broken people...
This past weekend we had several baptisms in our church. We have three services each weekend, one on Saturday night and two on Sunday morning. Each service had at least one person being baptized.
I got to baptize the couple on Saturday night. It was a husband and wife combo. This was his second marriage and her first. He had spent over half of his life bound to the bottle holding onto it for dear life. Alchoholism was a way of coping with the disappointments along the way and had become his dearest friend in times of crisis. He had tried AA over 5 different times and each time gave back into the irresistible draw to drown his problems with a twelve pack. But 6 months ago, he picked himself up and tried again and this time, things were different. He came to a point in the middle of this program where he collapsed and gave into the persistant love of God that had been hunting him down for years and years. Upon his return home that night, his wife saw, as she put it, his Jesus eyes when he walked through the door. He has been sober for 5 months and this past weekend, I was privileged enough to get to baptize him. While he stood in the water prior to baptizm, he shared of how he's still fighting demons every night in his sleep. His wife told the congregation that almost every night he screams out in his sleep, "God, help me! I need you to fight the demons for me! God come and help me!" She wakes him up and he's dripping in a cold sweat. He then turns on the bath water and takes a warm bath to cleanse himself before getting back in bed and giving sleep another shot. The night before his baptism this happend two times. Two dreams, two baths. But he said, "I count it a privilege to suffer for Christ." His wife got baptized, too. She was a shy, bashful person before, but somehow when she was in front of everyone, she was bold and fearless. Her smile illuminated the room. And as they both emerged from the waters of baptism, they hugged and the whole community blessed them with a standing ovation that lasted for what seemed like an eternity.
On Sunday morning, we had another baptism. This was a women who had been attending our church for almost a year. A frail women with long black hair with gray roots and yellow teeth from the nicotene stains, dark eyes and leathery hands. Her name is Mary and she is a scitzophrenic. She was pacing back and forth prior to the service and I went up and hugged her. I asked how she was doing and she responded like she always does when you ask her how she's doing, "I'm getting fat." She is obsessed with her weight though she can't weight more than 110 pounds dripping wet. I told her that I was excited about her baptism and she said that she was nervous. I assured her everything would be ok. When it came time for her to be baptized, her husband Dave, whom I baptized this past year stood by her side as he's been doing for almost 15 years know. He shared a little of Mary's story since she was too bashful to do it. When he shared his love for her he leaned forward and kissed her in front of everyone. They clapped. I cried. Then Phil, the other paster, told a story of how Mary came into the office to asked if she could be baptized and eventually posed the question, "What I really want to know is, 'Does Jesus really love the mentally ill?'" It was at that point, looking at her standing thigh deep in water that my eyes teared up and my throat tightened with delight. I swallowed back some of the emotion and through fuzzy focus kept my gaze upon Mary and her thin frame. She sat in the tank and Phil asked her husband to come around to help him baptize her. She blurted out in her raspy voice, "He probably wants to drown me!" Everyone laughed. Problem is, she probably somewhat believes that. She came into the office yesterday and I told her how moved everyone was by her baptism. I told her that people were crying everywhere. She walked out of my office awkwardly. I thought I offended her. She then walked back in and asked, "How many people were crying?" I said to her, "Alot, Mary, an aweful lot." She smiled and walked back out. It was the first schizophrenic I'd ever seen baptized. I hope it's not the last.
On Sunday morning second service, another women was baptized. She stood and proclaimed that she had been sexually abused when she was younger and developed a resentment toward God but that he had continued to pursue her and draw her back. She was baptized and moments later, her husband, who wasn't planning on being baptized, decided on the spot that he wanted to as well. She just wept as he stood and shared his story. He grew up in a family with a schizophrenic mother. His dad tried to protect him from it, but could only spare him so much agony. Both of his brothers died, one of which died recently in a car accident. His background is so messy he couldn't even come close to sharing the tip of the iceburg. But his wife just stood beside the hot tub and wept at the powerful hand of God that moved him to baptism that day. Everyone just cheered when he came out of the water and he put his hands in the air like he just won a gold at the Olympics.
I just met with a guy for lunch that got saved on Sunday while watching this baptism. He didn't grow up in church and had only been coming for about two months. He just told me that he has never felt so moved in all his life. I asked him what about the service moved him and he said, "I don't know, I just was crying and thinking about how relevent everything that was being shared really was in my life." Interestingly enough, he brought his friend with him that day and was welling with tears right next to a person that was there for the first time. It was the first time he had ever taken communion, too. He said that he had never understood as clearly as he did that day what all of this meant. He didn't know how to phrase what he had experienced to me, and it was refreshing. He didn't use any of the words or phrases or verses that you're used to hearing when you think about conversion. He simply used words like, relevent, moved, crying, understood, spiritual connection, opened eyes, desire, etc. This movement that I'm a part of here is really getting to me. It's making me realize how far I've been from broken people and how insensitive I've been for so many years to where they're living and where they're coming from.
There is nothing more exciting to me now that being with the broken. We're all mentally ill. We're all addicts. We're all empty. We're all abused. We're all hurt. We're all searching. We're all human. And the more I orbit around those realities, the more I find myself thankful for a Savior. A Savior that meets me where I'm at, picks me up, and draws me into where he is. As I'm squeezed into his chest, his heartbeat is soothing me today.
I got to baptize the couple on Saturday night. It was a husband and wife combo. This was his second marriage and her first. He had spent over half of his life bound to the bottle holding onto it for dear life. Alchoholism was a way of coping with the disappointments along the way and had become his dearest friend in times of crisis. He had tried AA over 5 different times and each time gave back into the irresistible draw to drown his problems with a twelve pack. But 6 months ago, he picked himself up and tried again and this time, things were different. He came to a point in the middle of this program where he collapsed and gave into the persistant love of God that had been hunting him down for years and years. Upon his return home that night, his wife saw, as she put it, his Jesus eyes when he walked through the door. He has been sober for 5 months and this past weekend, I was privileged enough to get to baptize him. While he stood in the water prior to baptizm, he shared of how he's still fighting demons every night in his sleep. His wife told the congregation that almost every night he screams out in his sleep, "God, help me! I need you to fight the demons for me! God come and help me!" She wakes him up and he's dripping in a cold sweat. He then turns on the bath water and takes a warm bath to cleanse himself before getting back in bed and giving sleep another shot. The night before his baptism this happend two times. Two dreams, two baths. But he said, "I count it a privilege to suffer for Christ." His wife got baptized, too. She was a shy, bashful person before, but somehow when she was in front of everyone, she was bold and fearless. Her smile illuminated the room. And as they both emerged from the waters of baptism, they hugged and the whole community blessed them with a standing ovation that lasted for what seemed like an eternity.
On Sunday morning, we had another baptism. This was a women who had been attending our church for almost a year. A frail women with long black hair with gray roots and yellow teeth from the nicotene stains, dark eyes and leathery hands. Her name is Mary and she is a scitzophrenic. She was pacing back and forth prior to the service and I went up and hugged her. I asked how she was doing and she responded like she always does when you ask her how she's doing, "I'm getting fat." She is obsessed with her weight though she can't weight more than 110 pounds dripping wet. I told her that I was excited about her baptism and she said that she was nervous. I assured her everything would be ok. When it came time for her to be baptized, her husband Dave, whom I baptized this past year stood by her side as he's been doing for almost 15 years know. He shared a little of Mary's story since she was too bashful to do it. When he shared his love for her he leaned forward and kissed her in front of everyone. They clapped. I cried. Then Phil, the other paster, told a story of how Mary came into the office to asked if she could be baptized and eventually posed the question, "What I really want to know is, 'Does Jesus really love the mentally ill?'" It was at that point, looking at her standing thigh deep in water that my eyes teared up and my throat tightened with delight. I swallowed back some of the emotion and through fuzzy focus kept my gaze upon Mary and her thin frame. She sat in the tank and Phil asked her husband to come around to help him baptize her. She blurted out in her raspy voice, "He probably wants to drown me!" Everyone laughed. Problem is, she probably somewhat believes that. She came into the office yesterday and I told her how moved everyone was by her baptism. I told her that people were crying everywhere. She walked out of my office awkwardly. I thought I offended her. She then walked back in and asked, "How many people were crying?" I said to her, "Alot, Mary, an aweful lot." She smiled and walked back out. It was the first schizophrenic I'd ever seen baptized. I hope it's not the last.
On Sunday morning second service, another women was baptized. She stood and proclaimed that she had been sexually abused when she was younger and developed a resentment toward God but that he had continued to pursue her and draw her back. She was baptized and moments later, her husband, who wasn't planning on being baptized, decided on the spot that he wanted to as well. She just wept as he stood and shared his story. He grew up in a family with a schizophrenic mother. His dad tried to protect him from it, but could only spare him so much agony. Both of his brothers died, one of which died recently in a car accident. His background is so messy he couldn't even come close to sharing the tip of the iceburg. But his wife just stood beside the hot tub and wept at the powerful hand of God that moved him to baptism that day. Everyone just cheered when he came out of the water and he put his hands in the air like he just won a gold at the Olympics.
I just met with a guy for lunch that got saved on Sunday while watching this baptism. He didn't grow up in church and had only been coming for about two months. He just told me that he has never felt so moved in all his life. I asked him what about the service moved him and he said, "I don't know, I just was crying and thinking about how relevent everything that was being shared really was in my life." Interestingly enough, he brought his friend with him that day and was welling with tears right next to a person that was there for the first time. It was the first time he had ever taken communion, too. He said that he had never understood as clearly as he did that day what all of this meant. He didn't know how to phrase what he had experienced to me, and it was refreshing. He didn't use any of the words or phrases or verses that you're used to hearing when you think about conversion. He simply used words like, relevent, moved, crying, understood, spiritual connection, opened eyes, desire, etc. This movement that I'm a part of here is really getting to me. It's making me realize how far I've been from broken people and how insensitive I've been for so many years to where they're living and where they're coming from.
There is nothing more exciting to me now that being with the broken. We're all mentally ill. We're all addicts. We're all empty. We're all abused. We're all hurt. We're all searching. We're all human. And the more I orbit around those realities, the more I find myself thankful for a Savior. A Savior that meets me where I'm at, picks me up, and draws me into where he is. As I'm squeezed into his chest, his heartbeat is soothing me today.
Comments
I loved your post today. As you know, I've been reading a great deal about the sexually abused and what they go through. It has broken my heart and confirmed we are going in the right direction with our home. I long for a place of fellowship that experiences what you have described. However, it is in the hands of the Lord.
My heart rejoices!
There are few books that are 'MUST READS', but the newest book by Donald Miller, "To Own a Dragon" is one that speaks to the heart about the heart of the broken (and who isn't???)
Especially a must read for fathers and young men who will become fathers one day.
Thanks for the permission to use your Isaiah 61 expansion!