working as a pastor in church one day? As one charged with mentoring and shepherding the flock, should I weigh in on the real issues of the day? Should I write letters to the editor of the local newspaper, speak at community meetings, and explain my views to my parishioners? Or should I be silent? If I find myself working as a reporter again, should I write editorial columns aimed at persuading my readers to join me in advocating the policies I see as most beneficial to society? It would mean harsh letters back; it would mean every news article I write from that point forward would be taken with a grain of salt, or simply disregarded, regardless of how hard I work to present a fair and balanced perspective. If Kristen and I are blessed with the opportunity to serve as international missionaries, should we limit our work to preaching the gospel and sharing with those in our small circle of friends, or should we become vocal advocates for the real needs of the people we are serving? Would we even have a right to an opinion on national policies in a country we live in, if we are not citizens? Would we have a right to share our opinions on policy in the United States if we no longer spend our lives here, no matter how passionately we might care for the land and people of our native country?

I think about these things, but right now, I mostly stay silent. That doesn’t mean I don’t wrestle long and hard with the issues of the day though. One of the things I find myself swinging back and forth on all the time is the increasing role government plays in health care. There are hard feelings on both sides of this debate. I believe that although the health care reform bill passed in Congress during this last session, and it is already in the process of being phased into effect, the policy making on this issue is far from over. It will continue to be controversial, and will continue to be a topic of debate, as it should be, probably for as long as our society exists. Regardless of which side of the debate you find yourself on, I have found nearly everyone — whether they admit it in as many words or not — agrees that changes need to be made in the health care policy of our government. Either insurance companies have too much free range and it is too difficult to get the basic health care a person needs in our country, or else government is already shelling out way to many tax dollars to people who only abuse the Medicaid and Medicare systems, encouraging personal irresponsibility and destroying the hard work of the very people who drive progress in our world.

One way or another, something has to change.

When I hear stories of how, just in North Carolina in the past few years, billions of dollars of government money have been siphoned off by phony mental health providers who claim to be serving the poor, but are actually only lining their own pockets, using fraudulent Social Security Numbers and stolen credentials to bill the government for services to people that don’t even exist, I nearly cry when I think of the percentage of my family’s income — not even a drop in the government bucket though — that we pay in taxes each year. When I walk down the street in Raleigh and I meet a woman who has fallen through the cracks in the system, who lives on the streets, who has been overlooked all of her life and doesn’t even have the interpersonal skills necessary to apply for help, if help was available, then I wonder how we let that happen.

I hear doctors tell stories about patients that play the game and milk the system for everything they can get. A woman comes to the hospital emergency room, without fail, each month, bringing in one of her children with a cold or coming alone when she has a sore throat. She parks her new Mercedes at the curb. Walks up to the receptionist with an air of entitlement, flashes her gold bracelet and diamond ring in the poor nurse’s face when she doesn’t get service fast enough, pulls out her iPhone to call her friend and complain about the poor state of things in the emergency room, and then walks out the door with a bag of free medicine, having stuck the taxpayers with the entire bill. Stories like this are endless.

Then there’s the poor single mother of three. She dropped out of college to raise her kids. She works three jobs. Her young children ride the bus back and forth to school, come home, fix their own dinner, don’t get any help with their homework, go to bed, wake up and start all over again, all without seeing their mother because she’s working around the clock just to get enough money to pay the rent and keep the water turned on. She doesn’t have a dime left to spend on health insurance, and she certainly can’t pay a hospital bill. But then her 7-year-old boy gets sick. He needs a blood transfusion and a heart transplant. Does he have any less right to it than the child of a stay-at-home mom who spends her days trying out new recipes and swapping parenting tips with her friends while her lawyer husband — who, by the way, worked hard and made it through law school on a scholarship because his parents were able to tutor him three nights a week from the time he was four-years-old until he graduated from high school, number one in his class, thank you very much — pays the bills?

Or how about the young college grad. She comes from a pretty well-off family, not rich, of course, but they’ve worked hard and never gone without much. Growing up, she was the model student and model daughter. She worked hard in high school and got into a good college. Then she got sick. As it turns out, she has a rare disease that makes it excruciatingly painful, if not impossible, to move through the activities of a normal day. She get’s the latest medicines and has to have frequent surgeries, but she always maintains a good spirit and pushes through. She draws strength from her illness and wants to learn more about what has happened to her. She goes to medical school. She misses class all of the time because of her disease as her minor surgeries become more and more frequent. To make up for it, she works three times as hard as the other would-be doctors, and graduates at the head of her class. Then she finds out, while all of her medical expenses and surgeries were covered under her parents’ insurance plan before, now that she is out of school, she is no longer covered. No health insurance provider in his right mind would offer her a policy. She can’t get insurance — she has a pre-existing condition. She can’t get treatment — paying the bill is simply impossible. She made all of the right choices and gave it all she had, but now, she is out of luck.

The anecdotes are endless.

One way or another, change needs to happen. What kind of change, though, depends entirely on your perspective.

Politics are never black and white. Do we extend generous resources and care to help those who need it, even when we know people are abusing the system and stealing from the community chest to fund their own personal frivolities? Do we stop offering handouts and encourage people to take personal responsibility, to prove their worth first, to work hard and give back to society before expecting to get something for nothing?

What is the Christian response to this? For people of faith, making the right decision doesn’t often seem easy either. Jesus told his disciples to “Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you,” and “love your enemies, and do good, and lend, expecting nothing back.” The same Jesus warned his followers not to “give what is holy to dogs or throw your pearls before pigs; otherwise they will trample them under their feet and turn around and tear you to pieces.” So what is a Christian supposed to think about health care reform? The great thing about looking at Jesus’ as our example is that he didn’t just tell us how to live, or tell us how we should treat people. He showed us. He wanted to make the right course of action perfectly clear, even in the hardest of times, so he lived life as God intended each of us to live — and, as it turns out, he also took health care pretty seriously.

Now on the way to Jerusalem, Jesus was passing along between Samaria and Galilee. As he was entering a village, ten men with leprosy met him. They stood at a distance, raised their voices and said, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us.”

When he saw them he said, “Go and show yourselves to the priests.” And as they went along, they were cleansed. Then one of them, when he saw he was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice. He fell with his face to the ground at Jesus’ feet and thanked him. (Now he was a Samaritan.*)

Then Jesus said, “Were not ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? Was no one found to turn back and give praise to God except this foreigner?” Then he said to the man, “Get up and go your way. Your faith has made you well.”

Luke 17:11-19 (NET)

Abundant thanks didn’t come back to Jesus for his healing work. The vast majority of those he served were too focused inward to even acknowledge the gift they had received; none of them really seemed concerned about paying back the favor. Yet Jesus keeps on doing this kind of thing again, and again, and again.

Politics are never black and white. Understanding what Jesus would do, however, is often crystal clear. That doesn’t make following him any easier though.

* That is, he was an alien in Judah; An outcast, no doubt hanging around town looking to steal work from the poor Jews who have lived there for generations. He even tricked Jesus into healing him just like he was one of the native, legal Judaeans. It’s a good thing he came back to thank Jesus, huh? Who knows what Jesus would have done if he would have known the truth about this guy.

20 Sep 2010

Faith Enough to Forgive

Jesus said to his disciples, “Stumbling blocks are sure to come, but woe to the one through whom they come! It would be better for him to have a millstone tied around his neck and be thrown into the sea than for him to cause one of these little ones to sin.”

“Watch yourselves! If your brother sins, rebuke him. If he repents, forgive him. Even if he sins against you seven times in a day, and seven times returns to you saying, ‘I repent,’ you must forgive him.”

The apostles said to the Lord, “Increase our faith!”

So the Lord replied, “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this black mulberry tree, ‘Be pulled out by the roots and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.”

Luke 17:1-6 (NET)

I came across this passage from Luke during my devotional time this weekend. I’ve read it and heard it so many times before, the temptation is to let my eyes glaze over it without really listening. But I did listen, and I heard something I have missed all those times before in my haste to move through the book and get on to something fresh.

Normally, my mind is drawn to the serious warning Jesus gives to anyone who might lead another into sin. This business about the millstone around the neck is tough stuff; it’s hard to get past that.

“Could Jesus be talking to me about this?” I’ll think to myself. “What if I don’t mean to lead anyone else to sin, but it happens anyways? Am I still responsible? This is kind of a scary lesson. Maybe following Jesus isn’t really for me after all; it sounds pretty risky.”

This is where my mind usually stops, but for the Christ, this is only the beginning. As if this grim admonition wasn’t enough for one day of contemplation, the lesson moves on to another tough subject — forgiveness.

Offering true forgiveness is rarely an easy thing to do, but here Jesus is making it the explicit responsibility of his disciples to hold one another accountable, and, when the time is right, to eagerly offer a warm embrace and a full measure of forgiveness. It’s as if failing in these two charges could push us down the dangerous path the Teacher first alluded to. Repentance, and then forgiveness, are the markers believers must use not only in their own quests after God, but also in any efforts to lead others to Christ as well.

Then, before anybody (I’m looking at you, Peter) can second guess what Jesus means by forgiveness, the Master tells his disciples: “Even if a man wrongs you seven times — that’s seven times in a single day — you must be ready to offer him forgiveness as soon as he comes to you. Don’t put it off! Forgive him, just as your Father has forgiven you.”

Forgiving an abstract sin in the name of Christ to help your brother or sister move forward in faith can be a great joy, but forgiving another person who has seriously wronged you personally is much harder to do. Forgiving someone time and time again, over the course of a lifelong relationship that just never seems to fall into sync is one of the most difficult tasks we can deal with — one that never gets any easier as we get more and more opportunities to practice it — but still, it can be done. But forgiving someone for a serious wrong, and then to be injured again by the same person a moment later, only to forgive him again, and then to have the cycle repeat itself seven times in one day? How can I possibly do that? The best effort I think I could muster would be to just stay away from the offending party so that I don’t lose it altogether and go off the deep end.

But that’s not the action Jesus has called us to. We can’t just sit idly by while another person flounders in a sea of ever increasing sin. We have a responsibility to reach out a steady hand and offer quick forgiveness.

I’m sure my feeble response would echo that of the other disciples: “Lord, increase my faith! I know I can’t do this without you.”

Increase my faith!

That is a prayer I have voiced many times before, though not usually in this context. Typically it is connected with another clause, such as “Increase my faith so that I can be patient and trust you, God, to show me the job opportunity you have for me.” Or “Increase my faith so that I can stop stressing over my financial situation and believe in your promise to meet my needs.” Or even “Jesus, please increase my faith so that I can step into this ministry opportunity you’ve set before me; give me the words to say, and the courage to say them, so that you may be glorified. Increase my faith!”

I’m not sure that my prayers have ever been in line with this teaching. I don’t think I’ve ever said, “God, increase my faith so that I can learn to forgive as you do. Increase my faith so that I might know, as you do, that my brother isn’t going to be a slave to this cycle of sin forever. Increase my faith so that I can understand how each small act of love chisels away a piece of the chain that’s keeping him, and me, from living in the fullness of your kingdom. Please, Lord, increase my faith.”

I have often prayed for a stronger faith to help me climb the mountains I have set my sights on. Perhaps a better place to start, if I’m really serious about growing in my faith, is here, at the place where Jesus has pointed me to. Maybe it’s best to start here, with the faith necessary to forgive; or maybe, as far as faith goes, forgiveness takes everything we have.

6 Sep 2010