In Francis Schaeffer’s “The Mark of a Christian,” he puts forth one of those novel ideas that at once seems so profound yet simple; something I’ve known but never put into words. The thought is that Christians, more so than members of other religious groups, have a pattern of shooting their wounded.
This is a difficult pill to swallow, and most feel their defenses rising against such a contention. I number myself among this group. How many brothers and sisters in the faith do I interact with on a regular basis, encouraging, lifting up, and praying for in their battles? The members of my Bible Study and Church are people I’ve known for years, always ready with a smile and firm, assuring handshake as they ask sincere and caring questions about my life, its direction, and even the deepest longings of my soul. Many have laid hands upon one another in times of crisis, bonding over the shared vulnerability that such a tumultuous season creates. How is it, then, that loving members of the Body are said to kick one another when they’re down, so to speak? It is possible, even likely, that the experiences of others have differed greatly from mine…but I think one would be hard-pressed to find a brother who doesn’t believe he has an attitude of loving-kindness toward fellow believers.
As with most sin, the twist is subtle; distorted monstrosities are not usually effective means of deception. Pride, that leprous appendage of self, burrows its way in and leeches the truth from my mind. On the most practical, daily home front of my existence—because that is where the real war is waged—when I see a fellow believer struggling, particularly in a capacity I know they have been warned against, there is a haughtiness that tends to arise. Even as I see and commit to pray, the words that pour forth and the attitude conveyed are not often those of a heart broken for a fellow sufferer. And here’s the thing: Even when I recognize the ugliness within myself for what it is, I don’t always rush to crush it. I cling to it. I cleave. Sometimes I even revel in it. All the while one of God’s precious lambs is bleeding, and Heaven weeps.
My carnal need to feel superior trumps any desire to reach out a hand, or at least a healing hand. How perilous a path we tread when the first place we run to is our tinted glass perches. Life is too short and much too precious for that.
“By this all people will know that you are my disciples, IF YOU HAVE LOVE FOR ONE ANOTHER.” (John 12:35, emphasis mine).
Father forgive us.
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