Being a Christian is not what it used to be…at least not for me.  Like many people, I was bored out of my mind when I went to church as a little boy.  Sure, I believed in God, believed even that Jesus was His son and died on the Cross for my sins.  And why did I believe these things?  Well, I think it’s mainly because my parents and other relatives seemed to think I should.  I was convinced that it was true only because people I trusted told me so.  But then again, these were the same people who told me Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny were real, and what do you think I did with those “truths?”

Needless to say, I am no longer a Christian…well, not for the same reasons I was back then.  No, now I would actually consider myself to be something else entirely, something way more meaningful than that.  Today, I consider myself to be a REAL Christian.  It comes with a lot of the same things that being a Christian did.  I believe in God, and I still believe that Jesus is His son and died on the Cross for my sins.  The difference is that now I am convicted.  For many of you who know me, you would probably be somewhat aware that this happened for me several years ago, shortly after Amy & I moved back here from York and resumed our fellowship at St. Paul’s.  But I think it would be fair to say that my conviction has really come full circle as a I bore witness to my son Evan’s life, his death, and the time that has passed since then.  The Bible tells us that God made us in His image.  Never has this been clearer to me than right now.

The god of this age has blinded the minds of unbelievers, so that they cannot see the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God.  But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.  We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.  We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body.  For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body.  So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you.

2 Corinthians 4: 4; 7-12 (NIV)

Christians aren’t just to believe that Christ died for them, but rather are to carry his death and glorious resurrection with them in their daily lives.  The weight of this truth should be the backbone of every single thing we think and do on this earth.  I have to believe that God is saddened at the number of us who do not carry the truth, who do not believe that Jesus is at the center of their lives.  What could possibly sadden God more than the failure of the humanity to recognize the one and only thing that can save our souls?  We are here for His companionship, and yet we turn our backs.

Recently at dinner, someone very close to us asked Amy how we could possibly feel anger toward people we don’t know?  I take this to mean, how can anger toward the general public be a valid component of our mourning process?  I believe that I have discovered an answer to that.

Let me preface this by saying that I don’t believe anger is or should be the end game of mourning, and I certainly don’t believe that God leaves us in places of anger to fend for ourselves.  However, I do believe it is a valid component of the process, even when it is directed at those we don’t know.  I believe this mainly because we have become so acutely aware of how others may perceive us as compared to how we long to be perceived.  Let me give a few personal examples:

A few weeks ago, I attended a Pirates’ game with my dad.  During an inning break, I got up to use the restroom.  On my way up the bleacher stairs, I briefly made eye contact with a father, who was holding his young daughter as he got out of his seat.  As I have already described, I quite obviously recognized him as a dad.   But what did he think when he saw me?  Probably just as some guy getting up to go to the bathroom.  Could he see Evan with me, entrenched in my soul?  I’d like to believe that somehow he did, but I doubt it.  Why would he?  And I was not angry with him…in fact; I think I smiled seeing a father and his daughter at a ballgame.  But I did become angry because I was probably not perceived the same way.

At the same game, a group of business people sitting directly behind my dad and I were blowing of work to attend the game, as it was a “businessman’s special” day.  I listened to the men and women carelessly flirt with one another for the better part of 3 innings, without any apparent feelings of sadness or grief in their lives.  My dad and the other guys we went to the game with made innocent chatter with them, while I sat there and stared at the field.  I simply didn’t care to act “happy” any more than they would have cared to share in my burden.  Once again, I was wearing Evan on my sleeve, and the world failed to notice.

When we go to the grocery store, I bet the cashiers and the people standing in line with us would comment on how cute Evan is as he sits in his car seat in the grocery cart, except that they don’t see him.  He’s right there, a piece of him in each of our souls, and yet nobody says a word because they don’t know.  You can “How are they supposed to know?” me all you want, but you can bet they would acknowledge his presence more often than not if he were physically in that cart!  If only the world could understand how difficult a thing that is to live with.

A couple weekends ago, Amy & I were invited out to a bar with friends we hadn’t seen in a while.  We had our reservations about where we were going, but we decided to go spend some time with them.  There was a special going on, so we had to wait in line outside the bar, which was right across the street from PNC Park.  As we waited, more and more 22-year-olds surrounded us in line in their skimpy clothes and loads of perfume.  And as I looked across the street, I fixed my eyes on several families with young children wearing baseball gloves and hats coming from the ballgame.  That street loomed before me like no metaphor I’d ever experienced in my life.  How I longed to jump out of that stupid line and into that crowd of families.  And yet, nobody around us had a clue, nor could they have possibly fathomed what we were thinking.  But it still angered me…it’s an image stuck in my head forever.

So how about now?  Do you know why we’re angry with the world?  Why it eats us from the inside out when we drive past a mother stopping to light up a cigarette as she pushes her baby around in a stroller?  Why I can’t handle hearing a mother say to another single friend, “you don’t want to be having kids when you’re 35, do you?”  You know, I hope I have 3 or 4 kids after the age of 35…nothing would make me happier!