That Ache for God

About a year ago, my wife and I took a hiatus from teaching Sunday School.  We had reservations going into that year, and the rest of the year seemed to be an arriving funeral.  We had taught much of the same group since fourth grade--about 8 kids, sometimes more, sometimes less.  By the time they grew into 6th graders, we had grown away.  Our kids were getting older, our eldest was becoming more active in school and church and we became victim to saying yes when we really wanted to say no.

I can see how church ministries fade and dissolve over time.  Organizations change hands, ideas get forgotten and leadership eventually falls under the weight of in-fighting and some unseen force you can't name.  In the few years we were Sunday school teachers, we never really felt part of the process of molding young Christian minds.  Teaching comes naturally to the both of us, and there were times it caused friction from the different styles my wife and I have, but the process of teaching on the particular topic of Jesus and the Bible was something entirely new.

Speaking for myself only, I was a baby Christian now in charge of filtering through curriculum in hopes that one of the students would never ask me something provocative.  We played silly board games and mazed through select verses from the Old Testament.  I learned quite a bit actually, and sometimes I even took the games and devised edited editions for my public school students.  We had more fun just talking to them, watching their fourth grade naivete graduate into fifth grade beginner's maturity and later, into sixth grade awkwardness.

The curriculum didn't always mesh, even more so that last year we taught.  Perhaps it my our attitude as well.  There were Sunday, I admit, I wanted to go home and sleep, or have lunch with another family who didn't serve at 11, or anything other than teach.  Sometimes the kids were loud, sometimes they were annoying, but overall we didn't gel in the way I wanted or perceived they should.  And that there is the great sin--my perception, my goals and my expectations.

So this weekend I stepped back into the fold in a major way.  And that sin was revealed and washed away. It was revealed to me as a helped a homeless man off the sidewalk, walking a block with him to a bench.  Here I was, with my second son Dalton (he's my best friend's son) walking with this man feeling totally helpless.  I had no money to give him (I was tapped out of cash; Dalton actually gave him a dollar), no blankets to comfort his cold and no bed for him to lie in.  I listened as he talked about his kids, that he had no place to go.  He said to me at one point, "God Bless, you." and all I could think about was, "Isn't that what I'm supposed to say to you?"  Driving away I kept thinking what I should have done, wrestled with what I could have done, lamenting my lack of funds and intelligence.

Then back to the conference, dare2share, where teenagers and youth leaders are given that validity to speak up for the gospel.  Sitting there among the children, the young adults, that old feeling of conviction and calling came back.  I had not felt it since I was on my Emmaus walk over 5 years ago.  It was that nag in my bones, deep into the ribs, that ache for God that my human heart craved.  At that moment it didn't matter if I had saved the street man, only that I was there.  I was there with Dalton, who is taking his young faith into new directions.  It was the lady waiting for the bus who heard our conversation.  It was also about the many drivers everyday who simply keep driving.  A man falls on the street everyday in America and no one sees it.

And faith is just that.  Grace is given with no price of our own.  We cannot pay for it or create a good deed list long enough to get it.  Once we do accept it, we are called to act.  And for some it's teaching, and for others it's mission work.  But all of us are called to be the church.  For five minutes in a homeless man's life, to taking an hour after church to sit among the teens--even if it means you'll miss a lunch date, or be witness to a kid being a show-off amongst his peers.

One of the kids this weekend said that adults seemed surprised that someone her age has such great faith.  Perhaps thats because as adults we remember our youth, or that we get bogged down in so many responsibilities that take us away from God.  Either way, our age has no determination to what God wants to do with us.

During lunch, I sat with Kevin and Jordan, 2 of my students--my friends.  We were given an assignment from the conference.  Sit and watch people, and think about their lives, see their sin, and think of their life story.  God wants us all.  He sees in some magnificent way, innocent creations.  Perfect.  We always see the wrong but we don't take that second look to wonder what they would look like in white.  Jesus paid it all, not just for me.  But that guy too.  Yes, HIM!

I told Kevin I was blessed to be there with him, watching his mature in his faith.  Kevin is awkward, innocent and on fire for God.  He's shy and naive of the social media savvyness that most kids his age have.  He reminds me of an older man trapped in the body of a kid.  I watched him hand info cards to a bus driver that weekend, and he stood with me as we chatted up a truck driver and talked about our faith.  There were times when Kevin's thoughts spilled from his lips that mimicked what I was thinking.  "What are we going to do now?"  The cool thing is--God is revealing to us what the answer is each and everyday.  The other question that nags me, nags many of us, "Did I do enough?"--that's the one that has no business in the conversation.

So tomorrow I'm beginning a new prayer.

God, help me understand that I cannot ever do enough, and it's okay.  Lord, my portfolio of good deeds will not suffice.  Help me serve you, in whatever capacity.  Allow me to sit next to a homeless man, allow his breath to fall onto my clothes.  I want him next to me in heaven, Lord.  I know you'd want that.  White robes and all.

Amen.