Be still. Please.

“...why do you try to test God by putting on the necks of Gentiles a yoke that neither we nor our ancestors have been able to bear?”  Acts 15:10

Don’t you just hate it when you let someone down?  To see the flash of disappointment in their eyes that they try to hide because they are nicer than you are and to see that they have better control over their emotions than you did with your tongue?

I do.  I’ve always been the sensitive one and hurt when others hurt.  While my mantra is that I am a lover and not a fighter, when I see someone taken advantage of or walked upon, my anger simmers and comes to a quick boil as I wonder how on earth someone felt s/he was so high and lofty that this type of behavior was exhibited, enforced, and/or expected.  I’m not sure when this exalted position of power came into place.  I only know that I don’t like it.

Let’s try to be nicer; more considerate.  As children of Christ, none of us has a more esteemed role than another.  Sure, some of us might have been in church longer.  Others might have had parents who were better examples than some may have had.  Still more are in between:  the ones who are still learning, still leaning on those everlasting arms, and still letting go of the strongholds that have bound for so long.  

We’re in this together, friends.  Let’s open those arms of welcome.  Extend those hands of fellowship, being sure to keep those index fingers extended with the other three alongside of them as the thumb embraces warmly the hand offered.  And those tongues?  Let’s allow them to flow from them words of encouragement and love.  Turn them upwards into smiles of acceptance rather than scowls of rejection.

Be gentle.  Be tender.  Be Jesus to them.

Let’s pray!

Dear Lord God, for all of the times I prejudge or hold past transgressions against souls, I come sorrowfully before You, with head bowed low.  I know I have not always represented You well.  Oh that I had the eyes of Christ to see what You see:  that I had Your wisdom to see hearts rather than outward appearances that can be so misleading.

I don’t want to place a yoke on another’s neck, Father, when You have so lovingly and graciously taken mine from me.  Burdens of heartache aren’t always obvious, Lord.  We humans do a pretty good job of covering up when others don’t take the time to listen to us, especially when our words are few. We can get so occupied in our own stories of redemption and self that far too often we stifle the environment to what needs to be confessed or shared because we are oblivious to the sudden silence.  People aren’t always enthralled, Lord, with our tales as much as we mistakenly believe.  As we interpret their silence for anticipation for the rest of our stories, God, I ask that we make sure our audience is really still keyed in and realize we missed our cue and perhaps should exit stage left while their soliloquies are spoken.

May we--may I--be still and listen.  May I be welcoming yet quieter so that I  allow others the opportunity to be heard.  That’s what so many of us want, Lord:  just to be allowed to speak without interruptions as we work through the chains that have bound us.  Make me an instrument of Your peace is my desire, Father.  Play me, use me to soothe in the name of Jesus I ask.  Amen.