Utterly Safe—Or Not

Maybe it's the chemistry between Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslett.  Maybe it's the artifacts and surrealistic images brought to the surface by Robert Ballard.  For whatever reason, the world is mesmerized by Titanic.  Still.

Every school child knows the story of the unsinkable ship that sank, drowning more than 1500.  But relatively few can name the port from which the Titanic last departed.  (Hint: if you're thinking somewhere in England, you're off course).

On the southern coast of Ireland is a charming town by the name of Cobh, offering lovely views of the waterways leading out to the Celtic Sea.  Here, Titanic last saw land.   As we sat out on a deck, enjoying lunch with the sound of the waves rolling in, the gulls flying 'round—the same sounds that passengers boarding Titanic would have heard (and we stood at the very place they would have climbed onboard)--the sunshine gave way to grayer skies.  Rain moved in with such speed and intensity we were forced to take our food inside to finish the meal.

Which takes me to the fate of the Titanic passengers.  Consider that as they shuffled across the gangway boarding the brand new ship, not one of them thought it was their last look at Ireland.  No one thought they would never again see their loved ones.  No one thought they were within hours of the very end of their earthly lives.  But they were.

The scene was all so normal....so utterly safe.

It could be you feel very safe right now.  Very “normal.”  Not the least bit pressed to give the invitation of Jesus to be “born again” any real consideration.

Yet no one lives forever.  And accidents still happen, And Titanics still sink.    Jesus said “Unless a man (or woman) is born again they cannot see the kingdom of God.”

Have you settled—forever—the question of where you will go—after you die?

The end of a day is a sobering thing.

As I write this, I’m watching it happen out the window of a jet bound from Tampa, Florida to Chicago.  Having risen at 4am—long before sunrise—in order to fly down to Tampa, I am now tired.  Happy to kick back and do not much of anything.

But as I peered out the window of our 737, I saw the crowning tip of the sun in its last gasp of orange glory. The crest of the glowing ball is now out of view.  I watched it slip away, pondering those last seconds of color and bombast.  All that remains now is a fading backlit sky of near turquoise and burnt orange.

Seeing all this take place in real time has gotten me to thinking.  This day—that has now turned into night—will never be repeated.  Ever.  Whatever moments that might have been—but weren’t—might never be…forever.

The extraordinary potential woven into the DNA strands of this day is now dimmed.  I’m not trying to wax poetic here.  I truly am sobered. Because…

Whatever I MIGHT have said for Jesus Christ today but did not…

Whatever I might have DONE for Jesus Christ but did not…

Whatever kindness I might have shown someone else for Christ’s sake but did not…

…Well let’s just say the opportunity for today has come and gone.

“But,” you say, “Jon, you’re being too hard on yourself.”  Am I? You say, “There’s always tomorrow.”  Yet Scripture says, “Boast not yourself of tomorrow, for you don’t know what a day will bring.”

Only one life

‘twill soon be past.

Only what’s done for Christ

Will last.

Darkness is now all that’s left in my window view from the 737.

One final reminder that the end of a day…is a sobering thing.

4:45am and the taxi finally pulled into my driveway, 15 minutes late. Climbing into the cab, I was confronted with a man in full Muslim dress: white robe, white hat and curly black beard.

Apologizing for the delay, he was friendly and talkative.  So I prayed quietly, asking God to show me how to start a conversation with the man.

When I learned he was from India—and told him I had visited—he asked if my trip was for missionary work.  Responding yes, the conversation was immediately in high gear.

He was in my face right away: “If…peace be upon him…the prophet Jesus is really God, then who was in charge of Heaven when Jesus came to earth?”  This took us to a spirited discussion on the trinity.

I boldly shared that Jesus was not merely the son of God—but equal with God, quoting Christ’s own words: “I and my Father are One.”  The cabbie weaved between cars as he weaved around my Bible verses, clearly still hung up on the Trinity.

As we approached the airport, he told me that Jesus was only for Christians, but—quote—“Islam is for everybody.”  I again quoted Jesus, “For God so loved the WORLD that He gave His one and only Son that WHOEVER believes in Him will not die, but have eternal life.”

Arriving at Midway airport, the conversation ended with the driver encouraging me to read the Koran…and me encouraging him to read the gospels.  I tipped him generously, we shook hands and the door was open and shut.

Or was it?  Perhaps a much more important door than the door to his taxi had just been opened.  In the kindness and mercy of God, I pray that the door of his heart is now open, if only a crack.

Wonder has gone missing.

It’s true.

The problem with most of us is we have lost our wonder of God.

We say we love Him—and I suppose we do.

We say we worship Him—and no doubt we try.

But a sense of His otherness, His transcendence, that gut feeling of awe and mystery and an all-consuming fire…for most of us, that’s not our experience with the Most High God.

But I saw wonder this week in an unexpected place.  I was out on a long walk with one-year-old Caleb Jaeger, our grandson, when we passed by a “splash pad.”  For the uninitiated, a splash pad is a not-quite swimming pool for tiny tots.  Sprinklers and pipes of all shapes shower the little ones, and they absolutely love it.

Once under the sprinkler, one year old Caleb sat there for the longest time letting the water run right over him.  I watched as his pudgy fingers attempted to trace the path of the wet bubbles.  You could see his mouth open and close repeatedly as he tasted the water dribbling off his nose.

The look on his face was one of complete awe.  He was mesmerized. Literally drenched in wonder.  Every single one of his five senses was actively recording data to his one-year-old hard drive.

THIS…is what wonder looks like.  It’s a feeling of sensory overload.  Of marvel and mystery and mystical all converged.

So back to my opening assessment that for most of us, wonder about God has shriveled up like an October tomato left on the vine.

If it’s true we lost it, how do we regain this wonder?  Maybe it’s not unlike the solution for couples whose relationship has gone cold.  It’s simply a choice to notice, to acknowledge greatness in all its forms—little and big.  Global…and local.  Wherever God’s fingerprints are visible.

It’s time to regain our sense of wonder of God. 

Only if you have been punched in the stomach, left gasping for air, can you fully relate to my current emotional state.  We've just finished touring the Elmina slave castle.  You say you've never heard of it?

It's a foreboding fortress on the coast of Ghana, West Africa built in 1482.  For hundreds of years it was a slave processing center.  That's a polite way of saying that here, human beings were ripped from their families, stripped of their personal dignity, and prepped for a lifetime of misery.

For a slave-in-the-making, the three month stay at Elmina offered a daily diet of evil so wicked, you can almost taste the screams and wails from the 600 men and 400 women imprisoned here at any given time.

Just inside the fortress is a small room with iron bars, and massive latches. Noteworthy for the skull and crossbones above it, this was the place where slaves who had offended the soldiers were starved to death.

Or consider the hidden hatch and stairway that lead to the Governor's bedroom.  The staircase was reserved for female slaves the governor had selected to rape.

Yet far more disturbing than any of these was the sight of a church prominently positioned on the plaza inside the fortress.  Here, men ostensibly sang hymns, worshipped God and prayed---as a thousand slaves lay rotting in their own excrement.

Why didn't the solders' theology expose their hypocrisy, their inhumanity?  How could they be comfortable selling husbands and wives, sons and daughters...like stock for a general store?

It's easy to be shocked by their inhumanity.  But what about ours?  We sing hymns, worship God and pray, while around the world atrocities are the daily stuff of millions.

It’s time to hear THEIR cries…..THEIR screams….and then DO something.

A great place to begin: Visit persecution.com