What’s the point?
That seemed to be the reoccurring theme behind a
conversation a man (I’ll refer to as “C”) and I had at 5:00 in the morning the
first Saturday of the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally… Not surprisingly at all, the whole conversation
was a God-setup from the very beginning. It really started the evening before
at the end of the supper meal. "C" sat down at the only available table which
happened to be directly in front of the serving counter… ("C" is my age, average
build, beard and long hair; he was at Sturgis with bail buddies, but was fine
doing mostly his own thing.) The room started to clear out making a
conversation over the counter even possible. Any other moment during the meal,
the room would’ve been too loud for us to communicate… I don’t remember what we
talked about exactly, something about the upcoming concerts at Buffalo Chip,
something about touring the Hills, something about the crazy traffic… just
icebreakers between complete strangers. We have many people come to camp with
us that have to figure out what the “catch” is… Why the meals? Why the free
showers? Why the flushing toilets when you haul water? Why the low prices –
what’s the catch? Sometimes they have braced themselves for a sermon when they
come in for a meal, especially the new campers… they’ve counted on us giving
them something for free, but at the cost of them having to hear a message of
the “good news”, so that we of course could report back to our supporters how
many people we "saved" during the sin-infested Sturgis motorcycle rally… So it’s always
fun to take them by surprise and let “free” actually mean free - without any
stipulations…no catch. The message of the “good news” is obvious, but not
because we’re preaching it with our mouths… It seemed like almost all of the
workers this year were hurting one way or another, whether it was a loss in the
family or sickness or physical/emotional pain. Everyone was hurting and the
pain was obvious, but the Giver of joy was pouring out His Spirit so abundantly
that the sort of laughter that makes your eyes water and makes your stomach
feel like you’ve just done a thousand sit-ups, sort of became the theme of the
kitchen crew. It got to where I counted on the meal prep, the meal serving, and
the meal clean-up to be a good time with lots of laughing and funny stories and
building each other up. So if a newby missed the message that "life is tough,
but the Giver of Life is in the next breath you breathe if only you take it in" – well, then they simply weren’t looking hard enough. Thankfully, “C” was a
newby last year (though I didn't remember him) and had studied us long enough to know he could come in and sit
down and enjoy a meal without anyone giving him spiritual indigestion. He felt
we were approachable, so he talked to us… the idea of that seems so
insignificant, but when you wear all black, have long hair, and ride a
motorcycle – you sometimes get this preconceived idea that certain kinds of
people might not want to talk to you… we’re not that certain kind of people… So
we gabbed about nothingness and went our separate ways.
Fast-forward now about 10 hours, and there I am in the
kitchen behind the counter again, this time doing breakfast prep… Just to show
you the God-setup behind our connection: this was the only morning of the whole rally I
was alone in the kitchen. This was the only morning of the whole rally that I
was not running nonstop to get breakfast ready to serve. This was the
only morning of the rally that there wasn’t tables full of hungry people just
waiting for the clock to strike 6 am; the very next day we served nearly 65
people between 6 and 6:15 am. This was the first morning I had awakened free of an eye infection (of which was always so much worse in the morning) I had been suffering from for days; if I would've still had this infection I would have done everything in my power to avoid the conversation to follow... This morning was a God ordained appointment,
where all the pieces fell into place…
“C” apparently wasn’t much of an outhouse
sort of fella, or maybe they were all occupied, whatever the reasoning he chose
the restrooms in the building that morning. He had forgotten his flask in the
restroom on his way out, but before he could get in and retrieve it, someone
else had slipped in for a shower… so as he was waiting to get back in and get it, he decided he’d talk to
me some more. “You’re Andy’s wife, right?” You can imagine the kind of relief
that statement brought when I wasn’t entirely sure of the motivation behind him
striking up a friendly conversation again with me…
”Are you like part owner, or you just work here or…?”
“My parents are the owners… so a little of both I guess.”
“Ok, so I have a question for you…”
“Ok. Shoot.”
Truthfully, I’m not entirely sure he had even been to bed at
all that night. His words were very clear, but his tone was much, much more
“mellow” then the evening before, and his eyes were intensely bloodshot. I can’t tell you how thankful I am for the “liquid courage” pulsing
through him – this conversation would not have taken place without it, I’m
sure.
“Ok, so if Jesus is God’s son, and Jesus is the Messiah, and
Jesus was a jew, right, ‘cause that’s what it says… then why do you meet on
Sunday instead of the actual Sabbath?”
~ I’m now thinking one of two things is happening: either I
forgot to get out of bed when my alarm
went off and I’m just dreaming and will come to in an absolute panic any second
now, or the night crew talked to this guy for a while already and I’m being
punked… But on the off chance that this guy has read a history book of any kind on the
Constantine era and has just legitimately asked me that question, I’ll answer
him to the best of my understanding…
“Well, I don’t know why most Christians meet on Sunday, but
we observe Saturday as our Sabbath. “
“Seriously? You meet on Saturday? Is there a meeting today?”
Oh how I wish I could’ve told him there was going to be one
that morning… but I explained that it was an “our ox was in the ditch”
sort of thing… and we just couldn’t have planned on meeting on one of the
busiest days of the rally… I also explained that the Christian groups that were
volunteering there like to host a Sunday meeting, so we let them run that… if
we had someone volunteer to host a Sabbath one, we’d welcome that, no doubt…
Now, I’m sure you’re thinking what a strange and
insignificant thing to ask about… why would this even be mulling around this
guys head after a long night of partying… He told me later that he had been
walking around downtown on Friday and he went into this booth that was set up
where you could sign up for a drawing for a free Harley… and while you’re in
there they “witness” to you (it’s run by one of the Baptist churches in town)…
The trickery behind it had really aggravated him… What seemed to be happening,
was that he had been working on a comeback to those “holier than thou” people
who had tricked him into sitting down so they could tell him he was a sinner…
Knowing history, he knew that “Christians” weren’t all saints themselves and he
couldn’t wait to show them the error of their ways, just as he had been told the
error of his… Hence the question – “Why do you meet on Sunday, when that wasn’t
the day Jesus observed…” His game plan was somewhat deflated when I agreed with
him that I also felt that Saturday was the original Sabbath… So he went fishing
again…
~“I don’t know. I just want a real – something you can see -
God. I’ve begged him to just show me something I could see and touch… that
wouldn’t really be that hard if He’s the 'Creator of the universe'. Like, just
do something so I know you’re real.”
“No. It wouldn’t be that hard for sure, but what do you
think that would do to you… what if you had the 'Creator of the universe' as
your party favor… it’d be a pretty cool party trick to command Him to fill
an empty glass with water… but how would that change you? Would it give you
more faith or just fill you with pride? I have a birth defect that should make
it impossible for me to hold myself upright, let alone walk or do normal
activity… Andy always says that I am able to do more than what most girls without disabilities can do… God could heal me in a one time miracle, or
He could walk in me daily, giving me the strength I need for that day. Letting
me know He’s with me and wants me to accomplish that thing, that day. I think
everyone has something like that… something that would be impossible, but
isn’t - their 'proof'.”
He went on to tell me about how he was with a group of his
friends one time and he told them he was going to prove that God was real and
so he asked God to make it rain. And pretty soon he got a phone call from
someone telling him to relay a message to so and so that he needed to move his
car because it was flooding from a sudden cloudburst…
“Well, there you go. That’s very cool.” I said.
“Yeah, but other times it didn’t happen.” He replied.
“Yeah. It’ll always happen for you spiritually though… If
there’s someone you can’t forgive, or someone hurting you somehow – pray for
them sincerely to be blessed, and you’ll instantly feel Him spiritually and
you’ll know without a doubt He’s real. Going against human nature…
That’s where He’ll be – every time. In my opinion, that’s why we go through
trails, so He can reveal His greatness to us… ”
Tears were slipping down his cheeks by now… His disgust with
reality may seem like a disorganized jumble of thoughts, but if I had to guess,
I would say that every conclusion he was putting forth had at some time in his
life been the wall that kept him from turning his life around…
~“I don’t know. I just wonder why… what’s the point to all
this.” Anger was the reigning emotion for him while we talked…
“I don’t know anything about anything, but to me this is what
our purpose is… I think God was roaming the universe, creating beings for all different purposes for all sorts of reasons, but He was
longing for a being who would choose to love Him…So He created a being with the ability to choose, and He knew He couldn’t reveal Himself to them in His
entirety or it wouldn’t be a choice… it would all only be out of fear.”
He was quiet for a little while. Trying to wrangle his
emotion. And then said:
“Another thing I always think…that “saved by grace” thing… I
prayed that sinners prayer or whatever when I was like 9… Nine! What on earth
could I have possibly done to need to be saved from at 9… Now when I think of
everything I’ve done, I just think how could I possibly ever do anything to be
good enough to be “saved”…if I was bad at 9…”
“You couldn’t. I couldn’t. Nobody could. That’s the thing
about Jesus – He covers us so that whatever is seen of us is seen only through
Jesus… Not because of something we do or don’t do, but because of how great He is…
That’s why I try to do things that are what He desires…not because I don’t want
to sin so I can save myself, but because He’s such a loving heavenly Father, I
want to do things that bring Him joy.”
He referenced the NT scripture of the unclean being clean at
some point in the conversation. I told Him that scripture was clearly telling
us not to call people unclean who He has called clean… And what a hope that was
for us as being a “grafted” in people… to which he told me I had lost him and
he didn’t know what I was talking about.;) It was very difficult to gage his knowledge of scripture, so I told him if he reads the Bible again
and comes across verses that talk about God being the vine and we are the
branches… or anything about being grafted in… that’s what I’m talking about.
He furthered the conversation, “Sin. I don’t know.. it’s just like these rules that…
they’re just like ‘Whatever. What’s the point’.”
I replied, “Yeah. You can’t let anyone tell you what sin is… People
will tell you things like 'drinking is a sin' and other things… but the truth is
God only ever made a law when it had to do with you hurting yourself or hurting
someone else… that’s when He didn’t want you to do it… Drinking is fine as long
as it doesn’t get to where you are hurting yourself or someone else…” He seemed
to see some relevance to that, some purpose.
He shifted over and looked off to the side. I kept stirring
my waffle mix. Then he muttered back again:
“I don’t know. What’s
the point. I’ve done too many things. I wouldn’t even want Him to forgive me
now.”
Tears were coming down again.
“Do you remember the story of the prodigal son?”
~“Who?”
“The son who had lived off the riches of his father’s house
until he was an adult, and then decided he wanted to go off on his own and do
things his own way…”
~“Oh yeah, yeah.”
I could tell he remembered the story and wanted me to stop
telling it… but I felt like I should tell it to the end:
“So he lived off his father’s riches, squandering it away
until he had nothing left. Finally, he found himself wallowing with the pigs…
and he remembered that even the servants at his father’s house live better then
he does. If only by some chance his father could find enough forgiveness to let
him come back to simply be a servant…so he headed home. Word got out that his
son was coming back and before the son could even reach the gate, the father was
running to him with handpicked clothes and he had ordered a feast to be prepared…
not because of how good the son was or what the son had done, but because of
how loving that father was… That’s how the heavenly father is to me. That’s the
image I have of Him…”
It was quiet again for a bit.
~“I don’t know. What about that ‘if you get rid of 1 spirit,
7 more will take it’s place’? I sure don’t need 7 more.”
“Sure. Well, the one thing you can know for certain is God
is in control of all spirits. He’s in charge. So if it’s 1 or 7 or whatever,
call on God and they have to surrender.”
~“Oh yeah, I know whenever I’m afraid or whatever… when
there’s something spiritual happening that’s terrifying… I just call on God to
help me. I know He’s there.”
It’s pretty obvious to deduce that our man “C” was bathed in
some form of Christianity at some point in his life… He knew all the right
clichés… He probably took it to task to “save” his friends, and the world. I
think he felt that sometimes God was there for him and sometimes He wasn’t. At
some juncture in his life, he asked “What’s the point?”. He went just as far
as he wanted to go in the opposite direction - wherever the high would take him…
But the “up” always had a “down”… And I think he is tired of hitting bottom… I
hope I didn’t speak to him that day; I hope he doesn’t remember my slurred
together verbal dissertation… My hope is that in his spirit he got this
overwhelming sensation that there is a Father who loves him, has never not
loved him, and has been there especially in the trials. And that this Father’s
desire is only that his son stops hurting himself, and falls back into the
loving arms of grace, to be clothed in the riches of joy and the splendor of
peace… to find a hope rather than a high and a comfort despite the low.
When people started to come in for breakfast that morning,
he hurried back to his camp to try to sleep a bit more. And when I saw him
again later I treated him as though the conversation had never
happened, but happy that he had made it in in time to grab a waffle. We looked
over his maps and discussed the different routes. I was careful not to mention
our divine appointment to any of the “ministries” at the campground as I knew
it would only make him bait for the wolves… If he decides to make any lasting
changes in his life, it will have to be done with a sober mind, not clouded with
anger… it’ll have to be something real. He’ll have to find its
purpose, its point. God is calling him back, out of the hurt and pain. When he comes to that crossroad to
either choose death or choose life. I’m praying, and I know you will as well,
that he’ll choose life, and never look back.
