Verse Thirty-Nine

I was twelve years old, sitting cross legged on my bed in Pearland, Texas at eight o'clock one summer night reading the Bible before I went to sleep. I was in the book of Matthew, chapter five. I made it to verse thirty-nine before I hit the wall, shut off the light, and determined to dream.

It was sticky-hot and the white ceiling fan rustled some papers on the floor. The soft sound of the papers rubbing together reminded me of scurrying cockroaches. I knew there were none in my room, but my dread fear of them forced me to flip the light on just to be sure. Anyone who has ever seen a Texas cockroach knows why. I secured the papers, dropped back into bed and resumed tossing and turning. It was not the heat or strange noises keeping me from my dreams; it was verse thirty-nine.

You may think I have a good memory for being able to recall such a seemingly mundane experience. My friend Steve could assure you this is not the case. I have a pretty pitiful memory for the most part; but this was a God moment. God moments freeze time and make indelible impressions for me like the day Kennedy was shot effects my dad, or the way we can recall exactly what we were doing on 9/11. The events of those days may be routine, and otherwise unremarkable. But they are made sacred in a flash; in that sudden moment of time when a truth, welcome or unwelcome, pushes beyond our mind to awaken our heart taking all that we are in that moment with it to our soul.

People speak sentimentally about Matthew chapter five. It's poetry has been sung, lauded and even parodied by Monty Python. We've heard it so much we may have grown dull of hearing. Perhaps that is why my twelve year old soul made it all the way to verse thirty-nine before feeling the confrontation of true holiness. Twenty-six years later I can't make it beyond verse three.

I wrestled with God that night, and He let me. I didn't like verse thirty-nine. I didn't want it to be there...I wished it gone. I tried to deliberately misunderstand. I tried to pretend it couldn't be understood. These were the attempts of an unruly soul to justify disobedience. Eventually, exhausted and unsatisfied I fell asleep. When I woke the next morning, I woke to the Presence of verse thirty-nine. It lived, despite my attempts to make it void.

I peeled back the covers, placed my foot on the floor of that small bedroom and took my first steps toward surrender. There are many little crosses that mark the meeting place of my death and Christ's life. Humility, gentleness, weeping over sin, hungering for righteousness, mercy, peace-making, purity of heart, speaking God's word, forgiveness, the refusal to avenge...these are the places I die and He lives.

As I look back over the landscape of my life I see too many open spaces where pride, arrogance, revenge, anger, sin, greed, fear, selfishness and strife took root. The grass that grows there is a reminder that my surrender was incomplete. I dream one day of having a landscape decorated with a thousand little crosses; the Arlington cemetary of my soul.

Verse thirty-nine was the first nail that ever pierced my flesh. It has pierced my flesh many times since. I've not grown used to the sting; the struggle for surrender continues. God forbid I give up the fight. For as Jesus said, "If anyone wishes to come after Me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me." Matthew 16:24 (NAS).

Christianity is nothing if it is not following Jesus...all the way to verse thirty-nine and beyond.