Not a Multiple Choice Answer

Who Do You Say That I Am? (Not a Multiple Choice answer)

I assumed the church bookstore was empty as I meandered from shelf to shelf. Eventually, though, I became aware that someone else also studied the literary items on display. Without speaking, we independently perused the wares. 

After a bit, the gentleman took the initiative, broke the silence, and said, “Hello Debby. I am _____________. We are glad you are here.”

Oblivious—and as you will soon see, uninformed—I said, “Oh, hello. What did you say is your name?" 

He repeated his dignified name for me.

“So, what do you do here?” I ventured.

(I think he cleared his throat before answering), “I am the senior pastor.” If only a mulligan existed in conversation!

Larry and I were invited to participate as guest speakers for this mega church missions conference in a geographical area unfamiliar to us. But that was no excuse. This error landed in my court. My lack of readiness left me humiliated, and left the church’s leader feeling awkward.

Questions of identity are not limited to awkward conversations in church bookstores. Nor is identity confined to modern-day society. In fact, identify stood at the heart of the question Jesus presented to His disciples in Matthew 16:16. Who do you say I am?

Possible answers to Jesus' inquiry could be:

You are a part of my life.

You are my ticket to heaven.

You are an emergency exit when the building of my life is on fire.

You are an historical figure.

You are an excellent doctor when I face a medical crisis.

You are a counselor when my marriage is in turmoil.

You are my 911.

Yet, it is Peter’s answer of epic proportions which reverberates down through history: You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.

Human destiny hangs in the balance with an individual’s response to this watershed question. Faith and belief allow for only one right answer: You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.

Here we pivot from Peter's ancient answer to the present, and bring THEN into NOW. Actually, you and I minimize Jesus when we compartmentalize Him only to eternity.

If (and He is) the Christ, the Son of the living God for THEN, He is the Christ, the Son of the living God for NOW.  

For instance,

In this season of unexpected success? Who do you say that I am?

In this painful betrayal: Who do you say that I am?

In this uncomfortable set of circumstances: Who do you say that I am?

In this heartache: Who do you say that I am?

In this uphill challenge: Who do you say that I am?

In this financial setback: Who do you say that I am?

In the restructuring at the office: Who do you say that I am?

In discovering my teenager's receipt left in the car: Who do you say that I am?

In this time crunch to make a lifetime decision: Who do you say that I am?

Just as He asked Peter yesterday, He asks you and me today. The bottom line is the only right Answer: You are the Christ, the Son of the living God. The opportunity to honor Him as the Christ the Son of the living God, integrates faith and belief into real life, real problems, and real dilemmas. When you and I yield to His Identity, we give Him full access and full authority into this moment, this second, and this situation.

Who do you say that I am? You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.

Living With Eternal Intentionality™

How have you personally answered this question of eternal destiny?

How are you answering this question in a situation you face today?

This is the second question in a Biblical series entitled: Classic Questions

A Tornado, Seriously?

The ringing phone interrupted our family activity. 

Part Four in a four part series

Part One: The Night Mr. Vice President Came to Visit

Part Two: Feeling Like a Failure

Part Three: Mommy Does Not Talk Through the Bathroom Door

The ringing phone interrupted our family activity. Larry jumped up to grab the black antiquated receiver out in the hall, while the children and I continued watching the movie. This was not just any movie.

On this Easter Monday in Eastern Europe, we gathered to watch, as was our family Easter tradition, The JESUS Film. Though the film was contraband, we nevertheless proceeded. Our living room in Warsaw, Poland, housed a video cassette player and the film focused our hearts and minds on the significance of the holiday.

I overheard Larry on the phone, and immediately sensed this was not a cheerful holiday greeting; something was wrong. Instructing the children to continue watching without us, I slipped through the frosted pane doors to join him and sit nearby on the bottom step beside the radiator.

With a grim face, my husband held the receiver of the phone, which rested on the concrete windowsill. The tone of his voice further confirmed this to be a dreaded phone call.

Missionaries always live with the possibility of receiving bad news from those they love. And yet, one is never prepared. Distance accentuates the pain. A tense voice over a cold, plastic, impersonal piece of equipment is a cruel way to receive an unwanted message. This was our turn.

At 4:03 pm on the afternoon of April 21st, a tornado ripped through the agricultural farmland of the Mississippi Delta and totaled my parents’ home. With only seconds to respond, they jumped in the nearest vehicle to race to safety, but not before my mother grabbed her purse from their bedroom at the end of the hall.

A continent away, Larry and I held the receiver between us and listened to the blow-by-blow report, which replayed every detail of the harrowing experience. 

Interruption from the living room: Mommy, the film is nearly over, and at the end, they will tell people how to receive Jesus. Our little girl had seen this film previously, and she knew the upcoming conclusion.

My response: Please go back into the living room and keep watching. Daddy and I are on the phone with a very important conversation.

She obeyed.

The international phone conversation: When my parents saw the funnel cloud approaching from the southwest horizon, they sped for cover under the safety of the nearest concrete bridge. Holding on for dear life to structural pilings underneath, they fought the suction, and listened to the deafening roar as the destructive monster barreled past.

Interruption from the living room: Mommy, the movie is nearly over, and when they tell people how to receive Jesus, David (her younger brother) should pray. He has not invited Jesus into his heart, and he can do this today at the end.

My response: Please go back. We can talk about this later. Daddy and I cannot leave the phone right now.

She obeyed.

The international phone conversation: When they emerged, they at first thought their home had been spared. But they were sadly mistaken. The destruction was devastating, but they were overwhelmed with God’s mercy and power in preserving their lives. Larry and I hung up the phone and looked at each other. The sickening feeling of distance—a feeling missionaries are well acquainted with—descended. Separated by an ocean, we felt helpless. There was nothing we could physically do to contribute toward the massive cleanup they faced.

Interruption from the living room: Mommy, Daddy, David just became a Christian. At the end of the movie, He invited Jesus into his heart. Now he will go to heaven!

Indeed,

She obeyed. She obeyed the nudging of the Holy Spirit. 

The events in this tumultuous week resulted in one more soul being ushered into the Kingdom.

A visit by Mr. Vice President, a fisher of men

A crisis in the kitchen involving the shrimp  

A crisis upstairs involving the goldfish

An untimely conversation, Mommy did not want to talk through the bathroom door

An evangelistic film

A transatlantic phone call with an unwanted interruption

A devastating tornado

The spiritual leadership of one older sister

The spiritual hunger of one little brother; he invited Jesus into his heart.

Fast forward to the year 2000 and the days leading up to the wedding this older sister, when her younger brother said, “I will always remember that you were the one who led me to Jesus.”

And I will always remember the work of God—in spite of crisis, feeling of failure, inconvenience, and tornado—to orchestrate His miracles in the life of one small missionary family.

Pulling back the Iron Curtain to view real life behind that Iron Curtain...

Living with Eternal Intentionality™

Eye has not seen, ear has not heard, nor has entered the heart of man, all that God has planned for those that love Him (1 Corinthians 2:9).

Mommy Does Not Talk Through the Bathroom Door

Pulling back the Iron Curtain to view real life behind that Iron Curtain...

The pounding on the door seemed urgent. (But wait; let us back up in the series.)

Part One: The Night Mr. Vice President Came to Visit

Part Two: Feeling Like a Failure

Now, Part Three in one family's story of life behind the Iron Curtain:

Mommy Does Not Talk Through the Bathroom Door

The pounding on the door seemed urgent. Early in my journey of motherhood, I established a simple rule: Mommy does not talk through the bathroom door. This day, in spite of the knocking, I held fast to my decree.

The presence on the other side of the door attempted to dismantle my principle, but I refused to waver. Mommy does not talk through the bathroom door.

When the little fist refused to stop, I finally relented, and spoke. “What is it you need? You know Mommy does not talk through the bathroom door.”

The response startled me. “Mommy, I want to talk about what that man said.” The gentle voice of my little boy let me know this would not be an ordinary conversation. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“You know, the man that came here and talked about scuba diving?” 

The man he referred to was Mr. Vice President. The evening he mentioned was the infamous crisis -riddled night. “He talked about how to go to heaven. What did he mean?” 

Emerging from the bathroom, I met the sincere eyes of a small, inquisitive child. “That man who talked about scuba diving, talked about heaven. What did he mean?” His genuine questions held eternal significance.

Shifting gears and putting aside an overloaded to-do list, my son and I sat quietly and conversed. I embraced the divine appointment to share further of the glorious message of Jesus, how He died on the cross to pay for our sins. 

Our earlier dinner guest—committed to being a fisher of men—indeed, spoke in our family devotional about scuba diving. But he also spoke clearly about God’s love and Jesus' death on the cross, and the invitation to know Him and go to heaven.

So apparently, while I managed a crisis downstairs involving shrimp in the kitchen and managed a crisis upstairs involving goldfish in an aquarium, God was at work watering the seeds sown in the heart of this young boy. My, my, imagine that.

Now, on this quiet 1984 April afternoon in communist Warsaw, Poland, the anointed words Mr. Vice President invested were coming to fruition. A young boy whose parents were undercover missionaries living behind the Iron Curtain persistently sought the Savior. 

A few more days would pass before—in the midst of yet another crisis—the little fellow would indeed bow his head and ask Jesus into his heart. 

[That will be Part Four.]

Living with Eternal Intentionality™

Often, the opportunity to share the gospel comes at an inconvenient moment. When have you experienced this to be the case?