After spending a night in Appleton, Minnesota, home of Mets pitcher Jerry
Koosman, where all the streets are named after vets who gave their lives in
foreign wars, we were off, heading east, where it was getting darker by the
minute. Hungry, we had only had a burger and fries at the only place open at 9
last night, but that stayed open for us. So the quest was for food, blue skies,
and maybe not in that order. Now Minnesota in the western part is very rural,
with towns popping up when you need them every 25-30 miles, not counting the
general store or two along the way. It brought back memories of my first trip
west in my van in 1975, after spending a night in a parking lot of a gas
station, I woke up to find it was a gas station/bowling alley, with a bay of
each. People are more resourceful in the country, and today I hoped the
resources involved a big breakfast along with great weather. We found the
breakfast, the rain found us. But outside Montevideo, the road split and we
weren’t sure which way to go, so we flagged down a state trooper. Young, they
all are at my age, and polite, he pointed out the better of the two roads for
riding, and also a place to eat. All in that Minnesota accent we all love to
imitate. When we were leaving, Theresa told him “I like your accent,” and with
a smile he added “I like yours too.” Only other people have accents, not us
right?
Growing up in the New York Metro area, I heard a lot of douse and dees
growing up. “You’s guys” and sentences ending with there, as in “what cha doin’
there?” or “c’mon here, there.” Which was a bit different from my relatives in
the Poconos 60 miles east, who would call each other Old Beauty, and begin each
new sentence with say, as in “say old beauty, been down to the park?” Also they
when calling us kids it was “come here once,” which I never got. All English,
well sorta, all in America, and all somehow understood by us foreigners, those
from New Jersey. And then coming to California things got gnarly, we went to
the beach instead of the shore, tacos had fish, and English was a second
language many places. As in the interview that took place at a 7-11, where a
man was looking for work. When asked if he spoke any foreign languages, he
asked “yes, English.” “Say old beauty, doncha know we’re going to the beach
there? Come here once....” Only in America...
As a newcomer to being born again, I was deluged with Christianese, a new
language to this previous heathen. Born again, ask Nicodemus for a full
definition. I was saved, but from what? I was to walk in the spirit, I rather
ride. I was told not to be legalistic, I was under grace, the only Grace I knew
was a girl. I had been offered salvation, would need to be discipled, learn to
evangelize, spread the gospel, have eternal security, be justified, sanctified,
and purified, learn God is omnipresent, omniscient, and omnipotent. I had been
reborn, redeemed, reconciled, and regenerated through my repentance. I used to
walk in the flesh, now walked in the spirit, and had been washed in the blood.
I had been shown mercy by the messiah. And you wonder why some first time
visitors never come back to church? We speak our own language! When Jesus
spoke only one, in Arabic of course, but his language was one of love. Which
translates well into any language. Doncha know?
And so I learned to take the Lord’s supper, communion, at the Lord’s table,
the altar, and do it in remembrance of him. I was told that a great tribulation
was coming, but because I was saved I would be raptured out. Only those not
saved would be left behind, to honor and worship the antichrist, who would be
empowered by Satan. And that Jesus would finally destroy him on the battlefield
of Armageddon, locking him into the lake of fire and brimstone forever, along
with the beast. All I wanted was to be free from sin and forgiven.....
The great thing about love is that it is universal, and from a loving God.
A love we cannot fully describe, because words in any language fail to reach the
full depth of it. We try, we teach, we memorize, but there is nothing like
experiencing Jesus first hand. To be given understanding in the language we
speak, from the holy spirit, who knows all things, and comforts us. Comfort I
can dig, after 40 years I still flounder, not the fish, in Christianese. When
all I really need is the language of love, Jesus Christ.
Hungry at closing time, God provided a drive in to stay open for us.
Unsure of a direction in the storm, he provided a patrolman with knowledge.
Hungry, he took us to the right diner. Spoken with different accents, but with
one accent included in all, love. Which must be experienced, and cannot be
taught. No degrees in love, sorry Pastor, DD, you may have a title, do you
speak the language? Maybe a quick lesson from a Samaritan, who showed love for
a beaten man, a stranger, while the religious me avoided him. His actions spoke
of love, a love beyond words. What do your words tell others? Can you stop
talking church and show some love?
The gospel is simple so we can get it, free so we can afford it. That’s
good news, that’s love, the gospel of Jesus Christ. Show some in your native
language today, and if you find that gas station/bowling alley, let me know. It
again was a place of refuge one night for a weary traveler. A place without
name, but full of description, if only I could find the words. Heaven will be
the same, for eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor mind imagined the kingdom of
God. Some use words to describe, God showed love. If you can describe his
love, you haven’t got the full effect. Learn his language today, and when asked
“where ya goin’ dere?” just point and smile, “heaven.” If only I could find
the words.....just make sure you know the person. His name is Jesus, doncha
know....
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com