When you’re a new Christian, the world is a non-stop vibrant buzz of technicolor delights where every day brings bright shining promises of the new life to be lived and new souls to be saved. You want everyone to know what you now know; you tell anyone you encounter about the life-changing encounter that’s turned every fiber of your being inside out and then right again. Right for the first time, to be precise. You know — you know — that Jesus is the answer regardless of the question. How could you not know this? Your life was changed. You’ve heard the stories of fellow believers whose lives were changed. You are utterly, irrevocably convinced there’s no one, nothing, no situation or scenario beyond the reach of God’s hand. And you’re just the one to tell everyone about it. Personal experience with whatever the other person is facing? Not that important. You’ve got Jesus. And you’re sure that no matter what you can relate.
You’re sure that no matter what you can relate.
The seasons change and time passes. You begin to notice shadows creeping into your sunshine. It seems you may have miscalculated a little when you thought no experience was necessary. It would appear your well-meant words of understanding and comfort are beginning to be challenged. How can you know where I am, they say. You don’t know heartache and heartbreak. You don’t know divorce or being the child of divorce. You don’t know death. You don’t know drugs or alcohol. You don’t know abortion. You don’t know. Still you carry on, a tad more grim-faced perhaps but still at it. You’ve got Jesus. And you’re pretty sure that no matter what you can relate.
You’re pretty sure that no matter what you can relate.
Until one day when you look around at the remains of your efforts to make things right for others. You gave it your best… and it was a miserable failure. You didn’t understand when you said you understood. You didn’t know when you said you knew. You sailed blind into a sea battle which caught you off guard and unguarded. Now you’re an even bigger shipwreck than the ones you tried to help. You gave everything you had until you bled yourself dry and it didn’t make a lick of difference other than making you anemic. All your words are now bones scattered about and crushed underfoot by their own inability to do what they set out to do. You’re wounded. You’re scarred. You’re scared. You don’t see how you can ever help anyone. With anything. Oh, you still believe. But Jesus needs to find someone else to work through. You can’t do it.
You can’t do it.
So you don’t.
The seasons change and time passes. You’re still in full withdraw mode. But every now and then, you find yourself re-acquainting yourself with the things which you used to declare with such certainty. Not at anyone in particular; no, none of that “I have a Scripture for you” talk that used to dominate your conversation. Yet even within your hiding behind your own shadow, you find yourself thinking about and talking about stuff that hadn’t come to mind for years. Perhaps decades.
You find an understanding of how you blew it the first time through because even while you strove for humility you were thinking too much of yourself. You horribly underestimated the importance of been there, done that. You threw yourself into the picture when all you should have offered was Christ crucified and risen. Yes, there were times when you were part of the comfort and encouragement. Others? You should have removed yourself from the equation.
You find yourself reaching out once more to the hurting. When applicable you say you understand because you do understand, a living example of the truism that only the ones who have been through the fire can speak with authority to those still engulfed in flames. When it’s not applicable… well, you don’t. You do what you can, namely be loving and compassionate and caring. But this time, you acknowledge and respect the gap between you and the one you’re helping. You apply new terminology to the teaching of many parts forming one body which is the Church by networking and using the network to connect hurting people with the right helping people. Not that you’re in any fashion abdicating responsibility to care for others, but you’re being smart about it. Be it brother helping brother, sister helping sister, brother helping sister or vice versa; you understand your place.
And you love.
Always, you love.
And with that love, you learn the power of God is far greater than you imagined even in those heady first days of faith.
Love doesn’t always fill the gap. But without it, the gap is never filled.
