Gospel

Last Thursday I went back to the soup kitchen. It's amazing how, even though I've done it a few times now, I argue with myself in the car over whether or not I really should go. Come time to go, I can think of hundreds of reasons to stay in Henderson. Going to the soup kitchen is something that makes me feel uncomfortable, out of place, and strange. But as I riffle through the reasons to stay, there always sticks out one huge reason to GO.

And His name is Jesus.

That's how it is for most things. We argue with ourselves and, in a way even, with God over all of the reasons that we want to stay. Sometimes the reasons sound legitimate, but we know that the truth is that they are all a facade, a mask, of the real reason deep down in us: to be complacent, to be lazy, to not change, to remain the same. We don't want challenge; we want comfort. We don't want strain; we want ease. But to fight that inner tendency is to seek the heart of God. To fight that inner tendency is to be willing to step up to the plate and, as Gandhi encouraged, to be the change that you want to see in the world.

Jesus is daring you to move.

And every time that we move, though it may be uncomfortable, it is always rewarding.

Things were pretty normal at the soup kitchen all night. There weren't a ton of people because Room at the Inn (a homeless-sheltering project that different churches came together on in Jackson, which I got to be a chaperon for this past Saturday night) had started, and many of the homeless were already gone. But there were around a hundred or so that came through. Most of them were all really nice and polite. There were a few that had had too much to drink or were possibly still strung out on some drugs, but that was normal. So as the night dwindled down, I decided to pull up a seat at the table of an older African American woman who was sitting by herself.

Her name was Ms. Ida.

Ms. Ida told me all about her family history. She told me about her daughter who still lived in Jackson and visited her sometimes. She told me about her grandson, and her great grandson, whom she was very proud of. She asked me several questions about my own history, which I opened up to her. We shared some laughs and some more small talk, and then Ms. Ida started talking about church.

Really, God?

It wasn't long before Ms. Ida was spilling out all of her religious ideas and spiritual views. But this was not some aged woman rambling on and on or going on senseless tangents about how she sees God; this was the Gospel as I hadn't heard it in a while. This was the Gospel according to a poor woman, who had lived a broken life, but still had reason to smile and have hope because of the great love that she found in God, and the love that He inspired others to have towards her, and her towards them. This was the Gospel coming from the mouth of one to whom, I imagine, Jesus would have taught it to directly in His ministry on earth. This was the Gospel from one who was blessed for her meekness, spirit-lifted according to her Messiah, and joyously sharing it with anyone who would listen!

This was the Gospel according to Ms. Ida.

I think that we all have a "gospel according to ." It's the way that we live our lives. It's the way we talk about Jesus. The story, the message, the idea is no different than originally written; but it is breathed new life into it, and put on display, by the way that we share it with others - hopefully assuming that we DO share it with others.

Ms. Ida challenged me; it was uncomfortable to sit with her at first, and it's uncomfortable now to think of the thoughts that she left me with. If my life is a Gospel, what am I telling other people?