There’s been some tension in our home for a couple of weeks. Sharp spears of judgment have delivered nearly fatal blows. I witnessed the moment of impact a couple of times, and saw the ripping and tearing of what appeared to be some pretty thick skin. I saw the jagged wound -- Deep. My mind rushes to sort through the spoils. I’m throwing on my super-hero “I can fix
this!” cape. But the truth is, I think I might be about to hyperventilate. Inside, my spirit is screaming at God, “I can’t handle this!” “What if?” “I’m trying but I can’t make myself TRUST you!”
Then, from deep in my soul, I hear His spirit say, “Love them.” “I am!” my heart argues. “Love THEM!” I argue again. Then I fall silent. Listening… Breathing… Not breathing… Listening hard… “You can’t love them when you’re filled with fear. It won’t work. It’s not love.” I try again. He doesn’t understand. “No. More. Chaos!” I whisper. “Peace. I just want some peace.” I’m silent again. Waiting. “My peace is available to you, always. Just like I promised. When you said peace did you mean comfort? Did you mean that you just want to be comfortable?” In a voice swollen with attitude I mutter, “Is that really too much to ask?” His voice is clear and big, filled with the
power of real love… Perfect love… Fearless love. “No, Beloved, it’s not too much. It’s far too little.”
Last week, a random thought prompted me to refresh my memory of the events surrounding the murder of five missionaries in 1956. Ironically, only moments before these missionaries were murdered, they had been celebrating what they believed was a newly formed
friendship
with
the
Woudani
Indians of Ecuador. The attack was brutal and
devastating
and
attracted
media
attention across the globe. In spite of the fact that the five widows these men left behind had every justification to abandon their missionary lives, and flee from
the deadly jungle where their husbands and their dreams lay dead; they chose, from an irrational commitment to the mission, to stay. And some time later, when the women of the Woudani arrived on the missionaries’ doorsteps,
the
women
made
another
irrational decision. The existence of the tribe was under enormous threat caused in part by hunger and illness but mostly by the fatal blow of a spear, their spears, their stubborn, selfserving, murderous hearts.
Their people
were on the brink of extinction. The missionary women responded with food, medical supplies, and love. They left their homes and their right to avenge the murders of their husbands, took their children deep into Woudani territory, lived among the Indians, and helped them heal.
It all came together while I was watching the interview with Steve Saint who was nine years old when the Woudani tribe murdered his father. Steve said, “All I could think of was that I had more in common with these people than I had with anyone else I knew. Every single one of the members of this tribe had lost someone they loved at the end of one of these terrible spears.” For weeks I’ve been searching for an example of whom God refers to in 2 Corinthians 7:14 when He says, “If my people, who are called by my name…” The search is over. I found the real life example. This is what it means to be called by His name.
This is what it means to
understand the difference between peace and comfort. Can I even love the people I love that
well? I want to learn to love better, but I don’t want to learn in the painful classroom where Steve Saint learned how to love! I’ll learn from someone else’s experience! For once in my life, I will! But how uncomfortable will it be? Maybe I’ll start with you. It means that when you’ve offended me, and we both know you are wrong, I’ll search my own soul, take inventory of my own murderous thoughts, and I’ll see how very much we have in common. And even if you’ve hurled terrible spears of judgment at me, and you’ve accused me of being every horrible thing I’m afraid I’ll become, I will prepare for a day when you are hungry and your tribe is weak. I’ll be waiting, and I’ll be ready to bring the food and the cure. I’ll live with you, and care for you while you heal.
It means that even when it is irrational, illogical and dangerous, I will love without fear. Any other way, and it’s not love. Any other way is far too little.