Death, Loss and Sacrafice
How do you confront death, sacrafice and loss? Do you jump into weighty meditations about your own mortality, your parents and your families and friends? Or, do you avoid the thought of it until it’s unavoidable intrusion into your life? It’s an uneasy subject. But the fact that until Jesus comes back death, loss and sacrafice are at the heart of the Christian faith.
Have you ever lost everything? Have you had your worldly effects, including your family and freedom ripped away, and suffered the consequences of that fun? I hope that you haven’t. Yet, if we are Christians,we are instructed to take up our cross daily and follow Jesus. We are admonished to give up everything, including our very lives if need be, and follow Jesus. Following Jesus can be costly, painful and deadly. How do I, as a man of God deal with these unpleasentries? I wish I could say that I confront death with the grace and faith displayed by Polycarp of Smyrna in the 2nd century. Yet, when I was in the middle of a vicious firefight between the Mexican Army and Mexican bad guys, I did not sing praise songs. The thought that the Angel of Death was near was on my mind and I was asking God to forgive me of my sins, protect the innocent and me, and heal the wounded. I saw men die that day, it wasn’t pretty. I still keep around a 9mm slug that was ment to be the final nail in my coffin. Somehow, God either passed the bullet through me without effect, or angels moved me and I don’t remember. My shorts are still drying from that experience.
In 1999 I held my young son as he took his last breath, I felt the present of God, but I carry many scars from his passing. I have learned to never ever expect death or sacrifice to be plesent or enjoyable.I still haven’t matured to the point of rejoicing in my trials. I have seen and experienced that there are profound emotion, physical and scaring consequences for all humans when death, sacrafice and loss are involved. While doing the will of God, I feel like a boxer who’s been knocked down for a mandatory eight count, comes back up and then tries the rope-a-dope method of prayer and survival. I hang on to my opponent, death and or the devil, and hope he punches himself out before I go down for the final count. While I’m getting the snot beaten out of me, emotionally and otherwise, I pray to God for power, mercy, comfort and miracles. I occasionally remember to say “ Thank you God for that bone crunching jab in the gut,” but not often.
The Word of God says that We don’t fight against flesh, blood and bone, but against powers, principalities and a roaring, hungry lion. I can not fight him on my own, but I have a champion who can.Death took my first son that still hurts. Death nearly took my wife after she delivered our second son, ouch. Death nearly took my mother several weeks ago, but prayer and a good jolt from the defribulator brought her back and we’re hopeful of her recovery. The prozac is working, thank you.
Four years ago, I told a young mother who was holding her three day old baby in her arms that her husband of less then a year had just died. I felt no joy, and in fact I cried with her and the attending doctor. I still have no idea how I remained upright during this time because I lost all control of my muscles. However, the Holy Spirit kept me upright and I performed my duty. A duty God gave me. I found no joy in this tradegy, but the power of the Holy Spirit kept me moving and I finished the task of helping one of God’s wounded children.
When death takes me, and I hope it’s not for a long time, my hope is that Jesus will say, “Well done, my good and faithful servant, you took some massive hits and got back up, you finished the race and didn’t give up.” I hope Jesus forgives me of all the sniveling I did in prayer and in person. And I hope he forgives me for feeling all the fear, anger, anxiety and depression I’ve felt.
Yet for a flawed man like me, I’ve learned that I have to take my weak, scared, sniveling, comfort loving, problem avoiding self into the Kingdom of God and spit into the eye of the devil. I am going to be wounded in the Kingdom of God. I am going to loose lots of things, including my son, and am going to be suffer. The key to success, I know, is that the Holy Spirit keeps me moving during this spiritual marathon. Jesus litterally carries my beaten carcus across the finish line. Finishing pretty is irevelent. In the end, finishing is all that counts.
Have you ever lost everything? Have you had your worldly effects, including your family and freedom ripped away, and suffered the consequences of that fun? I hope that you haven’t. Yet, if we are Christians,we are instructed to take up our cross daily and follow Jesus. We are admonished to give up everything, including our very lives if need be, and follow Jesus. Following Jesus can be costly, painful and deadly. How do I, as a man of God deal with these unpleasentries? I wish I could say that I confront death with the grace and faith displayed by Polycarp of Smyrna in the 2nd century. Yet, when I was in the middle of a vicious firefight between the Mexican Army and Mexican bad guys, I did not sing praise songs. The thought that the Angel of Death was near was on my mind and I was asking God to forgive me of my sins, protect the innocent and me, and heal the wounded. I saw men die that day, it wasn’t pretty. I still keep around a 9mm slug that was ment to be the final nail in my coffin. Somehow, God either passed the bullet through me without effect, or angels moved me and I don’t remember. My shorts are still drying from that experience.
In 1999 I held my young son as he took his last breath, I felt the present of God, but I carry many scars from his passing. I have learned to never ever expect death or sacrifice to be plesent or enjoyable.I still haven’t matured to the point of rejoicing in my trials. I have seen and experienced that there are profound emotion, physical and scaring consequences for all humans when death, sacrafice and loss are involved. While doing the will of God, I feel like a boxer who’s been knocked down for a mandatory eight count, comes back up and then tries the rope-a-dope method of prayer and survival. I hang on to my opponent, death and or the devil, and hope he punches himself out before I go down for the final count. While I’m getting the snot beaten out of me, emotionally and otherwise, I pray to God for power, mercy, comfort and miracles. I occasionally remember to say “ Thank you God for that bone crunching jab in the gut,” but not often.
The Word of God says that We don’t fight against flesh, blood and bone, but against powers, principalities and a roaring, hungry lion. I can not fight him on my own, but I have a champion who can.Death took my first son that still hurts. Death nearly took my wife after she delivered our second son, ouch. Death nearly took my mother several weeks ago, but prayer and a good jolt from the defribulator brought her back and we’re hopeful of her recovery. The prozac is working, thank you.
Four years ago, I told a young mother who was holding her three day old baby in her arms that her husband of less then a year had just died. I felt no joy, and in fact I cried with her and the attending doctor. I still have no idea how I remained upright during this time because I lost all control of my muscles. However, the Holy Spirit kept me upright and I performed my duty. A duty God gave me. I found no joy in this tradegy, but the power of the Holy Spirit kept me moving and I finished the task of helping one of God’s wounded children.
When death takes me, and I hope it’s not for a long time, my hope is that Jesus will say, “Well done, my good and faithful servant, you took some massive hits and got back up, you finished the race and didn’t give up.” I hope Jesus forgives me of all the sniveling I did in prayer and in person. And I hope he forgives me for feeling all the fear, anger, anxiety and depression I’ve felt.
Yet for a flawed man like me, I’ve learned that I have to take my weak, scared, sniveling, comfort loving, problem avoiding self into the Kingdom of God and spit into the eye of the devil. I am going to be wounded in the Kingdom of God. I am going to loose lots of things, including my son, and am going to be suffer. The key to success, I know, is that the Holy Spirit keeps me moving during this spiritual marathon. Jesus litterally carries my beaten carcus across the finish line. Finishing pretty is irevelent. In the end, finishing is all that counts.
posted by Prozac at 11:11 AM
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