CAVES OR CROSSES?

I will tell you about an area to which I have never been.  (You know I'm not a world traveler.  I think driving to Birmingham is a major road trip.)  But in the nation know as Turkey today there is an area once known as Cappadocia.  It is a plateau area surrounded on the North, South and East by mountains and rivers.  These natural barriers form a type of protection for the region and made this area a safe haven for those who wanted to escape persecution of various rulers or kingdoms or to simply disappear from the mainstream civilization. 

It's earliest mention is from the 6th century BC.  In Acts chapter two it is mentioned as part of the group hearing the gospel in their own language on the day of Pentecost. 

A unique feature of this region is the rock-like substance formed by volcanic ash, lava and basalt deposits which can be easily carved, shaped and utilized as homes, structures etc. into the sides of the mountains. 

It was to these carved out, caves-like "hide-outs" which the outcast, rebels, and almost 1700 years ago, even a group of Christians, retreated to in order to live out their beliefs in God without persecution. 

As I read and studied about these events for a recent Bible study that we are doing at Heritage church a thought came to me that has troubled me.  Should those Christians have been there in the caves of Cappadocia?  Naturally, our first instincts are to save ourselves and our families.  It is a common response.  It is an expected response.  But consider this with me, if you will.  Is our job as Christians to be normal and to do the expected?  Were we saved and changed to be like Christ so we can hide out in safe places?  As much as I admire these people for wanting to move to a place where their families can be safe and they can worship God as they desire, so they can live like Jesus.  I wonder is that what Jesus did?

The Jesus I have been taught about since Mrs. Irene Lee and Mrs. Novis Tate and my own Mom taught me, in a back room of that little block church in Calera, was a man who did not run from adversity.  Instead, He walked head on into it.  He could have safely gone to places like Cappadocia and taught His disciples and sent them out and His life on earth may have lasted much longer than a short thirty-three years.  But He didn't. Is that what Jesus would want? Were we not called to tell the story? Were we not call to spread the gospel?  Were we not called to live the Christian life in front of the lost so that they can "see our good works and glorify the Father which is in Heaven"?

Should these people have been hiding in the caves or should they have been carrying their crosses?

But wait.  Before we go and criticize these early Christians lets look at our situations.  Where are we hiding?  You and I attend our churches on Sunday morning, Sunday night and Wednesday nights.  We gather together with others of like faith and sing and pray and worship our God.  In our minds this is the correct and proper thing to do.  We are not threatened here.  We are safe and free to "do God's will". But is this God's will?

Were we not called to "go" and not "stay".  Were we not told that if our gospel is "hid" it is hid to them that are lost?

Christians, I believe in our day and time we have resorted to our caves.  Oh, we don't call them that.  We call them churches, small groups, worship centers but are they not the places where we go to hid?  I am free to pray here, sing here, worship and read the word here but if that is the only place where I do these things I have become a "hideaway Christian".  His gospel, His good news must be shared with those who are lost, even if you and I are "persecuted" for it. 

I hide in other ways.  Instead of being up-front, instead of being open, instead of being vocal about my belief and my faith in Jesus as the Son of God and Savior of the world I just kind of let things go on by and "hide out" but not participating in them or resisting them. 

Where are the Christians who will stand for what is right and fight against what is wrong in spite of ridicule or persecution?

Now I doubt that you have undergone very much persecution for your religious beliefs lately.  I recall the words of my high school football coach Richard Gilliam.  We were talking once about sharing our Christian faith with others.  Coach Gilliam said, "If no one is shooting at you, you must not be flying your flag high enough.  If you run your flag high enough, someone will shoot at it". 

Our day of persecution will come.  It may come, I dare say sooner than any of us think.  And when it does, what will we do?   Will we run and hide or will we run up our flag and stand for right even though it means we suffer for it?

Let's live our lives in the open.  Let's choose the cross and not the caves. 

OLD PICTURES

On the book shelves, on either side of my desk are lots of pictures. I can look on one side and see a copy of an old photo of my  great, great grandmother, Mary Hand Nelson Ray and her son, my great grandfather, Wiley Andrew Jackson Nelson.  I can see a picture of my dad, Ralph Collum when he was playing baseball in the CCC service (Citizens Conservation Corp).  There are the professional photographs by Olin Mills of my children and their families and the snap shots of Strawberry and Perrin ridin’ the tractor with Grump. 

As my eyes move on from photo to photo I see another picture of my dad, the years have whetted down the muscles and chiseled lines and wrinkles in his face but he stands straight and tall even while using his walking stick as a prop as he visits the grave of his great grandfather in Knoxville, Tennessee.  And there is a picture of Granny (my mom) sitting in the swing on our front porch on a bright sunny day.

All wonderful pictures, priceless pictures to me, each containing wonderful memories of days gone by.  I smile as I think of the days those pictures were taken.  I remember the voices and the touches from those that I love. I wonder, can those who have gone on before me remember me?” 

Does God allow them to retain the memories of those great time here?  Can they see our faces? Can they hear what we say and see what we are doing?  Does the almighty Father, who by the way, can do anything He wants, allow them to sense the enjoyment of those times here on earth? 

I catch myself praying for them sometime.  I prayed for them for so long.  I watched as both Dad and Mom’s health diminished and their ability to care for themselves dwindled away and I called out to God to help them.  Sometimes as I pray I ask God, just bless them special today.  Oh, I know they are not in pain.  I know they are not sad.  I don’t know what people do in Paradise but I’m positive they don’t sit around and mope and think about how sad it is to be away from their family and loved ones.  But I just ask God to give them a special blessing.  I kind of think He does that. 

The pictures bring all those thoughts to mind I guess. 

I am less than four months from retiring from my job with the Emergency Management Agency of Chilton County.  I’ve been here, doing this job for 30 years.  As I was cleaning out drawers and shelves I realized that I had a very large box of newspaper clippings and snapshots of things that I’ve been involved with over the years.  Photos of wrecks I’ve worked and fires I’ve fought.  Interviews I’ve given and stories about  the projects we’ve undertaken.  Pictures, memories, reminders. 

But as I sit here this morning pondering these things I notice another picture on the shelf. Actually I have several copies of the same photo.  I don’t know who painted it.  I can’t give credit to the artist. But I’ll try to describe it to you. 

There is a young man, faded jeans, dirty t-shirt, his eyes are shut and in his hand is a hammer.  In the background is nothing but darkness.  He looks exhausted and is slumping and not able to hold himself up. His hands hang limp by his side. Behind him is the artist’s depiction of Jesus.  Jesus is reaching around the young man supporting him, and holding him up to keep him from falling. His nail pierced hands look strong as He supports and holds up the man who nailed him to the cross.

I will no doubt forget all the other pictures one day.  I won’t remember the stories about projects, and rescues and events.  I may even forget my relatives, living and dead.  I may not be able to call your name or recognize your face.  But may I never forget those hands.  May I never forget those loving, strong hands that were there to catch me when I was weak, and unable to stand.  May my mind forever retain the memory of the time when I was guilty, the evidence that would convict me still in my hands and the one that I had hurt so deeply reaching down and holding me. 

There is a lot I don’t know about this stuff called life, death and eternity.  But I am confident that here, there, now, then or in that place where time does not exist, even though I’ve never seen them with my eyes,  I will remember those hands and what they have done for me.