Makes you think...

I'm still not ready to post yet but here is some stuff that is better than mine. It was written by Marlin Vis, a missionary in Jerusalem. He tells of an experience last year after he was in a Refugee Camp, located in Bethlehem. The next day as he was preaching in chuch, he lost his faith. Here’s how it happened, and why as well.

I preached Sunday, but my heart wasn’t in it. In fact, smack-dab in the
middle of the message, I lost my faith. It happened without warning.
One minute I am bringing the Word, and the next, I had nothing to say – from the
Word to no word. I went from looking out over the congregation seeking eye
contact, to staring down at my notes, fighting the urge to step down from the
pulpit and walk out of the building. Actually, run out was more what I felt like
doing. A picture flashed on to some part of my brain – left or right I couldn’t
say. But there it was, a snapshot that my mind’s eye had taken the day
before. I didn’t see it coming, but I should have I guess. After all she kept me awake a good part of the night. She was on my mind when I woke, and I was thinking of her as I sat on the terrace going over the sermon for the last time. Seeing me sitting there, staring into nothing, Sally asked, “What are you thinking about?” “Nothing,” I said. I lied. I was thinking about a different her than her, and didn’t want to
talk about how this other she made me feel.Then she just showed up in the middle
of my preaching and drove away my faith. She is four or five-years-old; I’m
guessing four. She is wearing a black dress; I’m guessing she wears it
everyday. She is barefoot; I’m guessing that she has shoes, but that they
don’t fit. She has a runny nose, the green kind of runny nose; I’m
guessing she has the green kind of runny nose most every day. She has
empty eyes; I’m guessing she didn’t always have empty eyes. I’m guessing
the light went out of her eyes the day she found out that not all children live
in a place with no place to run and play.
She is a Palestinian refugee, living in a refugee camp on the edge of Bethlehem,
the place where Joseph and Mary came to be counted. She doesn’t
count. She is only a number – 7,000 children in this camp of 12,000
people. She doesn’t count; I’m guessing she knows it.Her eyes are empty, but
mine are not. Mine are filled with tears. Someone coughs and I
remember where I am, who I am – preacher. I look up and see Sally with
this panicked look on her face. I’ve been preaching with her in the
audience for almost 30 years now, and I’ve never seen her with that look on her
face. Well, actually that’s not true. I saw it one other time – the
Sunday I lost my faith in the church. How is it that God allows this to go
on? How can God watch the light drain from the eyes of little girls in
black dresses and not come rushing to the rescue? Is God too damn busy to
help this little girl in the black dress and empty eyes? Does God count
this little girl as one of his sheep? Does God know this tiny sheep is
lost? Is God looking for her? Does God know she is looking for him? I
don’t want God to take anything away from any other child in order that this
little girl has a place to run and play. Why does it have to be
either/or? Is God only able to love the one child – only Sarah, not
Hagar? Is God’s heart so small that there is no room in it for little
Hagar? I’ve lost my faith. It’s a scandal, isn’t it? I’ve seen too
many children with empty eyes to believe that there is a God who cares, a God
who has the power to do anything. Oh, don’t get me wrong; I know that my
missing faith is simply that – missing, not gone. I’ll soon find it. I
know that there is a God who cares. I know there is a God who has the
power to do something about all this. I know that God is angry. I
know that God loves this little girl in the black dress and the empty
eyes. I know all this because I know Jesus and I know that Jesus
cares. I know that Jesus has the power to transform the world – redeem
it. I even know that the Spirit of Jesus will do just that. I know
all of this, and even more than this. I just don’t believe it – not today
anyway.

You get angry here. You do. You watch one people prosper as
another people decline, and you get angry. On one side of the divide you
see parks and playgrounds and nice schools and fountains and swimming pools, and
on the other you see none of these. And you know that there is enough land for
all the children to have a playground. You know that the little girl in the
black dress with the empty eyes could have the same opportunities to run and
play and learn as the little girls on the other side of the divide. You
know this is true, and you also know that there is no heart to make it so, and
no will to work for it. You get angry. You try not to, but you
do. You listen to politicians declare that the number one priority of the
United States of America is to defend herself against Islamic extremists.
And you just want to weep. You’ve see Islamic extremists, and Jewish and
Christian extremists too, and you know that none of these is big enough or bad
enough or important enough to be our number one priority. You’ve seen the little
girl in the black dress and empty eyes, and you know that there are millions
like her around the world, and you know in your heart that she is little enough
and good enough to deserve to be every nation’s number one priority. She’s
not, and she knows she’s not, and you know she’s not too. And here’s the
kicker – God knows she is not number one with us as well. I wonder how
many times a day God loses his faith in us. I smiled at Sally, shook my head,
muttered something about “preaching to the choir,” and went on. I
preached. I prayed. I presided over the Lord’s Supper. I shook
hands and thanked people for coming. I went home, took a nap, and moved
through the rest of the day and night. I got up Monday morning, put my
feet on the ground and went to work. My faith? Don’t worry; my faith is
just lost, not gone. I’ll find it, because I can’t bear to be without
it. The good news for me is that God doesn’t panic when I lose my
faith. God understands, I think. God knows that I’ll live like I
have faith whether I have faith or not. That’s why God likes me, I think –
sees a little of himself in me, and in you too, I’d guess. Thank God for
that, huh? God help us.