Where's the love?

I met a man tonight.

He's a self-professed drug addict and alcoholic. Some time ago he made a deal with God when he was at the lowest point in his life that whatever it was he had left, God could have. He had lost everything due to his addictions. He had lost wives, family, job, everything. But God gave him a new chance. At least so he believed. God showed him the love of a church, God even gave him a new wife. At least so he believed.

He went to college to become a minister, fulfilling a call he had felt since he was twelve.
I met him during his last semester of a bachelor of theology program. He was working and studying and had even found a church to be pastor of. The people loved him. His wife loved him. God loved him.

At least so he believed.

Like many couples, they had problems, but they were working on them. Christmas was approaching and he knew things weren't good, but his wife of 1 year assured him that she wasn't going anywhere.

So the Sunday after Christmas he went to church as usual. Preached on love.

And came home to a dear John letter. She wanted out and said that she had never loved him.

And the church... I'm so angry with that church. They fired him.

He lost his wife, and his calling, and he believes he lost his God. His wife lied about loving him and even claimed that she only married him out of guilt.

The church, those who are supposed to love God and love their neighbor... didn't.

And God, the God of miracles who has healed people in such powerful ways that even this broken man has heard about them. This poor man who has determined that never again will he enter a church... God is nowhere to be found.

At least so he believes. Where is his miracle. This is April 1st... as we call it April fool's day. And this poor broken 49 year old former addict... is sitting in a Tim Horton's, wishing he were dead, convinced he has no value, refusing any help, unable to hear compassion or receive the love of God from anyone in any form.

He thinks he has been a fool to trust God.

My heart was breaking and I wanted to cry with this poor man. Debbie sat at the next table praying while I listened to his story, wishing that there was something I could say, some word that would encourage him. Some thought that would penetrate his despair and offer him a lifeline to cling to. We invited him to stay with us, he refused. I could do nothing but sit and listen as he poured out his broken heart on the table in front of me.

And I realized something. As his pain found a voice, and his comfort with my listening increased, his language got rougher and the tears fell from his eyes faster and faster.

His anger is righteous. I realized that he has every right to be angry. God's plan failed him. But not because God failed. Because God's people did not do what they are called to do. When this man's life fell apart, God's people pushed him apart.

Three years at Divinity College, and apparently no-one cares about this poor man, where he is, what's happening in his life, what he needs.

In and out of churches since he was 17, he now believes that love is just a pretty word, a high ideal, and for him at least, totally unattainable.

I'm angry with the church. I'm angry with myself. And I suppose, if I'm honest, I'm angry at God. Because he allows this to happen. He allows us to suffer. Worse, he allows others to suffer. I want to do something that makes a difference.

When are we going to do something real? When is the church going to stop saying nice words and get dirty helping real people with real problems?

This poor man poured out his heart to me and would accept no help, no offer of mercy, no gift of grace. He talked for a half-hour or so, and then stood suddenly, took his coat and said thanks... and walked out to his car where he lit a cigarette and then drove away.

He insisted he had a bed to sleep in tonight... but I don't know if he did. He wouldn't come home with us though I tried to persuade him.

I'm angry because life is hard and we want it to be easy. I'm angry because life is unfair and we want it to be fair.

But I'm still mostly angry at myself. And the church. Because whatever happens to this poor man, we failed him. I did what I could in the moment God gave me with him, and I know that may make a difference somehow.

But this poor man reminded me of how often I don't even notice hurting people. Worse, he reminded me of how often I ignore hurting people because my agenda is more important.

As God is my witness, I hope and pray that I never forget the conversation I had tonight with this poor man. I hope it changes me forever. I hope me telling this changes you forever. Because if it doesn't, there is very little hope for this world. God in his wisdom has chosen to use his church to share the good news. That poor man desperately needs good news. Now.

I'm going to be watching the obituaries for the next while. I pray I don't see his name. With his past addictions and present problems... this man doesn't appear to have a future.

At least so he believes.

My prayer... and I hope yours is that we will become the kind of people, the kind of Christians... that prove him utterly wrong.God is love. We are supposed to be the living example of that love.

Isn't it about time we were?

Geoff