Wake Up

I have been thinking about a wake up call.

Sometimes, we get used to what is comfortable. Each of us have our own things on our plate, and places and people who occupy our time. We have calendars with all kinds of appointments and plans. We do the tasks we feel like doing and the ones we've put off. We buy the things we want, see the people we (mostly) feel like seeing, give a little to this or that, schedule in deserved liesure, pay our bills, make the bed, walk the dog, hang out with the kids, and at the end of the day eat a few cookies, put our feet up, and watch our favorite show. Yet, many people do not live that way.  They don't have a family get-together this weekend. There is no Easter dinner. There is no grill on the deck. They just think about getting through the day. They don't even own a calendar. While we may get up in the morning and have a hot cup of coffee and think about our day ahead and all that has to get done, others just move numbly through their day. They are isolated and alone. Some live in homes with matching couches. Others don't even have a home. Some have no electricity. Many don't even own a bed. Some stay sick because they have no health insurance and no way to even get to a doctor if they need one because they're isolated and have no transportation. Right now, many are scrimping by with the little bit of food they have. Single moms are stressed beyond capacity, crying out for help for themselves and their children. Widows sit in church alone when they used to have their spouse by their side, holding their hand. Cars break down because there was no money for the oil changes and tune-ups. Tickets are given for expired license plate stickers because money had to go for gas, milk, eggs, and the kids' lunches. Frozen smiles sit in the pews covering broken hearts and guilt for not believing anymore. A teenager clocks in at his job swallowing back tears because his parents were fighting and his girlfriend isn't returning his texts. A woman with a good life can hardly get out of bed because she just started processing her trauma with a therapist. A man sits on the front porch of his dilapidated home, with no family or friends, numb and lonely. Babies have no daddies. Tears are being shed in the shower, in the car, all over the world, and in the neighbor's house.

Something rose up inside of me and I thought, "Lord, where is your church?" How easy it is to tell people that you will pray for them and then go back to a rather self-serving life. Prayers are amazing and powerful. And, so is our time. What are we actually DOING with our hands and feet? With our resources and spiritual gifts? How can we lie safe and comfortable looking the other direction while our neighbor sits in a gutter of despair?

"You're in my thoughts."

"You're in my prayers."

"Brighter days are ahead."

"This too shall pass."

Statements that are a dime a dozen. They vaporize seconds after we utter them.

People aren't PROJECTS. They aren't to be used to make the Christian feel good for a few days. People take time, dedication, commitment, love and grace. If I have to hear again the word "enable" uttered from a bunch of white, middle upper class, Jesus following people who haven't the slightest idea what they're talking about, I will speak up instead of silently boil on the inside. JESUS GRIEVES. We need to be loosening the chains, NOT figuring out how to tie them tighter.

And so I cried this morning because of the pain that is out there, the pain near to me, and the pain inside of myself. It was one of those moments. 

I speak to myself, too. Why are my hands so clean? Lord, open my eyes to see even a fraction of what you see.  I can talk a good talk but where have my literal hands and feet been?

At the end of our life will Jesus set us down and talk to us about all the enabling we did? About how we shouldn't have given five bucks to the bum on the corner because he put it toward a fifth of vodka? Did Jesus preach from the boat about how to bleach our collars and bury our heads in the sand?

How can we give too much or show too much grace? We love to talk about it though, don't we? We like to spend hours on the topic. Read books about it, even. Discuss it in church meetings over coffee like fools. 

Take a small subdivision of 300 middle-class single-family homes. What if each of those homes donated just $30 a month for a year to a given charity or ministry? (Heck, you could empty out the change jar and make that work). You know how much that would be? $108,000! Take those same 300 homes and let's say just one person from each of those homes gave one hour of their time a week to minister to someone. That is 300 hours a week given to brighten numerous lives! Just look at the collective church and think about the incredible good that could be done if EVERYONE stepped up and used their gifts to spread the Gospel. Think about how ALIVE that would make us. Think about how RELEVANT. Think about the IMPACT. Why isn't this happening? What are we doing? We need to be a better witness in this world. Stop talking a good talk and start walking. Wake up. It's up to us!

God loves you with the most lavish love imaginable. Let that love seep in and flow out. We have a world dying (sometimes literally) for that kind of love. 

Dee M. Kostelyk

Matthew 25: 34-40

34-36 “Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Enter, you who are blessed by my Father! Take what’s coming to you in this kingdom. It’s been ready for you since the world’s foundation. And here’s why:

I was hungry and you fed me,
I was thirsty and you gave me a drink,
I was homeless and you gave me a room,
I was shivering and you gave me clothes,
I was sick and you stopped to visit,
I was in prison and you came to me.’

37-40 “Then those ‘sheep’ are going to say, ‘Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?’ Then the King will say, ‘I’m telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me.’

- Dee M. Kostelyk