It Isn't Always Pretty

I've done some odd things and been to some low places; the oddest and lowest being the opening act/assistant for a Christian magician. I had driven him and all our gear which included: my guitar, various small animals (i.e. rabbits, rats, and doves), boxes, handcuffs, flowers from nowhere, endless handkerchiefs also from nowhere, decks of cards, and a six foot guillotine—out into the middle of a flat and quiet land to bring the gospel to entertainment-starved farmers. In their defense, it was years before the satellite dish made them all the savvy hipsters we know today—but I am following a rabbit down a top hat and I need to get back to my wretched tale of artistic misery. The morning service went like this: after a few hymns, announcements, and prayer we were introduced as the Great Alleludini (I changed his name to protect my own fragile innocence) and that guy over there on the chair trying to tune his guitar in this poorly heated room. I sang two songs; each followed by soul crushing polite applause, and then transformed myself into a magician's assistant. Now normally his wife assisted him and she had a really nice sequined leotard thingy but she wasn't my size and I was spared having to wear the obligatory fishnet stockings. Do me a favor; stop picturing me in this outfit. Thank you, now let’s move on. Properly adorned in my sweater vest, mullet, and shame I assisted with various tricks, sleight-of-hand maneuvers, and the kind of misdirection only a politician's press secretary can truly appreciate. The good news is I now know how many of the tricks are done. The bad news is I now know how many of the tricks are done. Sigh. Continuing on . . . truthfully, he was very good and the gospel message he wove into his presentation was well thought out. As for me, well, I can sing a little and when pressed I can make a quarter appear from behind your ear. The big moment of the show was all mine however. While the children sat in stunned silence the Great One bound my hands and lowered me under the blade of the gruesome guillotine. The adults smiled and clapped, perhaps they thought this meant I would not return for a musical encore, and greedily licked their lips in anticipation of the pot luck dinner waiting in the fellowship hall. The shimmering blade dropped and all eyes watched to see if my head would drop into the basket. It did not, of course, this was church not Las Vegas and I had been saved from sin and death. Praise God! I stood up and sang two more songs, occasionally rubbing my neck for emphasis.

We had a nice lunch, drove to another church twenty miles north, and repeated the whole thing that evening. On the way home, while I drove in silence wondering why God seemed so intent on humbling me, my friend no longer seemed so great. His joyous tone faded as he told me about how hard things had been and how badly he needed the gig I'd set up for us. I don't know if you've ever ridden in a dark car for nearly a hundred miles with someone who is pouring their heart out but I knew what I had to do. Here's the point; I'm not normally a sacrificial giver. I'm not sure what my financial situation was at the time but I can assure you that if I was willing to lose my head in that contraption I probably needed the money. Nevertheless I told him to keep all that we had been generously given. I did it all for God's glory and a laugh, and that was true too. When I got home I tried to explain why I was broke and the gas tank was empty but my gracious wife cut me off. She was going to have me give it all to him anyway.

In the sixth chapter of Luke we read this simple truth: "Give away your life; you'll find life given back, but not merely given back—given back with bonus and blessing. Giving, not getting, is the way. Generosity begets generosity." (The Message)

This sacrificial generosity that multiplies itself isn't always pretty. It doesn't always come neatly together like the feel good movie of the season. In this lifetime you may never see the direct result of giving that hour you didn't have time to spare, that apology you didn't think was warranted, or forgiveness you're pretty sure they won't appreciate. It doesn't matter. You and I have already received life—life with bonus and blessing through Jesus Christ who knows all there is to know about sacrificial giving.

Some time ago I was part of a band and we had booked a concert at a beautiful little mountain church. Each of the band members stayed with different host families. Kerry and I pulled up in front of an Alpine A-frame home fully expecting a nice evening. To our initial horror we were put up in the extra room that usually held their two large dogs. It had not been cleaned. We pulled down the bedspread on the single twin mattress and found that the blanket was reasonably clean so we just laid on top of it all night, fully dressed, curled up giggling like two little monkeys humored at the truly ridiculous turn our lives had taken. The following morning's concert was one of those perfect times that seemed choreographed by heaven itself. People came up afterward sharing how God had spoken to their hearts. As I overheard one woman tearfully tell of how she had been considering taking her own life, a member of the congregation turned to me and told me the crying woman was the pastor's wife. No, it isn't always pretty, and it certainly wasn't the night before, but I've been willing to sacrifice at least one good night's sleep, if not my head and pride, in a low place to help win a life back. I'll bet you have a story too. I'd love to hear it.

"What I'm trying to do here is to get you to relax, to not be so preoccupied with getting, so you can respond to God's giving." (Matthew 6, The Message)

Copyright October 2010, John P. Van Dusen
The painting is, "Polichinelle with Guitar Before the Stage Curtain" by Pablo Picasso , 1919