I have been watching politician after movie star after company icon exposed for their sexual sins. Before it was mainly TV evangelists. Now, the dark undertow pulls down the strongest of swimmers. We wonder how a man with power, wealth and a loving family would drive to a dark motel and plunge into the dark waters. But the darkness flows in our blood, too. Our only wonder should be why these dark tides come so close to our own homes.
We feed our kids candy and wonder why they don’t calm down and we flood our sons with sexual songs and videos, and wonder why they can’t keep it in their pants.
We said no to the mystery of God and are left with the mystery of bar smoke and a silk dress.
Imagine you were a senator with a black limousine, mahogany desk and drinks in tall glasses with stems as thin as wheat. You walk out of the party at night under the Washington stars. The golden Monument rises in the dark like a treasure no one can have. You feel how your life is not really yours—like finding a book in your home that belongs to the local library, one hundred years overdue. You think there must be something bigger than me to pull all this into a story—hopefully a good story. “I am recognized but not known. Of all the people jockeying to see me, not one would care if I died. There are the stars so far above, but there is a woman who is not my wife. She is not me at all. Maybe she is that other one who will sing me a song of darkness and will take off my heart this weight of pain like wet clothes.” You find yourself driving away with this woman who you know would kill you in a split minute but you are too far away to get back.
And there it is. This man is seeking transcendence. He risks all because he must have something, someone, who is not him. He bowed his head in church where Christ was tamed and polite. The preacher never told him that one touch of God could blow him into a million pieces. So he found more than comfort, he found terror and beauty under the red sign of the motel.
And then like a worm you try to put on a hook, his soul squirms inward. He becomes the man in the papers. He becomes the woman dragged before Jesus at noon.
Maybe if we pray, the shadow of Jesus will cover him. Maybe if we drop our stones and pray, Jesus will overshadow us all as we read the papers.
Imagine you are the politician hearing the words for the first time, “Neither do I condemn you.” Forgiveness becomes so frightening as it pulls you in a new direction. It is a stronger current pulling you back to shore where everyone who loves you is waiting. They, too, were all pulled back.
And that is how to read the papers, waiting on the shore for others to come.
ABOUT TEAM MCMILLAN:
In 1994, the McMillan family traveled to the kidnapping, murder, and drug capital of the western hemisphere to plant a church and a foundation. God thought Medellin, Colombia a good place to raise a family. And turns out He was right (as He usually is). It became a very large family: The church, Comunidad (Community), is now the largest church in Medellin with over 8,000 members, the Foundation, Viento Fresco, cares for over 150 high-risk children, and a non-profit coffee shop, New Hearts Cafe, serves cups of caffeine and the love of Jesus to thousands of college students.
God is doing so much in Medellin, and we write about here on the Teammcmillan.org blog!
THERE ARE FOUR WAYS TO GET INVOLVED.
- Become a prayer partner.
- Donate to Team McMillan via our Mission South America Paypal.
- Buy Andrew´s new book on Amazon The Safest Place on Earth.
- Join us in Medellin for a Missions Trip.
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