When You Can Say Never
“If I don’t, will you throw the stone next time? If anyone here could, by your standards, it would be you. If I do this again next week and the week after and the week after will you throw the stone, Jesus? There has to be a line. When will you throw it, Jesus?”
The hurt on Jesus’s face was evident. “Rachel, that will never happen.” (The Samaritan’s Friend, pages 49 and 50)
The names in the following haven’t been changed to protect the innocent. No one in the following is innocent.
Jimmy told his mom he was spending the night at Phil’s. Jeff, the preacher’s son, told his mom, he was spending the night at Phil’s. Phil, told his mom he was spending the night at Jimmy’s. That night the three twelve year old boys were sitting around a campfire, between the river and the railroad tracks, smoking stolen Winston cigarettes, and practicing their cussing, as they retold dirty jokes they had read in the magazine they weren’t supposed to have.
At some point, just after the last stars had come out, Jimmy casually picked up a stick on the edge of the fire pit so he could toss it into the middle of the blaze. Pain. Ten, on the scale of one to ten, shot from his fingers into his brain as he realized that the stick was more ember than stick. Somehow, he held back tears as he poured water from his canteen on his fingers, and the other two boys laughed at him, not with him.
Later, after they had run out of jokes, and the cuss words were losing their charm, the conversation turned to theology. Jeff, the preacher’s son, asked Jimmy how his hand was. Then, as he gazed thoughtfully into the fire he asked, “Can you imagine what it would be like to burn like that, all over your body, for ever and ever?” Jeff’s father, the preacher, would have been proud. The boys were ready for the altar call.
Jimmy decided right there and right then he was going to straighten up. He’d never smoke again, he’d stop cussing, and for sure he’d start paying attention in Sunday School. He meant it. He had decided to follow Jesus. Unfortunately, his resolve fell short of lasting forty-eight hours by a good bit.
As the years passed, Jimmy was saved several times. One time in particular, he prayed the sinner’s prayer as he read a gospel tract that featured a cartoon depiction of people from every nation being thrown into a fiery pit. The forty-eight hour barrier was never broken.
More time passed (I guess I can start using the first person singular), and I started hearing things like, “Jesus loves you,” “You’re accepted,” “love never ends,” and “God is love.” I’m sure I had always heard them, but, gradually, they just started taking root. Over time, those words became stronger and more transforming than any reference to punishment.
“Love Lifted Me” became my favorite old time hymn, because, well, love lifted me, changed my heart, gave me new life, helped me see others as sacred, helped me see me as sacred, became a way of life, saved me from a life of fear (How long can I go on? A long time.)
I’ll admit the forty-eight hour barrier probably still stands. We all fall, cuss, and forget, but I’m ever called back. Welcomed. Not condemned. When we stray, the Jesus that Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John try their best to show us, searches until he finds, and helps us get back on the path.
It was easy for me to write that Jesus helps a fallen Rachel up, and tells her that he would never throw a stone. Never say never? Well, I believe with all my heart that you can in at least one case.