A Good Question

Two weeks ago, while returning from Latin America, a cancelled flight forced me to spend an unexpected night.  At sunrise the next morning, a driver arrived to take me to the airport.  He quietly explained that another passenger would be riding with us—a jefe, a boss.  When the man approached the vehicle, he looked as though he had stepped out of central casting for a new Netflix series:combed-back hair, a mustache, and tattoos.  During the drive I asked what he did for a living.  With a slight smile he replied, "I have special employment.  Think of me as an entrepreneur."

He asked why I had been there.  I didn’t want to provide personal information, so I talked, generally and somewhat vaguely, about missional and non-profit work.  Without providing names or details, I described a mission project that Grace Church has supported for several years.  I talked about a minister and his wife who founded a school for children born into poverty.  I described faithful believers devoting themselves to helping those children who otherwise would have little hope. 

He listened carefully before asking, "Why do you do it?You know you're not going to fix poverty.  Those children will still be poor after you leave.  Doesn't it seem foolish to you?"

It was an honest question.  As we talked, I noticed he wore a cross around his neck.  So, I asked, “If you really believe what you just said, why do you wear that cross?"  For the first time, he hesitated.  "My mother is a Christian," he answered.  "She prays that I will live... and that one day I'll lead a different life.  But I believe what I told you.  I don't think Christian groups accomplish much."  I replied simply, "Then take off the cross if you truly believe that.  But if you won't, ask yourself why you still need to wear it."

When we reached the airport, he tapped me on the shoulder.  "I've been thinking about your question," he said. "It's a good question."

I've reflected on that conversation since returning home.  In one sense, he wasn't wrong.  Christian mission teams travel throughout the world every day.  Poverty remains.  Hunger remains.  Violence remains.  If success is measured only by solving every human problem, Christianity can seem futile.  But that has never been the measure.

Christians believe that with the coming of Jesus Christ, the Kingdom of God entered history.  It has not yet reached its fullness, but it has begun.  Every act of mercy, every undeserved kindness, every meal shared with the hungry, every word of forgiveness, every sacrifice made in Christ's name is a small glimpse of that coming Kingdom.

We forgive not because wrongs cease to matter, but because bitterness slowly imprisons the one who refuses to forgive.  We love people who may never deserve it because hatred eventually consumes the person who carries it.  We serve those who cannot repay us because Christ first served us when we could offer Him nothing.  These choices do not always change the world immediately.  They do, however, change us. 

We are all tempted to cling to resentment, pursue greed and surrender to fear.  But this path slowly overtakes us, becoming a form of hell where we grasp our own chains.  Christ offers another way—a truly better life.  The Christian hope is not merely a better way to die someday, but a better way to live today.

Yes, following Christ can appear foolish.  Loving enemies seems impractical.  Forgiveness can appear weak.  Serving the poor may seem like pouring water into an endless ocean.  Yet Christians have always understood that faithfulness is different from worldly success.  We are called to bear witness to God's Kingdom, not to complete it.  That work belongs to Christ Himself.

Perhaps that is why I think about the man in the car.  He dismissed Christian hope as ineffective, yet he still wore the cross.  Somewhere beneath the life he had chosen, he knew he still needed what the cross represents. 

And perhaps that is true of all of us.  Whether we recognize it or not, we all need the cross.

In Christ,

Mort Taylor