Tragic

By the way, the same thing happened in Indiana this past weekend, although it's not all over the national headlines. Probably because no "innocent" lives were taken.

A rural Indiana SWAT team was engaged in a 31-hour standoff with a man who had blockaded himself in his own home with his wife and child as hostages. The man was known to have PTSD and a history of battery charges, likely stemming from the demons that haunted him. After 31 hours, the police executed the man through a window of his house when he stood in sight for just long enough, and then, there was an outcry of what a tragedy the whole thing was.

Yes. But this situation was a tragedy before the police took that fatal shot. It was a tragedy before the SWAT team arrived on the scene. It was a tragedy before that man took his wife and child hostage. It was a tragedy before it was "tragic." 

Because, you see, sometime before we all became aware of this tragedy, this man's innocent life was already taken from him. It was stolen away by the PTSD that afflicted him so powerfully that he did not even feel safe in his own home, probably not even in his own skin. 

We celebrate the rescue of the woman and child. We do. And we should. We praise the police for protecting "innocent" lives, for doing what they had to do to make sure that these two persons were safe. We do. And we should. We think it's such a tragedy that it came to this at all. We do. And we should. 

But the real tragedy is that none of us recognized the tragedy that was already unfolding before these tragic events. The real tragedy is that we, as a society, as a community, as brothers and sisters, failed to save this innocent life before it "had" to be taken. 

That's the real tragedy.

Unfortunately, the truth is that before these men become "the faces of evil," plastered all over the headlines, scorned on social media, spit on by their communities, and willfully forgotten, they were faceless in our communities, and we simply missed them. We neglected them. We failed them. 

And then, we scream, How could you?

How could you....

All those innocent lives...

...this innocent life. This innocent life that we never even noticed. And why? Because it wasn't tragic enough. It wasn't a tragedy until it became tragic. 

By then, it was too late. 

The Unlovable

Once again, our headlines tell the story of the unthinkable - a man with a gun walked into a Sunday morning church service and opened fire, killing many. Once again, we find ourselves talking about the innocent - the men, women, and children who died by gunfire yesterday morning. Once again, our talk is off by one - 

the unlovable.

When these kinds of things happen, the rhetoric is very quick to follow. This morning, knowing the shooter's history, we're not talking about guns as much (we're still talking about guns; we can't seem to help ourselves); we're talking about mental illness. We're talking about how terrible it is that this man fell through the system, that we weren't able to get to him and give him the help that he needed. 

Just think of all the innocent lives we could have saved if our mental health care system were better.

And, of course, we're talking about the lives of the churchgoers. We're talking about the lives of the ones who "didn't have to die." We're talking about those whose blood was spilled in that place. But we're not talking about the one whose pain was poured out there.

We're not talking about the man who pulled the trigger and what we could have done for him. We're not talking about how we failed him, how we should have done more to save him. We're not talking about how our system failed his quality of life, his relationships, his loved ones, his pain. We're not talking about him as if he is a casualty of our failed system, even though he now lies both dead and defamed. 

Oh, no, we're not talking about him. He doesn't count. 

He doesn't count because he's the unlovable monster who perpetrated this atrocity. He doesn't count because he's the unlovable monster who thought that a small church full of quiet persons and jubilant children was the best place to pour out his pain. He doesn't count because he's the unlovable monster who never could get his own life under control so thought it permissible, for some reason, to take the lives of others. Oh, no, we can't talk about this unlovable monster. 

But think of all the innocent lives we could have saved.

Think about this man's innocent life. 

Think about the life that this man could have had if he hadn't fallen through the cracks of our system, the same system that we're saying should have saved those churchgoers. Yes, maybe, but that system should have saved this man. That system should have given him his life long before he even considered taking the lives of others. That system should have recognized his hopes, his dreams, his frailty and determined that this was a man worth fighting for, long before we ever had to consider how hard we fought for the lives of the "innocent." 

This man, too, was once innocent. In fact, right up until the moment that he pulled that trigger, he was innocent, a tragic victim of his own broken story. Why is there not more outrage that we did not fight for his life? 

It's heartbreaking how easily we cast others aside until and unless they become a problem for us. It's horrible how easily we neglect other human beings until they do something inhumane, and then we cast them aside forever, not worthy to be human any more. No longer mattering. No longer counting. 

We know because our body counts are always off by one - the unlovable. 

And, forgive me, but I always wonder in times like these what would have happened if we'd loved him. Not for the sake of those in that church yesterday morning (may God's love and peace wrap around them and comfort them), but for the sake of the one who came bursting in, for God so loved him, too. 

Heed the Call

This week, we've been looking at some of the ways that persons came to Jesus in the Gospels. It would be foolish here not to say a few words about those who came because they were called.

Of course, we're talking about the disciples when we talk about those who were called by Jesus. Simon and Andrew were out fishing when Jesus called them. They dropped their nets and followed Him. James and John were fishing, as well. They dropped their nets, left their father, and followed him. Matthew was sitting in his tax collecting booth, probably actively swindling some poor Jew out of more than he truly owed, when Jesus called him. He left mid-scam, dropped his profits, and followed the Prophet. 

These stories are very familiar to us. But in addition to the twelve disciples that Jesus called, He called at least two others in the Gospels, and their stories are important for our understanding, as well.

He called the rich young ruler after the man tried to boast about his own faithfulness. The young man, who had kept all of the commandments since he was little, needed just one more thing: to come where Jesus was calling him to come. And he couldn't do it. Well, he wouldn't do it. The cost, in his opinion, was too high, and it was not a price he was willing to pay.

Jesus calls another man in the heart of the Gospel of Luke, but this man says he cannot come. He's got other things he needs to do first. Jesus tells him that's not good enough, but it turns out that's not good enough for the man. He doesn't come. Interestingly, however, two others in this scene say that they'll come. They, too, have things they need to do first, and Jesus tells them, as well, that those things are not that important, so it's not clear whether or not these men actually came, but they were willing, even though it was the other guy who was actually called. 

It's kind of a mess, but these stories tell us some pretty clear things about what it means to be called by Jesus. First, Jesus calls sinners, even when they are actively in the middle of sinning. Second, Jesus calls those who are pretty sure they don't need Jesus to call them. Third, Jesus calls those who are just busy doing their thing, living quiet, normal lives of whatever it is that they do. These are important ideas because we so often look around at those who want to come to Jesus, and we try to figure out if they are worthy or not. We look at the sinner, the arrogant, the unremarkable, and it's easy for us to say that Jesus is not really for them. That they have no business coming to Him. 

But Jesus reminds us that they have every business coming to Him. They come because they have been called.

Another important point in these stories is that sometimes, those who have not been called come because someone else has been called. Jesus called one man in the story in Luke, and three responded. The man called did not come, but two others showed up and said they would go (even though we don't know whether they did or not). This means that when your pastor says that you need to invite someone to come to church with you, you should probably invite someone to come to church with you. Some are going to come to Jesus just because they know someone who has been called.

So we've seen a lot of different ways that persons came to Jesus in the Gospels this week, and there are more. But these are enough to get us started rethinking what it means to us when someone comes to Jesus. We have certain expectations, but really, we shouldn't. There are all kinds of things happening here.

Some walk right up and, humbling themselves, are accepted and healed. Some walk right up and, boasting of themselves, are rejected and dismissed. Some are brought to Jesus by caring friends and family who know what He can offer them, and they are rewarded for their loved ones' faith. Some are found by Jesus in the course of just living their regular lives and are transformed. And some are called, even by name, and either come or do not come. 

And not one, we might add, not one story in all the Gospels tells us of  a grievous sinner who comes crawling on his knees, clothes torn, tears streaming down his face, head bowed, crying out "unclean! unclean!" the way we so often want the horrible, evil, wicked sinners in our churches to come. Not. one.

In Plain Sight

So far, we have seen that in the Gospels, some of those who came to Jesus walked right up to Him. Others were brought by family or friends. Today, we will look at a third group of persons who came to Jesus - those who were found by Him.

There were a number of men and women who were just going about their business who Jesus takes it upon Himself to encounter. There is, of course, the man with the deformed hand who was in the Temple on the Sabbath. It would be completely reasonable to expect a faithful man to be in the Temple on the Sabbath; that's where he ought to be. It's where Jesus, as a good Jew, ought to be. So their paths cross, Jesus encounters the man, the man finds himself come to Jesus, and he is healed.

There's another similar story about a woman who is swollen and doubled over, we can assume in modern terms by arthritis of some sort. Again, she has come to the Temple on the Sabbath, assumedly the way that she always had. She didn't know this was going to be a different kind of day for her, but here she is, and Jesus encounters her. She finds herself come to Jesus, and she is healed.

Jesus shores His boat on the far side of the sea, near a spot where there happens to be a cemetery, which just so happens to be the dwelling of a demon-possessed man that the townspeople have long since given up on ever seeing whole. The man is shouting, screaming, foaming at the mouth (at least, the demons are) when Jesus encounters them, and they find themselves come to Jesus. The demons are cast out; the man is healed.

Jesus and His disciples are traveling through the region of Samaria when He stops by a well to rest while His disciples go on ahead to find something for dinner. There just happens to be a woman at the well who has come so late in the day to avoid meeting anyone there. But Jesus encounters here anyway, tells her her life story, and, finding herself come to Jesus, she is healed.

Or what about Zacchaeus? This tax collector, too short to see in the thick of the crowd, climbs a tree to get a better look at Jesus as He is passing by. He hasn't figured that Jesus would even notice him, but He does. Jesus encounters him in the tree, calls out to him, invites Himself to the tax collector's home and, finding himself come to Jesus, Zacchaeus is transformed. 

Coming to Jesus is not always about taking the initiative to step forward, to come down the aisle, to seek Him out. Sometimes, we're just going about the regular things that we do in our day, the faithful little things that make a day a day, when all of a sudden, there's Jesus. He's right here. We've not necessarily come to Him, but He has encountered us and we find ourselves come without ever even going. 

It's beautiful, really. It's beautiful because it reminds us what a loving, personal, intimate God we have. He doesn't expect us to always be the seekers. He doesn't expect us to do all the work. He doesn't lay the burden on us to take control of our own destinies and determine the course of our lives. No, He's right there with us. As much as He longs for us to encounter Him, He has come to encounter us. He's got as much in this as we do, and it's not all up to us individually. It's us and Him together, the way that it's always been. 

It's always striking to read God's Word and discover just how many men and women in His story have had their lives dramatically changed not because they came to Him, but because He came to them. And He's still coming. And every time He does, it proves once again that what He has said is true,

I am with you always. 

Referral to a Specialist

A second group of persons in the Gospels who are seen coming to Jesus are those who do not come at all, but rather, are brought.

What this means is that someone in their lives has seen the power of Jesus, believes in the name of Christ, and will do whatever it takes to get their hurting loved one to Him, on the chance that Jesus might have mercy and heal them. 

Here, for example, we see the demon-possessed son of the man who cries, "Help my unbelief!" He actually brought his son twice for healing, first to the disciples and then to Jesus Himself. The disciples were unable to cast the demon out of the boy; Jesus was able. The son is brought because the man understands that this is the only chance he has to get his son back. And when the power of God as distributed to the disciples fails, he keeps pushing toward God Himself in Jesus. He won't take no for an answer; not when it comes to his son.

We see also the paralytic whose friends carried him on a mat to the place where Jesus was teaching. These friends ran right into a throng of persons and could reasonably go no further. So they did the unreasonable, hoisted their friend onto the ceiling of a stranger's home with them, cut a hole in the roof of a stranger's house, and lowered their friend, mat and all, right in front of Jesus's feet. They would not take no for an answer, not when it came to their friend. 

The army officer from Capernaum could not bring his servant to Jesus, so he sent another servant on his behalf to plead for the healing of the sick man. There was nothing that the world could do for him, but he would not take no for an answer. Not when the God of "yes" was passing by. 

In this category, too, I think we can put those who were introduced to or commended to Jesus by their loved ones. This includes Simon's mother, who had a fever when Jesus first arrived at her house with her sons. The disciples (assumedly Simon, Andrew, James, and John, who would have been most familiar with her) told Jesus about her fever, and He went into her room and healed her. 

There was also Jairus, whom the people commended to Jesus as a man who used his own money to fund their synagogues. This is a good guy, the people told Jesus. If anyone deserves Your help, it's him. They wanted Jesus to know that a "no" here would not be reasonable; this man deserves a resounding "yes!" 

So some of the men and women who come to Jesus in the Gospels do not really come, but they are brought. They are taken by their friends, their families, their communities, taken right up to Jesus by those who will not take no for an answer. And they had to be - they could not have come on their own.

We could not have expected a demon-possessed young boy to take it upon himself to go for healing; he probably could not even understand what was happening to him. We certainly couldn't ask the paralytic to push through the crowds on his own. We could not think that the soldier would pull himself off his death bed for a miles-long trek, even if it might be his only hope. Simon's mother would not have taken her own fever into the crowd; she's a mother, for crying out loud. She would not have wanted to risk spreading her germs. And Jairus certainly would not have put his humility on the line to boast in what he had done. That's not how it works.

That's the key to understanding how this translates to our current context. The persons in the Gospels who were brought to Jesus were those that could not have gone on their own, not those who would not have gone on their own. In other words, it's not that they won't; they can't. And that's where we come in.

We still have those among us who can't come to Jesus. We have those among us who won't come to Jesus, but there's not a lot we can do there. But for those who can't come to Jesus, it's our job to step up and bring them to Him. It's our job to hold their hand, bring them along, carry their mats, drop them through ceilings, fall at the feet of Christ on their behalf, and refuse to take no for an answer. It's our job, but it's also our privilege. We ought not to take that lightly. 

Let us bring those who cannot bring themselves, that they might encounter Christ Himself and know the Healer.