L I V I N G
S E R I E S
AN INVERTED LOOK AT SIN, SICKNESS, STRUGGLE, & DEATH
ANDREW MANN
速 BIRMINGHAM, ALABAMA
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New Hope® Publishers PO Box 12065 Birmingham, AL 35202-2065 NewHopePublishers.com New Hope Publishers is a division of WMU®. ADVANCED READER COPY. PROMOTIONAL USE ONLY. © 2015 by Andrew Mann All rights reserved. First printing 2015. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data [FILED] Unless otherwise noted, all Scripture quotations are taken from the Holman Christian Standard Bible®, Used by Permission HCSB ©1999, 2000, 2002, 2003, 2009 Holman Bible Publishers. Holman Christian Standard Bible®, Holman CSB®, and HCSB® are federally registered trademarks of Holman Bible Publishers. ISBN-10: 1-59669-440-8 ISBN-13: 978-1-59669-440-8 / r r 4".1-& $0/5&/5 0/-:
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Acknowle dgments With thanks to the many characters whose lives and stories have influenced mine.
de dicAtio n Now to Him who is able to do above and beyond all that we ask or think according to the power that works in us—to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen. —Ephesians 3:20–21
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tAb l e of contents Foreword by Dr. Taylor Field Chapter 1 My Story—The Sin Chapter Chapter 2 My Story—The Sickness Chapter CHAPTER CHAPTER Chapter 3 My Story—The Struggle Chapter 1 My Story—The Sin Chapter 18 Health—S.E.E.P.S. Chapter 4 My Story—The Death Chapter 5 The Real Story 2Chapter My Story—The Sickness 19 Same Song, Second Verse Chapter 6 About the Author Chapter 20 Perspective Chapter 7 The Story Within the Story 3 My Story—The Struggle Chapter 8 Between the Beginning End Perspective 21 and An the Eternal Chapter Chapter 9 What Will People Think? 22 Joshua’s Story 4Chapter10 My Story—TheFinding Death Aslan in the City Chapter 11 Rats, Racists, Racecars, Redemption Chapter 23 and 24 Hours with Joshua Chapter 12 Day of Reckoning 5 The Real Story 24 Thread Chapter 13 Weed-Smoking Pastor Open Them All the Way 6Chapter About14 the Author 25 Rejoice. Be Patient. Pray. Chapter 15 Cancerous Joy 7 The Story Within the Story 26 Cremating the Pig Chapter 16 Cut It Off 17 the Beginning The Greatand Physician 27 Rainbow Bridge, 8Chapter Between Chapter 18 Health—S.E.E.P.S. the End Rattlesnakes, and Hope Chapter 19 Same Song, Second Verse 9 What Will People Think? 28 Maria’s Story Chapter 20 Perspective 21 Aslan in Anthe Eternal 10Chapter Finding City Perspective 29 “God Doesn’t Make Chapter 22 Joshua’s Story Mistakes” 11 Rats, Racists, Racecars, and Chapter 23 24 Hours with Joshua Redemption 30 Noisy Gongs Chapter 24 Thread Chapter Rejoice. Be Patient. Pray. 12 Day of25Reckoning 31 Questions Chapter 26 Cremating the Pig 13 Weed-Smoking Pastor 32 Losing Control Chapter 27 Rainbow Bridge, Rattlesnakes, and Hope Chapter Story 14 Open 28 Them AllMaria’s the Way 33 Complete Joy Chapter 29 “God Doesn’t Make Mistakes” 15 Cancerous Joy 34 Urban Farming Chapter 30 Noisy Gongs Chapter Questions 16 Cut It31 Off 35 Kingdom Planting Chapter 32 Losing Control 17 The Great Physician 36 The End Chapter 33 Complete Joy Chapter 34 Urban Farming Chapter 35 Kingdom Planting Chapter 36 The End PROLOGUE
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Pr ologue
L
ife is a story. The story isn’t about me. It’s a grander story, an eternal one. There is an Author. There are ups and downs. As a character in the story, there have been moments in my story that seem upside down. Augu st 1 8 , 2 0 1 1
“Dad is in a mood. I still get so frustrated with him. It is hard to ignore. I don’t know what to do to make the situation better.” December 19, 2011
“Andrew, something happened. . . . Your dad passed away.” A ug u s t 2 7 , 2 0 1 2
“We found a mass. It looks like testicular cancer.” J ul y 2 7 , 2 0 1 4
“For 16 years of my life, I have been disobedient. I need to be right before God and before my church. I need to be baptized.”
However, from where I sit now, retelling my story, I see it all differently. I have learned to see right side up by being turned upside down. God has used the upside-down circumstances of life to give me joy, and He is working to make my joy complete! By being turned upside down, the upside has come down. 5
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Excerpt from
CHAPTER
1
MY STORY—THE SIN CHAPTER
J ul y 27, 2 0 1 4
“For 16 years of my life, I have been disobedient. I need to be right before God and before my church. I need to be baptized.”
I
said these words to the associate pastor of the church I pastor in the Bronx, New York City, during my own invitation after preaching from John 21. One thought consumed my mind: Nothing matters more than being obedient to Jesus. That’s not how I’ve always thought. As a kid, my life was focused on three areas: family, church, and school. Of course, in small-town life, these three things often intersect. I was blessed to be raised in a churchgoing family. My dad had faithfully served others in churches throughout his life. In his younger days, he led music in churches across Missouri. After he and my mom married and served several years in the military, they settled down together in the Missouri town where I grew up. Together they committed to a church home and served there faithfully. By the time of my birth, my dad was a deacon in the 6
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church, and my mom was a nursery worker. There was probably not child in the congregation whose diaper she hadn’t changed! Church, for me, was an epicenter of activity and relationships. I stayed busy participating in all the programs my church offered. . . . Spending so much time at church, of course I learned the Bible stories, memorized the verses, and always knew the right thing to say. I knew a person was supposed to be saved and get baptized, so at about age eight, I did just that. Responding to a pastor’s invitation, I repeated a prayer and later got baptized. I knew what a Christian was supposed to do, so it wasn’t hard for me to manufacture a Christian life. As a teenager I played percussion, including the drums, with worship teams, publicly proclaimed Christ at school, served in leadership roles in all the Christian clubs, and was even placed on the pastoral search committee of my church after the pastor of more than 30 years retired. During my early teens, I began to realize the hypocrisy of my life. I was a master of religion, yet my faith was insincere. My salvation wasn’t based on Jesus; it was based on me. All of my works were little more than religious acts, attempts to please and satisfy both others and myself. The inside was different from the outside. At age 15 or 16, while at another church, an evangelist’s words penetrated my polished and pristine exterior and went straight to my core. With fire and conviction he said, “God is knocking at the door of your heart, but He doesn’t have to keep knocking.” I knew I needed to be saved. On the hardwood floor of my bedroom that night, I laid across the floor, acknowledging my sin, confessing my need for a savior, knowing that Jesus was that Savior. Certainly no one needed to tell me what should come next. I knew I should be baptized. I knew the profession of my faith 7
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c h apte r 1
publicly through baptism was a command of Jesus. However, the fear of losing others’ respect clouded my mind. . . . The Bible warns us that we have an adversary. His name is Satan. Satan wants us to focus on our worldly existence, rather than our eternal one. I don’t think it really matters to him whether we worship him. He just doesn’t want us to worship God. Furthermore, Satan knows how to use the cracks in our lives to accomplish his goal. He drives in a wedge and slowly wiggles it back and forth, deepening the divide between us and our Creator. For me that crack was self-worship, and the wedge was doubt. A memory from my college years is seared in my mind. One night, as I was lying on the top bunk in my dorm room on the Christian college campus I attended in the suburbs of Chicago, listening to 780 WBBM, the wedge of doubt was wiggling back and forth. From this fog emerged a vision that played across the film reel of my mind. This vision was set in the future—I was a pastor, and I was getting baptized. The vision seemed so unlikely because I couldn’t escape the thought, What will people think? Satan isn’t the only one who uses the cracks in our lives. God was using the cracks in my life as well. It just took a little longer for Him to break through. The same cracks Satan used to accuse me, God was using to break me, to show me the sin in my life. Awareness of my sin didn’t land like a bombshell but instead slowly creeped like a crack across a windshield. This crack was shattering the idol I had made of myself. By the summer of 2014, I had been a missionary and pastor of a ministry center and church in the South Bronx for almost ten years. During those years we had rented several spaces around the neighborhood. At this time we rented a century-old Jewish synagogue. It sits on a street with a park on one end and an old Methodist church building on the other. Troubling stories abound about the harsh life on this street. Bullet holes on the 8
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my sto r y — th e s i n ch a p t er
façade of our building testify to the stories’ legitimacy. One evening, in the basement of this building, surrounded by the frenetic activity of a community meal, a boy tapped me on the back and with tears in his eyes said, “Andrew, I need to be saved.” I knew this boy well. Like me, he had spent his whole life in church. He had walked the aisle, been baptized, and was respected by everyone around him. Later that evening I sat with him in the parking lot, and he prayed a prayer of faith in Jesus, making him a new child of God. Moments after opening his eyes, he said, “I need to be baptized.” Those words hit me in the face like cold water. The next morning I was confronted, once again, with a thought that I had so frequently minimized, ignored, and rationalized away. Andrew, you’re saved, but your thinking hasn’t changed. I prayed to God, “Change the way I think. Don’t let this leave my mind until I get right before You and right before my church.” I struggled for two weeks. My adversary hammered his wedges. Finally, knowing nothing was more important than obedience to Jesus, I confessed my disobedience and my faith to my friend and associate pastor. That same evening I did the same to my spiritual counselor who is also my friend and mentor. My idol of self wasn’t smashed all at once. For me it took 16 years of cracks inching their way across the veneer of my life. The sincerity and authenticity of this boy in my church poked the glass. The windshield broke. The idol fell and shattered. On August 3, 2014, as a missionary and pastor, I admitted my sin before my church, repented of that sin, and was baptized. I didn’t care what anyone thought except my Lord and Savior, Jesus. I went from being a master of religion, concerned about what others thought, to being obedient to Jesus. I only cared what He thought! 9
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Excerpt from
CHAPTER
5
THE REAL STORY
A
s a boy, I don’t think I was too different from others. I would dream about the life I would one day have. I wanted to be a rich doctor, respected by all those around me. I drew a picture of my house. It had a basketball court, bowling alley, movie theater, and pipe organ. In the center of that picture was me with a big smile. At a young age, I started writing that story. I took control of my life, penning a story that focused on my worth, fulfillment, and pleasure. The story was centered on me, being written by me, with my own limited perspective. Such a finite perspective views sin, sickness, struggle, and death as circumstances to ignore, excuse, avoid, or dread. After all, they bring pain. It’s only natural to maximize pleasure and minimize pain. . . . It’s tough to have the same perspective with the experiences of our lives that turn our worlds upside down. An end-focused view is difficult because we don’t know how it will all turn out. We don’t know how it will end. Therefore we assert control and try to write a story that maximizes our pleasure, a story in which we control the ending. After all, we are the authors of our own stories. Or, so we think. Another story is being written by another Author. 10
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Excerpt from
CHAPTER
6
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
T
he Author of our story is also innately different from us. He is divine, and we are not. This makes Him holy, set apart, different. He’s also eternal. His existence preceded ours. These two characteristics certainly lend Him an understanding of the world that we will never have. I have also learned the Author of our story has authority. His authority means He has the ability to author the story. He alone can do this. We like to think we have authority. We make little kingdoms for ourselves. As children we live in the kingdom of our parents. Then we gain independence, move out, and begin setting up our own kingdoms. A person walking in my apartment would recognize pretty quickly that it is the kingdom of Andrew Mann. It’s not a big kingdom—after all, I’m a missionary living in New York City— but it is mine. In it, my rules reign. But even there I don’t have total power. Things happen over which I don’t have control. At three o’clock one morning, I woke up to the smell of smoke and people screaming. Jolting out of bed, I rushed to the window. People were on the street, pointing up at the smoke wafting not far from my window. A typical icebreaker question is, In the event of a fire, what three things would you take with you? I don’t have to wonder. 11
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c h apte r 6
I know. I grabbed my phone, my computer, and my dog and headed for the door. It turned out the building next to me was on fire. My apartment was fine. It’s clear, though, that I don’t have total control. The Author of our story does. He always has, always will. He will never lose control. We can be certain of that because He is all powerful and all knowing. . . . Our Author’s supreme power and wisdom give Him rightful authority. He is in control of the story. The story He is writing isn’t about the kingdom of Andrew Mann but rather His kingdom. Living in this kingdom is the only path to eternal satisfaction, to true joy. Too often we search for satisfaction by building our own kingdoms. We try to make the most of our life. We think this means getting as much as we can. We work hard to get a lot of things: friends, food, money, clothing, girlfriends, boyfriends, spouses, education, career, houses, cars, success, respect, love, and legacies. To obtain these ends, we assert control. We assume the authority. Some live another way. They live in another person’s kingdom, giving someone else power and authority. I see this on the streets of the Bronx when a teenage girl asserts control of her life and tries to obtain from boys the attention she has been missing. . . . In my neighbors I have witnessed great resiliency, compassion, and care. I have come to better understand what it means to, “Love your neighbor as yourself ” (Matthew 22:39). They have shown that love to me. Frequently I soak in all my experiences and think, This has got to be a little taste of heaven. Many think city life is complex and harsh. But mine is actually simple. I don’t own a house; instead, 12
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Ab o ut th e Auth or
I rent an apartment. It’s nothing fancy. It’s a one-bedroom apartment on the fourth floor of a five-story building. Out of my back window, I can see cars going back and forth on busy Bruckner Expressway. Others’ kingdoms are probably larger. After all, I don’t even own a car. I walk or ride my bike. But I wonder if others have found what I have found. I wonder if they have freedom, true freedom. I wonder if they know their neighbors. I wonder if their lives are meaningful. I wonder if they are satisfied. I wonder if they are joyful. My simple way of living has shaped my understanding of my Author’s kingdom. It has helped me live with the end in mind, to live upside down. I may not own much, but I do feel great freedom. I do know my neighbors. I pass them on my way to work, to church, and to the grocery store. My life is meaningful. I am satisfied. I have joy. I have found my heaven on earth in an unexpected corner of New York City, a corner where many only see sin, sickness, struggle, and death. Yes, my heart aches for those around me who have yet to see beyond their own sin, sickness, struggle, and death. It hurts for those I see on the expressway of life busily building their own kingdoms. But I trust the Author who knows more than me, who is more powerful than me, and who has all authority. He is doing in their life what He has done in my life. He is using the upsidedown circumstances—even sin, sickness, struggle, and death—to grow His kingdom, to write His story.
13
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Excerpt from
CHAPTER
8
BETWEEN THE BEGINNING
AND THE END
M
any search for something more. Religious people, no matter their background, are much like addicts looking for a drug that will give a deeper, more meaningful high. Some people seem to find something to appease their cravings, but even these aren’t totally fulfilled. The desire for pleasure and satisfaction isn’t embedded deep within our nature by random chance or evolutionary progression. It was written into our nature by the Author and Creator Himself. Our Creator placed this drive deep within our souls to open our eyes to the real, eternal world outside this temporary one. Our desire isn’t for money, relationships, power, prestige, fame, success, worth, or any other limited, short-term pleasure. We long for eternal pleasure. We are all addicts longing for joy. As a child, I remember a poster in my sixth-grade teacher’s classroom. It was an optical illusion. Upon first glance, it seemed to be just a jumbled graphic. I tried to figure it out, but I never saw anything besides what was right in front of my face. One day someone told me not to focus on the image. Instead of looking at it, I should look through it. It worked. A new image appeared. 14
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Joy, purpose, and even meaning in the difficulties of life are found with the same perspective. Not focusing on the struggles, but rather looking through them, seeing the world upside down. Seeing the world this way, we tap into an eternal reality. I’m reminded of an artesian well from my childhood. This well was a pipe sticking out of the ground. Our family encountered it while riding our horses in the backwoods of Missouri. To this day I have never tasted water so sweet. At least that’s how I remember it. Water always seemed to run from that well—on hot days and cold days, in rainy weather, and in drought. I reckon that water is still flowing today. The water didn’t flow based on the circumstances surrounding the pipe; it flowed because its source was abundant, deep below the surface of the ground. The Author of the story wants me to drink from His well, a pipeline from eternity. Eternal life isn’t only yet to come—it is now. I can experience it by living the same way Jesus lived, in relationship with my Father. That’s what brings my dog Proof the most joy. She is happiest, most content, and most satisfied when she is with me. If I leave the room, she begins to panic. She gets anxious. Boy, is she excited to see me when I come into her presence after an absence. Her actions have earned her the nickname Wiggle-Butt, a nicknamed earned because of the excited gyration of her posterior as she expresses her elation to see me return. Although she has little ability to understand fully, I am the initiator of her purpose. I give meaning to her life. She works for me, accomplishing the purposes I have for her. These purposes are both for her good and for the good of those around her. Those purposes often involve interacting with children who are having a tough day. Honestly, it’s not her favorite thing to do, but she willingly obeys . . . most of the time. The catalyst for 15
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c h apte r 8
her obedience is her relationship with me, a relationship she only could have entered into by my search for her many years ago. That’s the story the Author is writing. He is our Creator, the Initiator of our purpose, not only giving life but giving it meaning. He has good purposes to be accomplished in our life and through our lives. Although we may miss His favor in the midst of trying circumstances, we learn to obey despite difficulty because of our relationship with Him. As we obey, we learn the Author is using those circumstances for our good.
16
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Excerpt from
CHAPTER
13
WEED-SMOKING PASTOR
A
s a pastor, I frequently visit people in prison. Those trips are rarely fun. Visiting Rikers Island, the primary jail of New York City, involves waking up at four in the morning, taking a subway, a bus, waiting at many different checkpoints, and submitting to several thorough searches. It takes all day. On one such visit, I was randomly selected to have my hands swabbed and tested for chemical agents. The experience is similar to the type of screening one receives at an airport. A swab attached to a wand is rubbed over both sides of a person’s hands. The swab is then placed in a machine. That morning, I had already watched prison guards perform this procedure on several other fellow visitors. No alarms sounded; no chemical agents were found. My story’s different. The machine chirped over the muted conversations of visitors: Beep. Beep. Beep. Without making eye contact the guard said, “Go wash your hands.” Puzzled, I went to the restroom, washed my hands, and returned. The guard swabbed them again and then placed the swab in the machine. Beep. Beep. Beep. “Try washing them again.” I repeated the process and again. 17
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ch apte r 13
Beep. Beep. Beep. Finally looking at me, the guard said, “You only get three tries.” I pleaded, “The machine must be mistaken. I am a pastor coming to visit someone from my church. What does it say is on my hands, anyway?” “THC—marijuana,” he said, marking in a logbook. I imagined what he was thinking, A weed-smoking pastor?! He confirmed my suspicion when he said, “We don’t care what you do in your free time, but you won’t be allowed a contact visit today.” In other words, I would only be able to see the inmate on the other side of a glass wall. I assured him defensively, “I don’t smoke weed, but a lot of people in my apartment building do!” Sometimes I chuckle about the places I go. I find myself in places I never imagined I would be. Visiting prisons, going to court, walking the streets of the Bronx late at night are all unlikely scenarios for a small-town boy from Missouri. Earlier in my life, ridicule dominated my mind. I would look at people in these places and think, They’re getting what they deserve! God has changed my way of thinking. He has used these people to help me see others differently and, more importantly, see myself differently. In my experience perspective yields compassion. Certainly being able to see a little through another person’s eyes helps us withhold judgment. Even more, perspective about ourselves yields compassion. On a cool summer evening in the South Bronx, I walked onto the stoop of my apartment building with my dog, Proof. Looking up the block, I saw the familiar red-and-blue flashes of emergency vehicles. Curious, I walked with Proof up the block. Yellow crime-scene tape blocked off a street, and the block 18
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w e e d- smo k i ng P as t o r
was covered with men and women in blue. Along with these officers were men and women in suits, police detectives, collecting evidence and trying to piece together the events surrounding yet another shooting in our neighborhood. Returning home, I wondered if someone I knew was involved. Later that evening I got a call. A familiar voice asked me to come to the hospital. I rode my blue bike down the dark city streets smattered with orange from the city lights above. It was about midnight. The ride was short, only about ten minutes. I locked my bike to the fence outside the hospital and hoped it would be there when I returned. The person in admissions helped me determine my destination. I took the elevator to the sixth floor and made my way through the familiar maze of corridors. As I walked onto floor 6C, I heard someone screaming. I looked at the numbers next to the door of each room, I searched for 628. 620. 621. 622. 623. 624. I was walking toward the screaming. I knew the voice. 625. 626. 627. 628. I walked into the room and saw a church member, a friend, a brother in total agony. All I could do was sit next to him and hold his hand, a hand that clenched mine. His leg had been broken. The same leg also had two bullet holes in it from a shooting two weeks earlier. The shots fired earlier that night were aimed at him but didn’t hit him. When gunfire rang out, everyone fled, including him. Cops on the scene didn’t know who had shot the gun. Chasing my friend down, the police officer hit him with his car, and another officer tackled him to the ground. In the commotion my friend’s leg was not just fractured but broken in half. The young man had sat handcuffed outside the elevator of his 19
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apartment for two hours before receiving medical treatment. I didn’t know the whole story when I walked in the room. All I knew was my friend was in pain. A nurse entered the room. I sat with my friend’s hand in my hand and listened to the nurse ask him questions. “Did you learn your lesson? What’s it going to take for you to figure things out? It’s the same, day after day.” Each of the nurse’s comments was like another shot fired at my friend. As I listened, I got angry. I finally interrupted the barrage and said, “He’s not a thug! Don’t treat him like one!” This nurse thought he had my friend figured out. He immediately judged him as a thug. I have to admit, my friend looked the part and had the battle scars to prove it. But there was so much this nurse didn’t know about my friend. The nurse had never seen this young gentleman respectfully hold the door open for my mother. He had never seen this older brother fix his little sister’s bike in the courtyard of their building. He had never seen this son help his mom carry in the groceries. He never saw this friend jump while watching a scary movie in a theater. He had never prayed with this church member. The nurse had no compassion because his perspective was so limited. His perspective of me was limited as well. Throughout the exam the nurse’s eyes darted back and forth from me to his patient. I felt like I could read his mind. It seemed he was thinking, Who’s this guy? Why is he here? The two of them couldn’t be more different. By this point in my life, though, God had already used my friend and many others to help me see myself differently. 20
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Excerpt from
CHAPTER
15
CANCEROUS JOY
T
he Great Physician used sickness in my life to bring more than just physical healing. Through my journey, I witnessed firsthand that He was the writer of my story, even the chapter that involved cancer. The name of that chapter was Cancerous Joy. Cancerous joy. A quick Internet search reveals the definition for cancer is, “The disease caused by the uncontrolled division of abnormal cells in a part of the body.” These are cells that respond in an unexpected manner. They multiply at an accelerated rate. The definition for joy is, “The feeling of great pleasure and happiness.” A combination of the two definitions is, “the uncontrolled feeling of abnormal pleasure and happiness.” Cancerous joy: joy that is unexpected and multiplies at an accelerated rate. I don’t know exactly when it began, just as I don’t know when the cancer cells began forming in my body. All I know is both the cells and joy multiplied unexpectedly, at an accelerated rate. Unlike my cancer, of which I didn’t know the cause or origin, I knew the source of my joy. It was my faith. My faith was 21
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supported by three core truths: (1) God is the Author of my story. He is in control. (2) I didn’t choose the road I had traveled, and I couldn’t choose the road ahead. But I could choose how I would walk it. (3) I wanted to walk in a way that glorified God. Too often sickness and other tough circumstances lead us to other conclusions. Sometimes we conclude God isn’t in control. Other times we think He doesn’t love us. Then we think Satan, or maybe a sin, caused a certain problem. We see in the Book of Job that God was in control of what was happening to Job. If we say Satan is the cause of our difficulties, then we are saying our circumstances are outside of God’s control. Traversing any of these trails leads to confusion. Sometimes we get so far down the road that we need to return to the beginning and start fresh. Once, while riding my bike on a rocky trail in the Ozark Mountains of Missouri, I began to feel more and more confused. Having looked at the map posted at the trailhead, as I came to forks in the road, I thought I knew which way to go. As I traveled farther down the path, it made less and less sense, and the trail became more and more difficult. Finally I stopped pedaling, got off my bike, and took a moment to appraise the situation. I realized I was far from where I needed to be. I needed to reverse direction. I eventually got back to the place where I made the wrong turn and corrected my course. When facing troubling circumstances, one path leads to life, understanding, and even cancerous joy. The first step on the path to cancerous joy is recognizing that God is the Author of our story and He is in control. He is all powerful, all knowing, and entirely good. These eternal realities viewed in light of His abundant love for His creation lead to only one conclusion. He is working good in our lives. He isn’t just manipulating things for our good. He is planning things for our good. Yes, there is the adversary. Even he, though, isn’t out of the 22
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canc e r o us J o y
control of the One who is writing the story. Therefore, no weapon he uses against us will be successful. I saw the Author’s deft hand in my story when I arrived at the hospital in Saint Louis at the beginning my treatment for testicular cancer. I parked my car in a parking garage, stepped out, and to my surprise heard someone say, “Andrew?!” I turned around, and there stood a longtime family friend. He reached down (he is very tall, and I’m not) and gave me a big, bearish hug. I knew why he was there. His wife had been fighting cancer for 20 years. Her stomach had recently been removed, and as I suspected, she was at the hospital for follow-up appointments. He didn’t know, though, why I was there. After a brief explanation he said, “I’ll tell my wife.” As I was signing in at the urology office, I heard the familiar voices of my two friends talking to my mom. I sat with them on the teal, vinyl chairs. We talked. They prayed for me, and his wife embraced me with a hug that felt like the arms of God. This wasn’t coincidence. It wasn’t happenstance. God wanted me to see He was in control, so He provided this veteran warrior of cancer to walk me onto the battlefield. The second step toward joy in the midst of my cancer was a logical conclusion once I realized the first. I am not in control.
23
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Excerpt from
CHAPTER
26
CREMATING THE PIG
F
or the two weeks that followed my dad’s funeral, I developed a whole new understanding of my father. We have already said that perspective yields compassion. Perspective also gives understanding. In those first few weeks after my dad’s death, I was able to see from his perspective. I lived his life. I literally walked in his shoes when I wore his rubber boots to do his chores around the farm. I got up in the morning and walked across the frozen ground toward the red barn. The grass crunched under my feet as I breathed in the cold morning air. The horses said, “Hello,” with a whinny, knowing they were about to be fed. They watched peculiarly as I cleaned out the stalls. It almost seemed as if they knew something had changed. I also tried to get a grip on all of the loose strings from his business and personal life that needed to be tied up. I began to understand my father better than I had my entire life. My perspective was different than a few months before when I was so frustrated with him. I was now largely responsible for my dad’s kingdom. That kingdom had a name—M Pines. This wasn’t the place of my birth or my childhood. When I was in college, my parents had moved to this 45-acre farm named after the many pine trees that lined 24
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the property. It was an idyllic environment for my dad to enjoy his family and vice versa for the last ten years of his life. We all have fond memories of bonfires by the cabin, riding horses in the arena, and fishing in the pond. Twice I was able to bring kids from Chicago and New York to visit. On one of these occasions, we decided to roast a whole pig in the ground. The plan was to treat the boys from the city to an old-fashioned potluck. We invited about a hundred folks and even had a bluegrass band. The night before the event, the boys got to see the whole hog before we buried it. To them bacon came from the store. Their eyes were opened wide that night. We buried the pig. Through the night I knew something wasn’t right. From my bed in the cabin where all the boys and leaders were staying, I saw flames coming up from the ground. Half a dozen times, I took a shovel and covered the flames with dirt. The next morning the hole was uncovered, and a tractor pulled up the metal sheet that was used to lower the hog into the hole. My dad removed the hot metal that covered the pig before burial. We stood puzzled. There was no pig! We looked down in the cavernous space below. The pig wasn’t there either. Best we could tell, we had cremated the pig! These memories and many others paraded through my mind in the weeks after my dad’s death. His worries marched through as well. I felt the weight of securing all my dad had worked so hard to provide. My father was a hard worker. He worked at his business and his farm chores literally until the day he died. One of my tasks in the weeks following his death was to destroy his confidential real-estate appraisal work. This tedious work had consumed so much of his time for so many years. 25
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In the city they use gigantic shredders the size of trailers. In small-town Missouri we burn it! As I tended the fire with a rake, gradually adding more papers to it, the dancing flames drew me into deeper thought. Nearly 20 years of my dad’s work went up in smoke in about three hours. All that was left were ashes. I began to contemplate where I spend my time. I, like my dad, tend to work very hard. As I added more papers to the fire, I began to ask myself, What is truly valuable? Things of value endure. They last. In New York City, one can find cheap purses and watches in Chinatown. Although they may look like their more expensive counterparts, they are more cheaply made and thus fall apart. Their more expensive twins in comparison last much longer. They often even come with a lifetime guarantee. Earthly blessings are always decreasing in value. Consider modern technology. A few years ago, I purchased a popular cell phone. The purchase price after discounts was $200. Years later, the same phone might be bought for 99 cents. The blessings we seek tend to be of the earthly sort, their value always decreasing. So often we go to God in prayer, asking for blessing. Our prayers often become a checklist for the increase of our kingdom. These prayers are not necessarily selfish in nature. We ask for the benefit of our families, our ministries, or others we love. M Pines was not a place for my dad’s glory to be on display. It was a place for his family. The same is true for his work. His work paid for me to go to college. It provided a place for my niece to ride horses behind my dad, grasping his belt loops as I once did. It was not only a place for him but also for others to enjoy. Nevertheless, I stared at the fire and understood: Just like the pig, so too are our kingdoms. Not just our kingdoms but our 26
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cr e mati n g th e P ig
bodies as well. My dad was cremated. All that remained of him and his work were ashes. God wants to free us from the bondage of a life that is forever decreasing in value. Jesus taught this when he said, “Don’t collect for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal. But collect for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys, and where thieves don’t break in and steal” (Matthew 6:19–20). He later said, “Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be provided for you” (v. 33). In others words, we should seek God’s eternal kingdom rather than building our own kingdoms because, in the end, our kingdoms have no value. As I watched the smoke rise from the bonfire that consumed my dad’s paperwork, I processed several scenarios and potential problems for the weeks and months ahead. I wanted to provide security for my family. I asked myself, What’s possible? In my kingdom, so much of what I faced seemed impossible. Our kingdoms exist only within the realm of the possible. We can only do what we can do. It’s common to be so surrounded by problems we have no power to resolve, much less find joy in. Then it hit me! I remembered the words of a devotion from Eugene Peterson’s God’s Message for Each Day, which I read that morning: “[God] is free above and beyond what we observe of his ways. He is free to do whatever he wills, whether it conforms to what we have observed as the laws He established in creation or not.” In God’s kingdom, anything is possible! I knew this in other areas of my life. Most people would take one look at me and think, There’s no way he lives in the Bronx, much less pastors a church in the Bronx. I am short, fair-skinned 27
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with freckles, younger, bald, and small-town. I am not likely the person someone would pick to do the job I’m doing. I’ve always loved the irrationality of my calling. God’s plan seems irrational to us sometimes. But His plan doesn’t have to make sense to us. He may seem irrational but only because we don’t know all that He knows. I have always identified with Abraham’s story. It wasn’t rational for Abraham to leave his home. It didn’t make much sense that he would father a nation when his wife was barren. His wife Sarah laughed at the thought because she didn’t understand. How silly her disbelief must have looked to God. God asked Abraham, “Why did Sarah laugh, saying, ‘Can I really have a baby when I’m old?’ Is anything impossible for the Lord?” (Genesis 18:13–14). Later Abraham raised a knife, ready to kill the son God miraculously provided (ch. 22). How insane! None of Abraham’s story makes sense—at least not from Abraham’s perspective. Faith doesn’t require things to make sense. In fact, true faith trusts and obeys when it doesn’t make sense, when we don’t understand.
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