When I was attending the University of Texas at Austin I had been overwhelmed with the love of God between my sophomore and junior years. When I surrendered my heart and soul to the Living God, I took it seriously. I acknowledged that I would from now on be obedient to Him. As I learned to hear the “still small voice of God” in my life I found myself doing things that brought me out of my comfort zone.
There would be times that I would “hear” this voice, which was like an inaudible thought in my head that seemed to come from a third party, and it would be a command, like, ‘Tell that person I love them.’ I would approach such and such a person and tell them. One time I attended a Robert Plant concert at the Frank Erwin Center arena on the campus at UT. I made a homemade sign that said: “JESUS LOVES YOU” and after the last song I made my way from the 8th row in front of stage left and settled in a spot further up front in the third row. After the singer strolled out from backstage in front of me about 10 or 15 feet away, he looked at me and said silently, “I know.”
This was a rare response, but one I think I’d heard before. Sometimes it was a polite smile, other times it was a clearcut turning of the head and re-focusing eyes elsewhere, as if to make sure I knew I was being ignored. I think I heard a few “Thanks” along the way as well. It seemed each time I was obedient to “the voice” the more clearly I heard it.
There was this tough-looking guy on campus. I believe he wore a well-worn sleeveless jean jacket with patches on it, had tattoos on his bare arms (and, mind you, this was 1983 or 1984 and tattoos were not yet the rage in middle America) and a fiery red crop of hair and a full beard. He wasn’t a loud or brash individual, as far as I knew, but one couldn’t help but notice him on campus. I imagined him to be somewhat popular, simply because I saw him around the West Mall area between classes a lot.
So anyway, one day I heard this voice tell me, ‘Tell him that I love him.’
Gulp.
‘Dang it, Lord! Why him? This might turn violent and I won’t be on the victorious end of that conflict.’ This wasn’t my exact response, but it probably epitomizes my heart reaction and the fear I had inside. Nobody really likes rejection. That fear was bad enough, but the fear of making someone that was fierce-looking angry at me brought another, more physical-oriented fear into my heart. I was pre-judging the man, of course, as he was like a caricature of the “biker dude,” the tough guy no one messes with and gets away with.
Nevertheless, I took this stuff seriously and I guess I had a lot more respect and fear for the One Who told me to say this than I did for anyone else or any consequences I might face. I approached the guy and told him and he kindly thanked me. His face was warm, gentle and kind and it seemed sincere that he appreciated me telling him that. I can’t remember the details of our conversation, but I do remember the relief of finding out that I hadn’t caused a conflict or provoked an outburst of anger and rage.
I would sometimes tell people, “I feel like God told me to tell you that He loves you.” Not sure why I’d take that approach, but it seemed honest. On the rare occasion that I’d meet an older friend – one that knew me when I was more of an evangelist for marijuana and a partying lifestyle than I was for God – I would share that “I’m a Jesus freak now.” I think I did this because I figured it would disarm any pre-conceived prejudice against religious people if I came right out and identified myself as one. Today I might even use a phrase like, “I’m a real religious guy,” because it would possible be a perfect fit into someone else’s limited reference for what a life of a disciple of Christ was like. For a non-religious person or a person that hasn’t placed their faith in God or surrendered their life to the One that gave it to them, focusing on the “spiritual” in an on-going and permanent basis can seem like a foreign concept. By identifying with that limited point of reference, it can give a discussion a starting point. By calling myself a “Jesus freak” I was able to willingly take on the role of a marginalized, picked-on, ridiculed and misunderstood segment of the population. I was also able to distance myself from that “religion” term that so many of us evangelical Christians hated. Our reference point was one of relationship with a living God and sometimes that meant stepping out of “dead religion” or going through some set of motions that we associated with religion. That popular notion is fine, but I think now it’s almost cool to embrace that tag, because the original meaning or purpose has been somewhat lost – at least in my experience.
I have no idea what impact, if any, my statement to that tough-looking guy with the red beard had made, but I am glad that I was obedient. First, because obedience means I have a master and as His servant I want to please Him and obey Him. Secondly, I’ve found that “obedience is the sweetest joy.” And third, I was able to see that my fears are often unfounded and not worth worrying about in the first place. Fourth, now I have a reference point (and a story I can tell) about pre-conceived notions and judging people and reaching out in love to a fellow human being.
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