Friends,

I’m sitting in my office listening to an old Delirious song called “I’m not ashamed of the Gospel.” It’s probably not ironic that I am listening to this song considering the subject matter I wish to broach and yet I didn’t plan it this way either. What I mean is, it didn’t just happen to start playing even if I had no particular awareness that it was the song that would be playing at this particular moment in time. It’s an old song, a very good song in my opinion, but probably not one that most people are listening to in their offices right now. Be that as it may, it is playing right now and I am not ashamed to admit that I am enjoying this song, at this moment, as I write this post.

I was brutally awakened the other day to the significant fact that I have been out of high school 20 years this year. 20 years! To some of you that probably seems like small change, but I’m not writing this to get into a spitting contest with anyone. I was ‘visiting’ with some school chums at my ‘myspace’ page the other day when I received a note back from one of them who said to me, “Did you hear about so-and-so dying?” A further inquiry revealed that this young man I had gone to school with 20 years ago had, in fact, committed suicide. Turns out he was 38, had an 8 year old daughter, and I guess a business that wasn’t doing particularly well. (I have sparse details and some of these could be slightly inaccurate, but that is beside the point. All of us most likely know someone who has ended up this way, left someone behind, died at their own hand; stopped believing life worth living in spite of life’s troubles.)

I’m not going to splatter the details of what I know about this man all over the web. I knew him from high school and aside from that I had no knowledge of him whatsoever. We played on the Freshman basketball team together and shared the same high school halls and the same hometown for four years. I know about him. He had a nice blue truck with a loud stereo. He was popular among our peers. And, I confess, I was a bit jealous of his good looks, his impeccable wardrobe, and the way the girls fawned over him. I suppose he was a nice enough chap, but the truth is that he always intimidated me and I was, confession time, afraid of him.

There’s no point in me speculating about the manner of his death or the reasons that precipitated it or served as a catalyst. All I know is that if the story I heard is true, then he is gone. Dead. 38 years and a lifetime ahead of him. Now nothing. And that causes me great sadness, indeed, it tears me up; breaks my heart.

When I first heard about his demise, I got to thinking: I never spoke two words to him. Seriously–I cannot recall a single conversation that I ever had with this man and I am not one for forgetting. How does one go through 4 years of life (perhaps 7 if you count junior high) and never talk to a person even once? Never once! I always thought that he thought I was not worth his time, but I never asked him either. I have no idea what he thought about anything, not that it would have mattered much then or now, because I never asked. The point is that I never spoke to him, either from fear, apprehension, intimidation, or simple refusal. I only had a 100 or so people in my graduating class so it’s not like it would have been difficult to do so.

Whatever the cause, the effect was always the same: Silence.

Instead, I was enamored by someone who was full of all that I desired: Popularity, good looks, wealth, friends, girls, possessions. I think it was safer for me to sit back and admire him from a distance so that I could envy him. It was easier for me to envy from a distance than to risk rejection up close. I know, it’s hard to figure those things out when you’re in high school and I am not likely to sit around beating myself up over this matter. Still, as I look back and reflect on those moments, I wonder if even now I treat people like that: Being so enamored with their being that I admire or envy them from a distance instead of getting up close, risking rejection, risking humiliation; putting fear aside and stepping out on faith? In a sense, it is a form of arrogance, isn’t it? I spent all those years thinking he was better than me, but in reality, it was I who thought I was better than him. Thus, I never took a single step at all in his direction preferring distance, safety, and the comfort of my own opinions and ideas than simply approaching someone with an offer of friendship.

It’s like us to be this way. We just think that ‘oh, so-and-so won’t want anything to do with me.’ And it may turn out to be so, but how do we ever know if we never take the chance? Why do we let ourselves convince ourselves what others think or believe or feel without asking them first? Well, for one thing, it is safer. It is much safer to simply ignore people we have already formed any opinion about. It’s much easier to simply let their lives be their judgment and God’s and ours. And I wonder how many people each day die at their own hand because we have already formed an opinion about them and judge them with our silence?

Bill Hybels wrote a little book called Just Walk Across the Room. He wrote this:

Whether the experience was about my own need to reflect on a powerful conversion experience or whether it was all about taking a walk across a marina parking lot and offering hope to someone down on his luck, I don’t know. But one thing I’ve learned is that life’s greatest moments evolve from simple acts of cooperation with God’s mysterious promptings–nudges that always lean toward finding what’s been lost and freeing what’s been enslaved. (16) 

I think if the Lord had a word of judgment for the church it might go something like this: You sing my songs, you preach my Gospel, you give my tithes, you are pro-life, pro-truth and contend for it,  and so much more…and yet… and yet…it’s your silence I detest.

Father, have mercy on us silent ones. We love your grace and delight in your salvation, but we know better. Forgive me Lord for knowing this man for the better part of 25 years and never speaking a word to him. Forgive me for envying him. Forgive my arrogance. Lord help us to realize that other people are not on this planet to be objects of worship or envy. Remind me Lord that the hurting people around us belong to you and that you have asked us to speak–to give freely what has been given freely. Lord, you know the secret prayer of my heart just now. Perhaps in Your providence, you will answer my prayer. Have mercy on us all.

Soli Deo Gloria!