My entire life I have strongly disliked self righteous, mask wearing church folk. I’ve always struggled with loving them and serving them. Being a preacher’s kid since birth I have always viewed religious people as fake hypocrites who give God’s “church” a terrible reputation. I’m sure I’m not the only person who struggles with this issue but I thought I had grown past it. That is, until God sent me to Albania. It was month 6 of the race (my first month as team leader) and we were serving in a small village surrounded by snow-capped mountains. It was one of the most breath-taking views I have ever seen and I was on cloud nine. I loved the farm life. Each morning the smell of cows and sheep filled the air as roosters welcomed everyone with a loud cockle doodle doo. It was rather cold so I spent the first few days of the month chopping wood for the fireplace so everyone would be somewhat warm when they slept. The transition from everyday life in Asia for 5 months to Europe was quite the jolt and brought a fresh renewal to my spirit. Eager to serve and love on the people of Gorre, Albania my team began outreach at a local high school and hung out with as many teenagers as possible. We invited them to a youth service we held once a week at the church. During the communism era, the church building had served as a kitchen/dining hall for the entire village. So with the crazy Americans living there, it was definitely a prime location for outreach.
While ministering in the village one young man caught my eye. He rode a very old rustic motorcycle and was covered in tattoos. He dressed like the Fonz from the old TV show “Happy Days” and always had a cigarette in his mouth. As you probably guessed, he was definitely my kind of guy and I quickly befriended him. After talking with my contact I learned that the young man’s mother was a witch doctor of some sort and enjoyed talking to genies. As a result people labeled him and viewed him in a negative manner, which led to him becoming a rebel or outcast. One afternoon while playing him in a game of table tennis, I discovered that he was a tattoo artist and my heart leapt with joy.
If you know me well, then you know I’m a fan of body art and making great memories in this great adventure called life. So I seized this ministry opportunity and quickly set up an appointment to get some new ink. (with Google translator of course because Fonz doesn’t speak much English) Fonzy met me at the local café/bar and I hopped on the back of his motorcycle and he drove me to his “Tattoo Parlor.” (Incidentally, the motorcycle had no breaks.) As we skidded up to a white brick house with chickens in the yard my heart began to pound. Fonz quickly ushered me into the house and to the back room where everything would take place. The room was empty with the exception of trash, paper towels covered in ink & blood, and a small bed in the corner. I know what you’re thinking, Cabe this doesn’t sound very sanitary! But no worries, I purchased my own needles the day before in a nearby city. J
This was my first time to receive a tattoo that didn’t have some sort of deep meaning. My tattoo process spanned over three days because the power went out in the entire village. On top of that, it was by far the most painful tattoo I’ve ever received. But hey it was free and was one of the coolest ministry opportunities ever. As the month progressed I quickly realized that my ministry contact was very legalistic and believed in an extreme works based salvation. At the end of church services he would play a YouTube video that bashed American Christianity and basically said we were all going to hell in a hand basket. This caused me to be outraged with anger and I struggled with loving him the last 2 weeks we lived there. And then Jesus hit me in the face with His truth just as He always does. It’s easy for me to love the outcast, the rebel, the person covered in tattoos who smokes and drinks. But I struggle with loving the religious or self-righteous. I was willing to let some kid put permanent ink on my body not knowing how it would turn out but had to swallow pride and anger as I allowed my ministry contact to borrow my laptop and camera for outreach purposes. How hypocritical! How sinful! How wrong am I? So this new tattoo, the one with no previous purpose or deep meaning, now screams Unconditional Unbiased LOVE!
I realized how corrupt and wrong I was for loving based on conditions or circumstances. I became so disgusted with myself. Who am I to limit Christ’s love? Who am I to hand out portions of His love based on who someone is or what they have done. Christ died for ALL… the drug addict, the porn addict, the selfish, the hypocrite, the self-righteous, the religious, the fake, the genuine…EVERYONE! His love is relentless and never ending; His mercy and grace is new every morning…FOR EVERYONE!
For the love of Christ controls us, since we have concluded this, that Christ died for ALL; therefore all have died. 2 Corinthians 5:14
Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. I Peter 4:8
