Yuck, the book of Acts. Here we go.
I haven’t read the whole thing, but the book of Acts is the 5th book in the New Testament or something. It basically tells the story of how Christianity spread starting with a boom in Jerusalem and then moved outward beyond the Jewish population. There are 28 chapters in that thing. In retrospect, I got pretty far. Maybe all the way to chapter 20, but I’m pretty sure I stopped paying attention before that. I tried, but I got frustrated, annoyed and generally perturbed. It was about three months ago that I gave up on Acts and moved to something a little lighter: Genesis.
And then I was dragged back in against my better judgement last week. As a team, we looked through a few verses at the end of chapters 2 and 4 that describe what happens in Jerusalem during Pentecost. Basically people where becoming believers by the thousands as they poured into the city and the community of Christ followers there were doing a spectacular job of taking care of one another and speaking with insane boldness about their faith despite potential consequences. That’s when I remembered why I never finished reading it.
Here’s what I saw in those verses: A big ol’ group of people who had an insanely close encounter with God. They didn’t have the New Testament. They weren’t doing a Bible study series on 2 Corinthians. They were just sharing with passion about their experiences. Verse 33 in Chapter 4 says “And with great power the apostles were giving testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus…” Testimony is just a fancy way to say they were telling their story. That’s all, just their stories. But the stories they were telling were about encounters with the Lord that hit the heart, hit where it mattered. Hit so hard in fact, that they were selling their homes and land to provide for the people who were pouring into the city and becoming believers. It’s like the natural next step after this encounter with Jesus was to just give everything away for the advancement of the community that He called us to through His life and death with no concern about protecting their own backsides. The obvious next step for them was to devote all they were to spreading the message of hope that had transformed their lives. It’s like all that “love your neighbor” stuff that Jesus talked about in Matthew 22, Mark 12 and Luke 10, it all just happened for these people. It was cause and effect. No arm twisting involved.
My community at home is great and I haven’t seen anything like it before J-Bay. I talk about them all the time. They supported me through some dark stuff. They share their faith with boldness. They’re not afraid to live what they believe. I’d say they’re pretty radical. If I live with any amount of boldness, if I’m any closer to seeing God for who He really is than I was 8 years ago, if I know anything about community it’s because of them. But I will say this: If I was praying with a group of them and the room started to shake I would duck under the nearest table because I feel like that’s what you do if there’s an earthquake. Acts 4 verse 31 “And when they had prayed, the place where they had gathered was shaken…” I don’t know what it’s like to just keep on keepin’ on because, duh, God shows up when you pray. I’ve seen the metaphorical room shake more than once and it always catches me off guard. I don’t know what it’s like to give everything I am away as the result of an encounter with God. Okay, I gave up a lot in October when I left for the Race and I don’t know what will be waiting for me when I get back. But the truth is that I always keep a buffer zone of sorts. I’m still safe because I’m still protecting myself. I give, totally dig it, but I usually do it out of my abundance.
I think a lot of us are still safe; whether you believe in the God I’m talking about or not. I think so many of us are holding onto that thing that will offer us protection: our cars, our jobs, our reputations, our relationships. Two years ago I told a stranger I met in Spain that I would love to live with the kind of abandon with which I saw him living. I thought I was talking about abandonment of the material and a willingness to let go of anything that resembled a home. To live with abandon is not to live without deep purpose. That conversation was the first door I walked through that, in retrospect, was clearly marked “The World Race.” Now I’m on the verge of letting something else go even if I have no idea what that looks like yet.
To be perfectly candid, I’m afraid. I’m afraid of what I’ll be asked to give up and what may come next. I’m afraid that if I have that encounter with my Creator, if I move into a life of conviction like I see in the book of Acts… what if I’m alone in it? What if it’s hard? What if people take advantage of me?
But I have an even bigger fear: What if nothing changes? What if I get home and I get comfortable? What if I choose not to ask “What’s next?” What if I stay safe? What if I never finish reading the book of Acts?
The World Race does not have to be my summit.
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