calling

I wonder if it’s time to shut down my social network page.

You know the one I mean. New stories are added every few moments. Anniversaries are noted, birthdays announced.

One friend is angry at the news media. Another is fed up with evil doctors and wants to be sure I understand the value of something called essential oils. Photos of cute kitties magically appear. There are also awful images of abused dogs, or horses, or turtles.

And constantly, along the side of the computer display, a feed runs down the page, with little bits of information appearing magically, one right after the other. So-and-so likes this; he posted this; she commented about this.

TMI! I’ve learned the acronym, in days long past now.

Too Much Information!

My brain screams the words, even as I devour said information. Without intent, I now know that my old friend’s son believes drug use to be acceptable and even desirable. Another acquaintance vilifies followers of Christ and ridicules the very idea of a God, any God. It’s time to party-hearty with old school classmates. Jokes abound, both in print and picture form. I may or may not have contributed some of these.

And the language! Used-to-be children that I bounced on my knee use words we once would have expected to make a sailor blush. Now, no one blushes.

At times, my soul actually feels soiled, as if a good cleansing with Ivory soap and clean water might make it better.

I should turn it off.

Shouldn’t I?

I sit and think. Another acronym comes to mind. It is an old, tired set of letters, once found on bumper stickers, mugs, and bracelets. Unlike the acronym above, it is not followed by an exclamation point, but a question mark. So overused, it has become a joke to many; still it bears another look.

It requires some contemplation.

WWJD?

What Would Jesus Do?

We know the answer already, don’t we? He spent His days and nights in the center of the population, participating in the discourse of the day. He didn’t waste a lot of time with the nodding, gesturing clergy, but He interacted with the cursing, drinking, perverse people. (Matthew 11:19)

Every day.

I wonder–Did His soul feel dirty from the filth and stench, too?

Did His soul feel dirty from the filth and stench, too? Share on X

In the center of the Agora, the marketplace, the plan to change the world was implemented.

One-by-one, ten-by-ten, thousands-by-thousands, He intersected their daily lives with the truth, with love, with companionship.

The world would never be the same.

Still, I’m not excited about the route this marketplace living takes sometimes.

I’m not comfortable.

Funny. We really like comfortable, don’t we?

The couch is comfortable. Bed is comfortable. The back deck is comfortable. Your house shoes and pajamas are comfortable.

You just can’t accomplish anything in them.

In my mind’s eye, I look back over the path I’ve walked. I think I’ve walked it asking to know WWJD. A long look back focuses on the direction the steps have taken.

Did I take a sharp turn from the lane somewhere? How did I get here, in the marketplace, virtually and actually?

The social network I want to switch off is not so far removed from the retail space in which I labor five days a week. Oh, folks try to control their language, knowing who I claim to be, but what is hidden inside always comes out eventually. The language, the ideas, the lifestyles can’t be disguised behind the facades forever.

Am I supposed to be here?

Again, I glance back. No. My footsteps have led, one weary stride after another, in the same direction. I could not have found another route that would lead to my goal.

I walk in the marketplace. You probably do too.

How do we act while here?

Do we hurry through, as if afraid that we’ll get dirty too?

Do we loiter in the dark corners, participating in the filth and immorality?

Would we rather avoid it altogether?

All of the sudden, I find myself wondering about comfort again. The realization hits about my comments above.

The day I get comfortable is the day I lose sight of who I am and why I’m here in the marketplace. The minute I think I’m home and kick my shoes off to put on my slippers is the instant I’ve stopped walking the path set out for me.

If the marketplace doesn’t make us uncomfortable, perhaps we need to lace up our walking shoes again and look ahead of us.

There is more. People need us up and doing. Where they are.

I’m ready. You?

Just so you know, though, I’m not looking at your selfies of your latest visit to the dentist. Some things really are too much information.

I simply argue that the cross should be raised at the center of the marketplace as well as on the steeple of the church. I am recovering the claim that Jesus was not crucified in a cathedral between two candles, but on a cross between two thieves; on the town’s garbage heap; at a crossroad so cosmopolitan they had to write His title in Hebrew and Latin and Greek…at the kind of a place where cynics talk smut, and thieves curse, and soldiers gamble. Because that is where He died. And that is what He died for. And that is what He died about. That is where church-men ought to be and what church-men ought to be about.
(George McLeod ~ Scottish pastor ~ 1895-1991)

Do not be deceived: Bad company corrupts good morals. Become sober-minded as you ought, and stop sinning, for some have no knowledge of God.
(1 Corinthians 15:33,34 ~ NASB)

I’ve told the story before. Stop me if you’ve already heard it.

It is the story of a Yankee spinster who left her family behind in Pennsylvania and made her way to the southern hills of Oklahoma and Arkansas, with a detour through Chicago.

I suppose the road to the hills actually was the detour. Chicago was in the master-plan. But, the road should have led from there to China instead of Oklahoma.

Oklahoma and Arkansas are a long way from China. When one is aiming for the Orient, the back roads of the central U.S. might seem like a disappointment.

Failure even.

Perhaps I should just tell the story. I’ll try to keep it short—or not. Probably not.

Miss Peggy was called to be a missionary to China. She just knew it. She even knew what to do about it. In Chicago, a little Bible school called Moody Bible Institute had been started about thirty years before by the great evangelist, Dwight L. Moody. They would give her the training she needed.

She started there. China would be the next stop.

Only it wasn’t.

Political unrest had already begun in that country, with the result being that no mission organization would allow a single woman to go there by herself. She didn’t know what to do. She was called to go to China. Called.

A young man in her class at the Bible Institute heard of her dilemma and asked to meet with her. In that fateful meeting, he explained that he had been called to minister to the rural communities in Northwest Arkansas and Eastern Oklahoma. But, having heard that she was being forced to abandon her plans, he wondered if there might not be another solution.

The mission boards were still sending single men to China. Perhaps, he could go in her place. There was one stipulation though. She would have to take his place in rural Oklahoma and Arkansas.

It wasn’t what she wanted, but it made sense. She agreed and headed for the hills when her classes at the institute were completed. For sixty years, she faithfully taught Bible classes to the children in rural schools throughout the region.

Sixty years. She was allowed to travel to the schools and given a classroom to teach children who wanted to learn Bible verses and listen to her stories. Flannelgraphs were manipulated, and mimeographed papers were handed out to the eager students. The ones who memorized the most Scripture verses were the envy of the other kids, because Miss Peggy awarded them little New Testaments of their very own.

Sixty years, she was faithful to her task. Can you imagine the number of children who heard the Gospel story from her lips. Can you imagine the spiritual legacy?

I said she was faithful for sixty years. And, so she was. But, for every one of those sixty years, she mourned for her beloved China and her calling.

She was called to China!

Because of her great love for the Chinese people, she made an effort to meet and befriend all of the Chinese folks who came within her reach over the years. To that end, she contacted the local university in our little town regularly to inquire of new students from that great country. They were happy to arrange for the sweet old lady to meet the newcomers, whenever there were any.

Sam and his wife had left China under a cloud, his father having been arrested for preaching the gospel in a land where it was forbidden. His father died in prison and there was a fear that Sam might suffer the same fate. So, they came to the United States under a student visa and made their way to this little town of ten thousand and the Christian university here.

Miss Peggy wasn’t long in befriending Sam and his family. When I say befriending, I mean they spent hours together, talking of China and the secret Church, along with many mealtimes spent discussing the Lord they all loved, and His great care for all His children.

By this time, Miss Peggy was nearly blind from the disease of macular degeneration, and had lost much of her hearing. Still, her love for China, and this Chinese family in particular, drove her to ignore any hardships caused by the additional activity.

It would be an understatement of huge proportion to say she was not prepared for what happened one Sunday afternoon after they had shared a meal at Sam’s house.

Somehow, as they sat drinking tea and relaxing, the discussion turned to his family in China and he took out the family Bible, written in Chinese. Reading the names from the front of the big book, he spoke with love and respect of several who had already gone to be with the Lord.

Suddenly, Miss Peggy jumped as if an electrical current had gone through her.

“Stop! Go back and read that again!”

Sam looked up with a quizzical expression, but did as he was bid. Reading the name and Scripture verse the person had inserted into the record on the page, he explained that this American missionary had been instrumental in bringing his father to faith in God and also had encouraged him to enter the ministry. Then he stopped speaking and looked at the little elderly lady again.

The look of shock on Miss Peggy’s face was almost comical. Mouth open and unseeing eyes like saucers, she raised her hands to her face and the tears began to fall.

It was the very man who had traded places with her! The very man. And here, right in front of her, were the products of that transaction.

As the impact of their discovery hit them, there were more folks than the old missionary crying. Imagine! Out of the millions of people in China—out of the multiple countries this family could have fled to—out of the thousands of schools they could have attended—they came to the one place they needed to be.

I can’t imagine a more fulfilling moment in the ninety-four years the dear saint lived on this earth. In that moment, she realized that her life’s ambition, the one thing she had ever desired more than anything else, had been achieved.

She had given it up to take a detour to the backwoods of Oklahoma and Arkansas. Sixty years, she had served faithfully, keeping a bargain she had made under duress. Thousands already, had benefited from her service. Now, in her last days on earth, she realized that her deepest desires had been fulfilled.

She was called to China!

Talk about a pay off!

And the Teacher told His followers, give and you will receive it back—more than your cup can hold—sifted and blended, it will run over into your lap and onto the floor. (Luke 6:38)

Life doesn’t always go the way we’ve planned. Oddly enough, it seldom goes the way we’ve planned.

The road leads to places we never dreamed of.

We walk it anyway.

The years take away our physical strength and abilities. We keep moving ahead.

The pay-off lies up there. Ahead. Beyond the hills, past the valleys, through the flooded streams.

And, after all the toil and hardship, we find that God gives good gifts.

Always.

Even after sixty years of waiting.

Winners never quit and quitters never win.
(Vince Lombardi ~ American football coach ~ 1913-1970)

Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him…Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.
(James 1: 12, 17 ~ NIV)

He's Taken Leave

Random wanderings with Paul Phillips

The Marketplace

Shaken Together, Running Over