Friday, August 21, 2009
Some oldies but goodies
By Tait Berge
Copyright: May, 2003
Sometimes God places us in uncomfortable situations to teach us something, to show us a new possibility, or to expand our minds. He always uses this to start us on a new adventure. We are never the same afterwards. That’s exactly what happened to me. This is my story.
My story begins on a hot June afternoon. On the way home from an appointment, I stopped at McDonald’s for a milkshake and an apple pie.
Soon after I pulled up to a table, a woman came over and to see if I needed some help and asked if she could sit with me. She was alone, she said, and would enjoy some company. I shook her off, wanting her leave me alone while I enjoyed my snack. I’m a very private person and don’t like to strike up a conversation with strangers.
I thought that’d be the end of it, and the woman would move on, but no. Assuming I needed some help with my snack, she ignored my wishes and moved her things to my table.
She couldn’t help but to help me. From her perspective, I was having problems sucking the thick shake through my straw. She acted as if it were her job to do something about it.
“That shake is too thick for you,” she said. “Let me see if they can add some more milk to it.” Before I could tell her I like my shakes thick and that I didn’t need her help, she whisked it away and returned with nothing more than a cup of cold milk.
I started on my pie. “You shouldn’t eat such big pieces,” she insisted. “Here, let me cut it up for you.”
I didn’t need her help much less than ask for it. I’ve been going to McDonald’s by myself for many years, and I can take care of myself just fine thank you!
I almost picked up my shake and pie and went home. This lady was weirder than a three-dollar bill! All the sudden, a familiar feeling swept over me. I knew God was with me and that he had a purpose for this strange encounter. I had no choice but to hang around and see how this turned out.
Peggy was the woman’s name, and she and I talked for almost an hour.
Almost immediately, we established my age and that I lived independently. I told her I was a writer and that I had received an associate degree in journalism. I went on and talked about my self-published book and my other writing projects.
I couldn’t make her understand I was working on a degree in theology or that I had a full time ministry, however. The questions she asked made me realize that she thought I helped out in a children’s Sunday school or something. I gave up trying to explain the rest: I just finished teaching a 32-week Disciple Bible study and a seven week class on Paul.
Then it really got weird.
Peggy wanted to know what service dog’s name was. She’ll never get it, I thought. I gave it my best shot anyway.
“Lanzner.”
“What?”
“Lanz-ner.”
“Keep your tongue down and say it again.”
By the time she understood, I was mad. How dare this stranger coach me on how to talk!
I looked out the window and took a deep breath. Okay God. What is going on here? Please let me leave. I can’t do this!
The old, familiar feeling came over me like a warm blanket. I heard a voice: “You’re doing fine. Keep going. Don’t run!”
Peggy turned to a mutual interest. She told me that she was also a Christian and wanted to know my favorite Bible story.
“Finally good question,” I thought. It was just a simple way of getting to know a fellow believer, and I was more than glad to answer it. I’m in my element when I talk about the Bible and theology.
The way Peggy asked the question, however, seemed strange to me. I felt like a little child. The inflection in her voice made me realize she didn’t really believe what I had been saying about myself. She needed to test me.
What should I tell her? I thought. My mind raced through the Bible.
Exodus 4:11: “Who made man’s mouth?”
Something from the Psalms?
The gospels?
Paul?
“John 21,” I finally said. “When Jesus says he loves Peter.”
Peggy immediately got out her Bible to look up the passage. I wanted to go on and explain why I liked this story (One of the reasons is because of its original meaning), but I didn’t get a chance. Peggy thought I picked it because it tells me that Jesus loves me.
Well, true. But when you look at in context, when you read the Greek and really study the chapter, it is so much more. I knew Peggy would never get my interpretation because of the way she began the discussion. She actually asked me how many disciples there were!
“There were twelve,” I said, playing along.
Peggy thought she finally had me. “No Tait. There were thirteen because Judas committed suicide, remember?”
I wanted to scream (bad theology is like figure nails running down a chalk board!) and set her straight, but I knew I wasn’t at McDonald’s to give a history/theological lesson. The preschool theology lesson went on for about ten minutes, and Peggy even asked me if I knew whom Noah was. I couldn’t believe it! I felt like a four year old!
The calm assurance from God came to me once again. “You’re doing fine, Tait. Keep going. Don’t give up.”
The talk turned to my book. “Is it a real book?” Peggy asked.
I was baffled. I told her I wrote a book. Why couldn’t she believe that I had written a book? Instead of pressing the issue, I just reconfirmed that I really did write a book.
“Is it for sale?”
“Yes.”
“How much is it?”
“$15.”
“Can I buy a copy?”
“Sure. I’ll have to go home and get one.”
Even though I didn’t have a book with me, Peggy gave me $15 in cash for a book (she said I could give her one the next time I saw her) and insisted on helping me put it in my wallet. When she saw how much cash I had, Peggy organized it for me.
“Now this is a one. Put all the ones here,” she said. “This is a five. Put it here. Now, Tait, look at me. This is a twenty. Do you know how much that is? Put it here. There, you are set.”
At that very instant, the lesson was over! God released me from class. My hands were finally untied, and I was furious! I didn’t like Peggy going through my wallet at all. I tried to tell her that, but the lady thought I was just overwhelmed by all the money I had. She actually reached out for my hands and started to pray for God’s protection over my money.
Whether I pulled back because I was upset at Peggy’s behavior and didn’t want her to pray, or whether I lost control over my muscles (I do that when I get my dander up), I don’t know, but I pulled back in haste. This didn’t seem to bother Peggy, however. She simply reached for my hand, adjusted her grip, and continued her prayer.
I was dumbfounded! This lady did not get it! Peggy knew I was smart, but she treated me like I had a mental disability. The last straw was when she explained what she does. She spoke so slowly that I could have written another entire book! Making sue I could read her lips, Peggy asked: “Do you know what foster care is?”
I’d had enough! I excused myself and headed for the door before I said something I’d later regret. Peggy asked when I could come back. I said I didn’t know.
Peggy said she was always at McDonald’s on Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday at 2:45. She hoped I could come back and visit again. “Maybe we can do a Bible study together!” she exclaimed.
Peggy wasn’t done yet: “Now Tait, do remember when I’ll be here? She spoke slowly once again: “Mon-day, Wed-nes-day and Thurs-day at two-four-ty five. Can you remember that?”
“Yes,” I said as I left.
I wrote about my experience with Peggy in my journal the next day. I needed to sort out the day’s events from my feelings and gain some kind of a perspective. What happened? Why did I stay as long as I did?
Whenever I go back and read my journal, a sentence always jumps off the page. It reads: “Maybe my encounter was with God more than with Peggy.”
Indeed it was! I’m not the type of person who talks to strangers, and I hate to be treated as if I have a mental disability. Combine these two things and I should have thrown Peggy out on her head even before she touched my milkshake! (A friend suggested that I should have dumped it on her being disabled and all!) God, however, gave me the ability to put up with Peggy to show me my ministry.
(I should say that I went back to McDonald’s about a week later and gave Peggy a book as promised, but I didn’t stay. The lady was far too stubborn for me to try to explain myself. If she understood that I had a college degree but had to make sure I knew what foster care was, then there was nothing I could say to make her understand. I had to let it be.)
As fate would have it, however, Peggy is not the center of this story. It wasn’t my place to try to help Peggy understand that I was just as normal as she was. I went to McDonald’s for a shake, met an ignorant lady and left with a life-long assignment.
If there’s one person who thinks and acts like Peggy, there’re bound to be others. That’s why I’m developing a ministry that will educate the public about people with disabilities. It will develop materials, conduct seminars and meet one on one with people using biblical principles. I believe this is my calling.
Callings come in all kind of ways. God told Abram to leave his country, and by faith he did. Moses received his calling – leading the Hebrews out of slavery – when God appeared to him through a burning bush. Christian persecutor-turned-missionary Paul received his call from Christ himself on his way to Damascus. I have a friend who received her call to ministry while sitting by a mountainside stream.
My calling was unique, too. It came at McDonald’s. I’ll never be the same.
By Tait Berge
Summer, 2003
For about a year now, I have itched to do something totally different with my spiritual life. Mind you, I love my church, what it stands for, and the people. Especially the people. I’ve studied with them. I’ve worshipped with them. I’ve laughed, cried, celebrated, served with them.
But when I stepped out to do ministry beyond my church, I felt out of place when I went back for Sunday services. Whether it was because I was in ministry with other folks besides my church friends, or whether it because I finally found people my own age to hang out with (all my church friends are at least ten years older than me), I don’t know, but I started to feel out of place at my home church.
These were my feelings for an entire year.
When the school year was over my friend from Young Life and I decided to keep in touch during the summer. One thing I suggested we could do was to go to church together. Mykil thought it great idea and suggested we do that the following Sunday to do just that.
Mykil picked me up for church, along with my service dog, Lanzner. “I think you’ll like this church,” she told me in the car. She said that they were studying the gospel of Mark and that the pastor conducted the service more like a Bible study than a typical sermon. My curiosity rose, and I was more than ready for this experience when we pulled into the parking lot.
What I wasn’t prepared for, however, was the reaction towards Lanzner. Not too long after we got inside, an usher came toward us and explained that the dog couldn’t go into the sanctuary but that we would be welcome to sit in the foyer and watch the service through the glass.
I don’t remember what happened next, but I ended up outside before I said or did something I’d later regret. Mykil came after me to see what was wrong. “They’re breaking the law,” I said. Mykil understood and went back in to explain it to the usher, but he wouldn’t budge.
“He said that they talked to your dog group, and it came down to private property rights,” she said when she returned. “They are worried about people’s allergies. There’s nothing he can do…we’ll have to sit in the foyer. Or I can take you home.”
I agreed to stay. When we got to our seats, the usher came over to apologize. “I’m sorry I offended you,” he said. “We’re just worried about people’s comfort. Some might be allergic to your dog, and we don’t want them to sneeze do we?” I acted as if I understood and tried to focus my mind on worship.
After the service, the usher came up to me and apologized again and thanked me for understanding. Hindsight being 20/20, I wish I had spoken up and said:
“Yes, I understand. I understand that I took time away from my church to come and worship with my friend only to have you tell us we aren’t allowed in the sanctuary. I understand that I can take my dog into the hospitals to visit the sick, thus fulfilling Jesus words, ‘I was sick and you came to visit me.’ (Matthew 25:36) But I cannot worship in your sanctuary because people might be allergic to my dog? Yes, I understand. But let me ask you something. Do you think God understands? Do you think Jesus, who died so I can worship Him, understands?”
I wonder how he would have responded.
Nevertheless, I believe God uses all of our experiences to teach us and bring us closer to Him. That was certainly the case here. I learned things that I had never known before, things I’d forgotten, and even a lesson in what is really important.
1: Our first reactions are always based on the law and never on what would Jesus do.
I don’t like the fad of WWJD. It’s nice to think about “what would Jesus do,” and I commend people for teaching children Jesus’ values with this acronym. Is someone picking on you? Well, WWJD? Did someone cut you off on the freeway? Go ahead and ask “WWJD” if it helps you cool off. It just doesn’t work with every situation.
Notice my first reaction when the usher told me I couldn’t go into the sanctuary. Was it WWJD? No, I cited a law. They were violating MY rights.
Indeed they were, and indeed I had the law on my side, but so what? Does Jesus really care about the American with Disabilities Act, the law that says I can take my service dog into public places? Probably not. In fact, I think Jesus might have done something totally different. What, I don’t know. I’m not Jesus. That’s why I don’t like WWJD, especially in cases like this.
Would Jesus leave like I almost did? Well, we do have examples in scripture where he does leave when he wasn’t wanted. How about talking to the usher and trying to reason with him? The Bible has those stories, too. Does Jesus ever keep quiet and do what the natives do? Sure he does. The point is that I can have my ideas of what Jesus might have done or said that Sunday and I’ll talk about that in my next point, but I cannot know exactly.
We humans like laws. They protect us. They help make sure nothing bad ever happens to us, and if something ever does, boy you’ll pay! But do our laws really help us live the Christian life?
Whether we’re talking about laws against murder, equal rights, or public access laws, we’ll eventually be faced with the question: Does this law glorify God? That is the point of the Ten Commandments, and it should be the point with all laws. But we tend to use laws to our advantage, thus forgetting the true intent of the law, or using it in a way it was never intended.
So my first lesson was that I may have had the law on my side, but I stepped across the line by citing the law first and foremost. I could have done it another way. Jesus’ way.
2: The scriptures came alive.
So what would Jesus do in my situation? The Bible gives us some answers.
One of the many reasons Jesus healed people was because society, especially the religious sect, wouldn’t allow people who had anything wrong with them to be involved in worship services, the market place, or anything that had to do with public affairs. They were forced to watch from the sidelines, from the back row, or through a window in the back of the room.
Sound familiar?
Let me be quick to point out that I wasn’t being kept out of the sanctuary because of my disability; I was told that my dog couldn’t go in. But Lanzner is my arms and legs. To be told that my dog couldn’t go into the sanctuary is the same as to say, “You can’t go in with that prosthetic leg. You’ll have to leave it outside.” Or even a worse message: “Your body is not perfect, therefore you can’t worship with us.”
Again this was not the intent of the usher. He was just holding up a policy of the church. The scripture about Jesus’ healings finally came alive.
What if Jesus had shown up at the church that morning? Would he have healed me? In my other writings and speaking I am adamant in my belief that I’m disabled for a purpose. God has plans to use me in spite of my challenges or even because of them.
In this case, however, I think Jesus would have healed me. And although my healing would have made my life better, Jesus’ actions would have gone beyond my own situation. It would have brought me into the community of which I couldn’t be apart of before. It would let the other people at the church that morning know I was just as normal as they were.
After many of his healings, Jesus tells the person to “go show yourself to the priest.” (See Matthew 8:4) Why? So that the priest could inspect to make sure the person really was clean. It would be only then that the person would be allowed into the temple for worship.
Imagine going to church and going through a thorough inspection in order to be allowed in to the sanctuary. You must check in all your sins and all the junk at the door. You must be perfect – your body, your emotional status, your social activities, everything - to attend. That was the attitude of the church leaders in Jesus’ day, and I got a real-life example at that church.
3. What it means to worship and have a church family
The next Sunday after my experience at Mykil’s church, I was back in familiar surroundings. I was in a goofy mood. I joked around with Lanzner all morning that I wondered if we would be allowed to go into the sanctuary.
My friend greeted me at the door, and I asked her if I could really come in. She didn’t know what I was talking about, of course, but played along. (I knew she would.) “Sure!” The water is warm,” she said.
My friend handed me a bulletin, and I made my way to my usual seat, close to the chancel.
I went a bit over the top, admittedly, but I felt so good to be back in worship. As I sat waiting for the service to start, a warm feeling swept over me. I was in God’s house and I’d get to worship him.
As with my other points, I do not wish to compare my own situation with others in the world. Many countries forbid public worship, thus putting many Christians in harms way. This is horrible, and I cannot imagine being in that situation. However, once you experience rejection at any level, you begin to appreciate what you have.
This was my feeling as I entered God’s sanctuary that morning. For the first time in a long time, I really wanted to worship. I wanted to praise God for who He is and what he has done. My reasons for going to church were revitalized!
I believe God places us in situations to bring us closer to him. This is what my experience at Mykil’s church was all about. God wanted me to know Him better. Whether it’s realizing when and how to cite a law, having familiar Bible passages come alive in new and exciting ways, or becoming more attentive to my worship, my experience on June 22, 2003 has certainly opened my eyes toward the future. That’s what God does the best.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Writings by Mary Jane
The other day I was a guest at a friend’s church. The congregation was quietly singing from their heart the final words of the song,
“It’s my joy to honor you
In all I do,
I honor you.”
At that moment most of them I am sure were totally sincere. My heart said, “M J, you’re not even close to honoring Christ in half – or even a quarter – of what you do.” I looked around, knowing only my friend who had taken me to church that day. I thought to myself, if only ten percent of the people who were singing these words were to try – just try – to live up to what they were singing this church would turn this city in the U S A up-side-down honoring Christ.
Thinking what they could do did not let me off the hook. I had to face my God, asking how can I begin, just begin, to honor you? Yes, I’m in “full-time Christian service.” That’s what my generation calls it. My days and some nights are spent doing things that I hope will point people with special needs, as well as others, to Christ and a deeper walk with Him. Sometimes this is hard, even frustrating work.
I am stricken by several words here. The first one that jumps out at me is joy. It’s my JOY to honor you in all I do. It is not my Task, a job forced on me. Sometimes it’s easy to joyfully honor Him. Then there are the more difficult situations, when choosing to have joy is not “a piece of cake.”
Joy is a heartfelt attitude – a choice we make, a willing obedience of the heart (the seat of our emotions.) I chose to joyfully honor Him. Simple? Yes. This is one of the hardest choices to maintain. Also, yes. Joy is not something we can put on and take off at will. We can only pretend for a time. Joy is a daily, even moment by moment, choice we make. The more we do it, the more apt it is to become a good habit.
We choose to live with joy in our hearts. One choice that can come from living joyfully may be a decision to honor Christ. Because of this song I feel the need to address the next word, HONOR. This requires action. It should show more than respect. Though sometimes these words can be used interchangeably, in the spiritual sense they are quite unique. I feel in this case it means to bring glory to God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit who work together in our lives to influence our thoughts, words, and actions at any given moment. The fact that no one can fully honor Christ does not set us up to fail, nor does it give a reason not to try. It gives us a goal to work toward.
Paul expresses it well in Philippians 3:14 “I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.” He was always pressing forward, never completely satisfied with his present level of living until he entered the presence of His Savior. I desire that level of commitment to my Savior.
Perhaps the hardest idea comes from a very small word. ALL! In the presentation of the gospel this word is good, hard to swallow, but all inclusive. All have sinned. Ouch! All are invited to receive salvation thru Christ. Great. All who believe and receive have everlasting life. Wonderful! God’s love is open to ALL. Fabulous.
However in the context of this chorus it seems almost impossible to achieve this all. In ALL I do I honor you. I don’t know about you, but I know my life is far from Christ-honoring all too often. How can I correct this? I want to sing and really mean these words: “It’s my joy to honor you. In all I do I honor you.”
Please Father let me learn, desire, and move forward in my desire to honor you in all I do. When I fail or falter, and I know I will, allow me to feel your loving, forgiving arms encouraging me to “press on.”
Amazing love, how can it be?
that you, my king. would die for me
Amazing love, I know it's true
its my joy to honor you
Amazing love how can it be?
that my king would die for me
Amazing love I know it's true
its my joy to honor you
in all I do
I honor you.
The Health Care Professional
A group of around twenty of us had just arrived in Cuba from around the United Sates representing Joni and Friends/Wheels for the World. We were preparing to go through customs. I had been granted a “religious visa,” while the rest of the group were “tourists.” (That visa allowed me to mention God inside local churches.)
Dawn was my traveling companion / “helper as needed”. This was her first time in Cuba. We completed our paperwork and got in line. Since she was helping we were, more or less, allowed to approach the desk together. I presented my papers and passport, was asked a few questions, reminded that my visa allowed me to speak of God IN a church, and then moved forward a bit – but not out of hearing.
Moments later Dawn was being questioned. She was sternly warned that she was a tourist and could NOT speak about God anywhere. Meekly she responded that she fully understood. She was asked – as each of us were – what her profession was. Without any hesitation she replied, “I’m a licensed massage therapist.” The gentleman stared at her with a look somewhere between shock and “Wow, how much do you charge?”
Under my breath I whispered “HEALTH CARE PROFESSIONAL.” She repeated “Sir, I’m a health care professional.” Her papers were stamped and soon we were on the bus waiting for the rest of our team.
On the bus I explained, “He thought you were a hooker!” Both of us laughed, her face turned every shade of red. Imagine what was going through that gentleman’s mind. A religious person being helped by a plain clothes prostitute!!
You never know what to expect, do you?
