THE BRIDGE LADIES

(Click photo to enlarge.)

Good Sunday morning, everyone. I am writing this quickly from a hotel room in Pineville, NC. Anne spent the night at Tony Joiner’s home, where we had the meeting yesterday, and will be picking me up in 45 minutes for the drive to Faith, where I’ll be addressing the ecclesia in Faith, NC, at 11 am. Not much time to even edit this properly. I’ll just put it up and edit later.

This has been a whirlwind tour, which explains my inability to get a blog out in the last two days. The scheduling truly has been hectic, but I would not have it any other way. It is good to be occupied, to be busy, to be bringing people the truth when opportunity strikes, and sometimes when it doesn’t.

I will tell you more about the meeting yesterday when I get a chance. For now, know that it was ASTOUNDING. I say this because, as always, people greet one another as though they have been lifelong friends. A man named Tom drove up from South Carolina, and he said, “How long have you known Tony?” and I said, “I just met him twenty minutes ago.” (Tony and I had been chatting like brothers.) That’s how it goes. People hug, start talking, hit the ground running. It is like a family reunion. I am seeing it all over the country in these small ecclesias.

Ours was an intimate circle of ten people in Tony’s living room, each sharing stories of how we came to the faith. Every time this happens, I can’t help thinking of our apostle Paul, of how happy he would be that his message of grace and peace in Christ is still being heralded and believed in 2013, and that a group of ten people gathered yesterday in Charlotte, NC, around a common faith. I will have photos for you soon. I just wanted you to know that it could not have gone better. All were edified in the faith, encouraged, glad to be with one another.

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I have been wanting to tell you about the two bridge ladies I talked to on Friday, from the group of thirty Anne taught. Anne conducts a bridge lesson every Friday for up to forty people. Friday, I got to see her in action. She is a wonderful teacher. She loves what she does. She is smart, funny, engaging. I had no idea what she was talking about during the lesson, of course. I grasp the eons, and the secrets of the universe, but Bridge is a mystery.  

Anne will challenge her students and uses humor to do it, as I like to do. At one point, she had written some sample hands on the white board, and asked her students which card they would bid in a particular situation. About ten people said, “the nine.” Anne said, “If I were teaching today on the cruse ship, I would have to walk those of you who said ‘nine’ off the plank. There would be a large line-up at the plank.”

The answer, not-so-obviously, was “you play the Queen.” Anne then explained why that would be. The group slapped its collective forehead.

My head, in the meantime, grasped none of it.  

Anne introduces me as a writer, and the question invariably follows: “What do you write.” I always say something like, “I write books on spirituality for those who love God and Jesus Christ, but don’t trust the institution.”

At the end of Friday’s session, two ladies lingered and engaged me in a theological discussion. They thought they knew where I was coming from, but didn’t. They thought I was interested only in moving the apostasy to a new location, that is, transferring the message of terror from an old church building—such as a Catholic or Lutheran building—to a new one, such as a bright, happy, Pentecostal arrangement. This was neither the place nor the time for an argument, but I did politely, kind of, sort of, suggest that the problem wasn’t where so-called church was held, but rather what kind of message went forth.

“The message is all wrong,” I said. “It doesn’t matter where you meet, if you bring the same, wrong message.”

I suggested that Jesus Christ died for the sins of the world, and succeeded at it. 

They wholeheartedly agreed.

“Then what is to keep everyone from being saved?” I asked.

“People have to believe,” they said.

“Where does belief come from?” I asked.

They weren’t sure.

But I did find this out from one of the ladies: “We have to meet Jesus halfway.”

Halfway there.

Halfway! I was astounded. I usually run into Christian who admit that the cross was 90% effective, and that we had to contribute the final 10%. Some Christians even whitewash their message so much so that they graciously give Jesus 99% of the credit, and only take 1% for themselves (the 1% being the most critical contribution, of course; the percentage that actually gets the job done.) I had never before heard such a bold assertion that Christ’s six hours of suffering on the stake was merely a halfway job. Exactly halfway, in fact: 50%. He did half of it, leaving the other half for us to figure out, to struggle with. (Should we have ourselves crucified?) You’d think that such a nice, God-fearing lady would at least have given Jesus Christ 51%. But no. “We have to meet Him halfway.”

I told Anne about this after the ladies had left, and she shook her head. “Maybe Jesus needed eight hours on the cross, instead of six,” she said. “Would that have done it? Maybe if the Romans had broken His legs, maybe then He’d have gotten closer to a complete work.”

Indeed. How much suffering does it take. Calvary wasn’t enough? Apparently not.

Tune in with me in Faith, NC, if you can. My message will stream live in 2 1/2 hours, at 11 am. Eastern time, at www.thepottershousefellowship.com

Grace and peace to you. Thanks for reading, watching, listening. The Word goes forth with power.

© 2013 Martin Zender