I Dare You!

"At the name of Jesus, every knee should bow…and every tongue confess Jesus Christ is Lord." – Phil 2:9-11

When I first saw her I thought she was a ghost. She lay beneath a pile of bloody sheets, her wrists opened by a crisscrossed pattern of oozing lashes. With pasty white skin and a fixed unseeing gaze, she looked beyond help, a lost spirit in a living corpse drained of blood. Her name was Noel. She wanted to die.

I knelt beside the bed and took her hand. I was surprised at how limp it felt limp, how lifeless. Her skin felt cool and dry, her pulse, weak and slow. I aligned my face with hers. Her red-rimmed eyes seemed to peer right through me as if I weren’t even there. I felt a dark, foreboding presence as if death loomed all about us. As I gently dressed her wounds I explained her circumstances, that whether or not she agreed with me, I would be transporting her to the hospital.

"No," she whispered. "Just leave. Just let me die."

"I can’t do that," I said. "When you hurt yourself, Noel, you lost the right to make that decision. Look, come with me, it’ll give a chance to talk, just the two of us. My partner will give us an easy ride. All we’ll do is talk, I promise. Maybe say a prayer."

Noel’s head turned. She gazed at me with eyes full of confusion. I knew what I should do, I knew what I needed to say, but fear stopped me short. I glanced at the other rescue workers. The firefighters. The cops. What would they think of me? What do I do? Lord, I silently prayed, give me strength.

Say it, a voice beckoned me. Be bold, man. Just say it.

I couldn’t.

As if led by an unseen hand, Noel climbed out of the bed and followed me from the room. Our ride to the ER was simple. No oxygen masks came out of the wall. No IV bags were spiked. No ECG monitors were attached and no medications were pushed. It was just a simple ride. But as we rode together in the back of that old ambulance we talked; and as we talked we shared; and as we shared together I felt an overwhelming need to tell her. We were finally alone. What did I have to lose?

"Noel," I said, my heart racing. "Jesus loves you."

*

I saw my partner’s chin drop when he opened the rear doors of the ambulance. His eyes flew open in shocked surprise. But I understood the source of his confusion. Noel literally beamed. Her previously washed out face looked strong. Pink. She had been transformed, from death to life, by the mere utterance of a word. For you see, we held hands and prayed in the back of that old truck, and Noel gave her life to Christ.

Why is it so hard for us to say the name? Why do we cower, wondering what others will think? Because it’s the most powerful word in the universe. The Bible tells us He has a name above every name, and that at the mere mention of that name every knee should bow, and every tongue confess that He is Lord. Every Christian must remember that. There’s power in the name of Jesus, marvelous, life-changing power, hope, and salvation. Jesus died and rose that we might live. He’s my savior, and now He’s Noel’s too. Is He yours?

*

Now a challenge: If you know Jesus Christ it’s your turn. Go out and tell someone else about Him. And be bold, man. Say it. Say the name, Jesus.

I dare you!

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A Good Drunk

"If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that?" Mt 5:46

Yeah I’m a Christian, but I had me a good drunk the other night…

No, really. Found him lying in the middle of the street, bump on his head and a bottle by his side. He was about fifty something, dressed in simple clothes and stinking like a sack of dirty laundry. With slurred speech and the sweet, slushy scent of cheap alcohol lingering on his breath, he was about as common as can get…

…a real good drunk.

I chuckled. I’m a paramedic. I’ve seen it all before. It should have been a simple call—pick him up, throw him on the stretcher, and give him a ride to the ER for observation, oh, and by the way, pray for him—but it wasn’t that easy. He became belligerent. Then he wanted to fight me. Then he went and opened his mouth. I won’t tell you what he said. Christians don’t use words like that. Or do we?

Well before you go pointing your finger at me, that man’s words hurt. He hurt my pride! He made me angry!! What was I supposed to do, just stand there and take it? No way! I flung the words right back at him as fast as I could. After all, he deserved it. I was only trying to help him.

Right?

Well, we all know the answer to that question. I was wrong. Dead wrong.

You know I’ve been a Christian for over thirty years, and you’d think by now I’d know better, but for me it’s not that simple. I seem to make one mistake after another, failing the Lord in so many areas of my life that recently a thought has been heavy on my mind:

What does it really mean to be a Christian?

Does it mean never missing church? Attending the right Bible studies? Smiling at other Christians, and never uttering a foul word? Well, I believe Jesus answered my question when He said, "Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you."

"But, Lord?" I say. "Are you serious? Even him?"

If I close my eyes, I can picture Jesus hanging on the cross. If I use my imagination, I can see myself kneeling at His bloody feet. But if I put aside my pride, my arrogance, and my selfish ambitions, I can imagine that man kneeling by my side—dirty clothes, stinking breath and all—and suddenly, suddenly, everything becomes crystal clear. We’re both sinners. Christ died for both of us.

I failed that test last Saturday night, it’s true, but Jesus used my failure to teach me a valuable lesson. He showed me what it really means to be a Christian, and He used a good drunk to do it…

* * *