The title of
this was a wonderful phrase, I found while reading, is attributed to a person
called O. Wesley Jnr. In his writing, he went on to say that it could be hard
to be a Christian in the first century. Remember, back then most Christians
were Jews: if you were a Jew who was a Christian, other Jews who didn’t believe
in Jesus said you sold out the faith and the traditions of Israel because you
claim Jesus is the Messiah and allow Gentiles in your community.
Or if you were
a Gentile who was a Christian and other Romans saw you hanging around with Jews
and talking about a Messiah, they said you joined a cult. They expected you at
any minute to be hanging out at the airport with a tambourine, selling
carnations, asking people if they’re saved, and handing out pamphlets that
explain five steps to get to heaven. There was risk and cost to being a
Christian back in the first century. You could lose family, friends,
livelihood. In some rare circumstances, you might even lose your life.
Maybe you had
joined the church thinking God would suddenly make everything go your way. Or
maybe you thought Jesus would return on the clouds at any moment so it was okay
if things were tough for a short period because you would be in paradise just
over the next hill. But things weren’t okay, and Jesus didn’t return. So, the
early followers of Jesus asked: Is it really worth it? All the sacrifices? All
the danger? All the risks? All the changes? You’ve sold the entirety of your
old life to buy into this new life. But is this new life worth it?
Well, Jesus
still hasn’t come back some two thousand years later, even though we check the
weather report each evening to see if the local meteorologist says, “A warm front
will move in to the grass overnight bringing with it overcast skies and the Son
of God.” And it doesn’t look like Christians today are any better off than the
rest of the population. We struggle with finances and cancer and dysfunctional
home life and depression and tensions at work and fear and prejudice just like
everyone else.
The rain falls
on the just and the unjust alike. But the problem isn’t only that we are just
like everyone else. No, we Christians are overachievers: we add some burdens
that are particular to our faith on top of the burdens that come with just
being human. Small burdens like getting up on Sunday morning in the middle of
the summer to come to church to hear a guest preacher when it’d be awfully nice
to sleep in and wait until our Minister gets back. Small burdens like reading
scripture when we’d rather be reading a trashy novel. Small burdens like saying
grace before meals in a restaurant when it’s a little embarrassing.
But we
Christians add larger burdens to life too. Like being honest on taxes when we
could save hundreds of dollars, like giving more to charity than others do, loving
our neighbours as ourselves. And of course, there are some mega burdens too,
like loving our enemies, not just our neighbours, like being a peacemaker in a
world of violence. Huge burdens of daily taking up our crosses and following
Jesus and trying to answer the call, as Matthew says, to be perfect as God in
heaven is perfect.
Reflect on
this: if before the Christian life, there’s a doorkeeper on guard and you come
from a Church or maybe not to this doorkeeper and ask to be let in. But the
doorkeeper says that he won’t let you in right now. You ponder this and then
ask if he’ll let you in later. “Maybe,” he says, “but no promises and not right
now.” Since the gate stands open and the doorkeeper stands to the side of it,
you can stoop down to peek through the gateway into the Christian life.
When the
doorkeeper sees you doing this, he laughs and says: “If you are so drawn to it,
just try to go in despite my resistance. But take note: I’m pretty strong. It
will be a struggle to get past me. And I’m only the least of the doorkeepers.
From hall to hall there is one doorkeeper after another, each more powerful
than the last. It will be a burden to struggle with us all.” You stand there
looking through the door and ask yourself, “Is it worth it? Is it worth the
risk, worth the burden, worth the struggle to get in? I wonder if the struggle
is a treasure? I wonder if the risk is a pearl?” And you take a deep breath,
you shift your weight on your feet, and . . .
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