I’ve read about those hearty missionaries who packed their belonging in a coffin, because they didn’t expect to return. The folk who first came to the region where I am living, would book passage on a ship, be rowed ashore at their destination, and then they would figure it out. Relatives would marry, children would be born, and loved ones would die. These faithful servants wouldn’t know until, sometimes years had passed. The fact that I’m sending this over an internet connection, from my comfortable apartment, certainly indicates that what I’m doing bears almost no resemblance to what those pioneers did.
Almost--the “almost” was driven home the other day when I received news from my pastor that a good friend had died. I remember sitting in his living room chatting with him about a month ago. He was a man in his eighties, but just a babe in Christ. I had known him for a number of years. He had been a “prayer project” for Kathy, me, and a number of others. We rejoiced when he put his faith in Christ. His health had been in decline. He had enough problems to keep a whole class of medical students busy for a semester. As I looked at him that day back in his home in Virginia, I knew there was a strong possibility that I wouldn’t see him again in this life. There was a pull. Maybe I shouldn’t go after all.
Just yesterday I read the words of the Lord Jesus to a would-be follower, “Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and proclaim the kingdom of God” (Luke 9:60, NIV). Various interpretive spins have been put on the statement. I think it is likely that the man’s dad wasn’t dead, yet. Often Jesus answered not only what people said, but what they thought. It could be that the son’s concern was not related to future grief, but to present greed. He needed to be there to make sure his inheritance was secure. Clearly the Lord’s words need to be put in the context of His overall teaching about the cost of discipleship. He spoke about denying one’s self, cross-bearing, and a willingness to make all other relationships secondary to devotion to Him. Clearly, the cause of Christ is supreme.
The next time I see my friend he won’t have a cough. He’ll extend his arm fully—something he was not able to do for as long as I knew him—to shake my hand. That grasp will allow us to pull one another into an embrace. We’ll have a cup of heaven’s best coffee, and catch up a bit. There will not be the least doubt that it was right for me to tell him good bye that day in Virginia. “I might not see you down here again.” It would be really cool—and just like I’m sure there will be coffee in heaven, I’m confident it is a place where cool things abound—it would be really cool if about then somebody came by and told about some impact my work here on the other side of the world had in their life. I can see the twinkle in my friend’s eye as we enjoy that moment.
It’s STTA |
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