Outlive Your Life_ You Were Made to Make a Difference - Max Lucado [21]
The Emmaus-bound disciples had another idea. “But they urged him strongly, ‘Stay with us, for it is nearly evening; the day is almost over’” (Luke 24:29 NIV).
It had been a long day. The two pilgrims had much on their minds. Certainly they had obligations and people in their lives. But their fellow traveler stirred a fire in their hearts. So they welcomed him in. Still not knowing that their guest was Jesus, they pulled out an extra chair, poured some water in the soup, and offered bread. Jesus blessed the bread, and when he did, “their eyes were opened and they recognized him” (v. 31 NIV).
We still encounter people on the road. And sometimes we sense a peculiar warmth, an affection. We detect an urge to open our doors to them. In these moments let’s heed the inner voice. We never know whom we may be hosting for dinner.
Cheerfully share your home with those who need a meal or a place to stay. God has given each of you a gift from his great variety of spiritual gifts. Use them well to serve one another.
(1 Peter 4:9–10 NLT)
Heavenly Father, every breath is a gift from your hand. Even so. I confess that sometimes my own hand remains tightly closed when I encounter the needs of others. Please open both my hand and my heart that I might learn to open my door to others. As you help me open my heart and hand, O Lord, I ask that you also prompt me to open my life to those who need a taste of your love and bounty. In Jesus’ name I pray, amen.
CHAPTER 7
See the Need;
Touch the Hurt
Peter, with John at his side, looked him straight in the eye . . . He grabbed him by the right hand and pulled him up.
—ACTS 3:4, 7 (MSG)
A gate called Beautiful. The man was anything but.
He couldn’t walk but had to drag himself about on his knees. He passed his days among the contingent of real and pretend beggars who coveted the coins of the worshippers entering Solomon’s court.
Peter and John were among them.
The needy man saw the apostles, lifted his voice, and begged for money. They had none to give, yet still they stopped. “Peter and John looked straight at him and said, ‘Look at us!’” (Acts 3:4 NCV). They locked their eyes on his with such compassion that “he gave them his attention, expecting to receive something from them” (v. 5). Peter and John issued no embarrassed glance, irritated shrug, or cynical dismissal but an honest look.
It is hard to look suffering in the face. Wouldn’t we rather turn away? Stare in a different direction? Fix our gaze on fairer objects? Human hurt is not easy on the eyes. The dusty cheeks of the Pakistani refugee. The wide-eyed stare of the Peruvian orphan. Or the salt-and-pepper tangle of a beard worn by the drifter Stanley and I met in Pennsylvania.
Stanley Shipp served as a father to my young faith. He was thirty years my senior and blessed with a hawkish nose, thin lips, a rim of white hair, and a heart as big as the Midwest. His business cards, which he gave to those who requested and those who didn’t, read simply, “Stanley Shipp—Your Servant.”
I spent my first postcollege year under his tutelage. One of our trips took us to a small church in rural Pennsylvania for a conference. He and I happened to be the only two people at the building when a drifter, wearing alcohol like a cheap perfume, knocked on the door. He recited his victim spiel. Overqualified for work. Unqualified for pension. Lost bus ticket. Bad back. His kids in Kansas didn’t care. If bad breaks were rock and roll, this guy was Elvis. I crossed my arms, smirked, and gave Stanley a get-a-load-of-this-guy glance.
Stanley didn’t return it. He devoted every optic nerve to the drifter. Stanley saw no one else but him. How long, I remember wondering, since anyone looked this fellow square in the face?
The meandering saga finally stopped, and Stanley led the man into the church kitchen