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Good Sunday morning, everyone. I am writing this quickly
from a hotel room in Pineville , NC
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
* * *
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.”
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| 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
