Devotion 403 - unwrapped

I like things tidy.

I like to know where things are.

I like to know what to expect.

I like to put plans into motion and see them executed.

I like when things roll.

I am not fond of surprises.

I do not like to be scared.

I am not fond of public displays of virtually anything.

In the morning I like quiet.

When I heard the gentleman talking I was sure he didn’t share my fondness for silence before sunrise. He had one of those voices that carry. They travel over the whole room and kind of bump into you.

I looked up and over the crowd, all I could see what the top of his head. I laughed to myself as his hair looked exactly like mine about twenty minutes before hot rollers and hair spray.

I tried to make out his words but they were bombarded by the hundred or so people between us in line heading somewhere. It struck me how we all had an agenda.

We all were trying to make our way through security; isn’t it security that we all strive for? We all want to know where we are going, how we are going to get there and if we will be safe.

 

Isn’t that really the grand plan of it all? If we know our destination, does anything else really matter?

I got to one of the dozen or so turning points in the line. I feigned interest in my phone but I shot a glance.  My friend with the scary hair had a nice white shirt on, a nice tie, a brown suit jacket and shorts.

Unusual.

I could hear him louder now and noticed his carry-on was a big, clear shopping bag. Only he wasn’t carrying it, he was dragging it.

It was full. I had to jigger my head in between people to see but he appeared to carry a change of clothes, some very ripe bananas and two unwrapped bagels.  I too dislike buying expensive airport food, but my breakfast was wrapped. 

Nothing about this guy was wrapped. Not his voice, not his legs and not his agenda.

Someone in the line evidently overcome with curiosity got this guy answering questions.  He got him talking agenda and purpose.  I cocked my head to hear but couldn’t really make out much until he said something I recognized.  He said, “2 Peter 5:2, that is what it is all about.”

I hoped it was one of those cozy scriptures we could all claim and contemplate.  It wasn’t.  As my phone had become my distraction of choice, I searched,

Be shepherds of God’s flock that is under your care, watching over them—not because you must, but because you are willing, as God wants you to be; not pursuing dishonest gain, but eager to serve. 

We were more than a line of strangers to this man, we were his flock and he was dining on more than ripe bananas and unwrapped bagels.

I felt a little embarrassed.  I realized at the next corner, if I wasn’t extraordinarily strategic, he would be directly in front of me.  Would I engage him, would he me?

It unhinged me.

The entire line now stared at this man as he preached. I felt uncannily like the folks along the shore watching John the Baptist and his locusts.

 

I believed what he was saying, I just was not sure I was ready to be associated with the messenger.  It felt unwrapped, messy and uncomfortable.

I was exactly who I have disdained every time I have read about New Testament Pharisees. And I wondered hard when the next corner came what exactly I would say or do, or if I would even allow our eyes to meet.

I wanted to say, “Well done.  Push on.  Preach louder!”

But I never got the chance.  In moments, the crowd pushed forward, more agents showed up, more lines opened, and suddenly I was far away from my preacher and my prepared speech.

I waited to board replaying the last twelve or so minutes.  For all my good intentions I realized just exactly how wrapped up I live.  My pride is my cloak and my agenda my covering.

 

For just a small moment I unwrapped and wondered.  What if I had spoken to him?  What if it was the two of us being freaks for Jesus, with two hundred others staring at us?  What if in the quiet of that line someone was waiting for the invitation this preacher was offering.   What if in the two hundred someone felt very alone and being part of a flock was the fellowship they craved?

What if I had the courage to unwrap every day and sacrifice my schedule and my self sufficiency? I want to be the bagel in the clear bag being led about by the Holy Spirit.

So why am I not?

I buy in. I buy in that if I was on foreign soil challenged for my faith I would profess.  That seems almost easy compared to standing with my peers and professing my Jesus with the wild haired guy in his loud voice and black bananas.

I need to unwrap; maybe the Holy Spirit had oh so gently begun the process.  I want to be ready in season and out of season when it is warm and cozy or cold and uncomfortable.  I do not want to miss an opportunity to uncover the treasure we carry, the Jesus within.

If that means unwrapping, let’s all do so.  Let’s be clear coverings of the Spirit that saves and loves and extends grace in the loud and the quiet.

Let’s be the invitation to the Father’s table.