Faithbook

This week Facebook announced that 500 million (that's a lot zeros) are part of this unique social phenomenon. So what is it about FB that so many are attracted or even addicted to it's artificial stimulation? The answer is obvious and a little sad. You see, on Facebook you can be anybody you want to be (I have seen some of your profile pictures, be honest, you haven;t looked like that in thirty years),and you can say anything you want to say.

I will step off my soap box for just a minute to admit that some good has risen like a Phoenix out of the web of Facebook. Old friends have been re-united, new friends have been made. I heard of a family re-union that had the largest turnout ever. I have read compelling thoughts. I have laughed and I have cried at words written on the canvas of Facebook. But for the most part I believe that if extreme caution is not taken when entering the realm of FB, people will get hurt.

Facebook has allowed us to become farmers without the fear of loosing our farm because of the color of our skin or because mother natures destroys our land. You can join the dark world of vampires, or become a mafia boss. Open your own cafe with no sweat or overhead. You can waste away precious time by playing word games, or games with funny names (just what is a farkle?). You can respond "yes" to every "friend request"-and then brag to the world about the number of friends you have.

You can create any world you want, create any friend you desire and believe that they all read what you write, believe what you say and love you unconditionally; until they "unfriend" you that is. Facebook has allowed you to be a creator, a god. With the power of the click you can "like" or "delete" any other one's opinion.

I have been accused of being overly optimistic. They have told me to take off my rose-colored glasses at times. But I can't stop believing, I can't go a moment without faith. So I wonder what would happen if 500 hundred million Facebookies, for just a day, turned off their laptops and PC's, dropped to their knees and looked to the real creator, the real God, and just said "thank you". I wonder what that day would be like if each user spoke to a friend face to face; instead of on Facebook. I wonder what would happen if each one looked around at God's construction and began to realize that there is no greater creation than this. I wonder what would happen if each of us looked in the mirror to see who we really are and know that regardless of the number of bytes, pixels or hard drives you possess, there is nothing in that little box made of plastic and metal that will change who you are. I wonder how many would do this for just one day.

It just a day, He gave us a lifetime, He gave us His Son.

See you next week.

A Path to the Past

He feels empty. The dark void is painful. The pain lives in the pit of his stomach. He can not describe the pain, he is just aware that it hurts. How did he get here? When did the pain and anguish grow to such an all consuming size? Who caused this indescribable pain?

He knows he must go back to find the source. Without this knowledge he believes the pain will never cease. He must walk back down the path that led him to this moment. Surely the answer is there. He knows his search will lead him to the culprit.

He turns to see a path overgrown with thickets as tall as a man. The great plants are filled with thorns. The vines so entwined that he can see no more than a few feet at a time. He wonders how this path to the past has become so overgrown. How will he ever get back to the place where there is no pain?

He begins his journey and almost immediately the thorns contact his skin; opening old scars. It hurts so badly. He struggles to work through the tangled memories, searching for the genesis. It is so hot. The sweat from his forehead pours into the newly reopened scars. The salt causes them to burn.  The thorny vines take on a life of their own, becoming entangled around his legs, cutting deeply into previously unblemished skin. This journey will leave new scars. He stumbles to his knees, the pain unrelenting. “Turn back”, he cries. The journey he thought would bring relief only exasperates. He crawls with is head down, not wanting to see where he is going any longer. The heat and humidity have become unbearable. Insects swarm around his down-turned face, their buzz becomes deafening. It seems to cry out, “You will not find the answers, the pain is forever, die with it.”

Suddenly there is a small opening in the snarl of vines and he hurriedly crawls through, standing to his feet. For just a moment the pain eases, the void begins to fill. But as quickly as the relief came it leaves.
Along the path to the past there is water. Refreshment? No, this is not living water, it is dead, stagnate water. His nostrils fill with the stench of the past. And although no clarity has come from this journey, he believes the stench has brought him closer to the truth. He is determined to find the perpetrator of his pain.

Hours pass, or maybe it is days. He cannot tell for sure. Time past is as tangled as the vines, murky as the swamp. Everything looks the same. The pain returns in full force. His body is soaked in sweat, the fresh punctures remind him of where he his. With each step the hope of discovery grows fainter. He succumbs to the anguish and lies down. Sleep is the only hope of relief. He knows it will be temporary, but that doesn’t matter. Any relief, even that which comes with the darkness of exhaustion is welcome.

The cool breeze awakens him. He stands and looks around to see that the jagged path and overgrown plants are gone. He stands on the boundary of a beautiful clearing. The dark green grass softly sways in the cool breeze. He detects the faint aroma of honeysuckle; an aroma that has always pleased. In the center of the clearing he sees a man. He knows that the man is Jesus. He begins to approach Christ and can feel the strangling vines tugging at him, keeping him from Christ. He pulls away and stands before Jesus.

“Why do I feel like this, why does it hurt so much?”

Christ only looks at him.

“Why did you let this happen to me, you know I love you?”

Christ answered, “Because I love you.”

“But why would you let someone hurt me so?” he cried.

“No one hurt you. You made choices. You held on.”

I looked down at my hands and saw that they still clung to all the bad and wrong choices I had made. When did this happen? How had I made so many wrong decisions? I tried to open my hands and let them fall, but I couldn’t.

“Christ, please take them away. I am sorry. I don’t want them anymore. I tried to do what was right. I tried to forgive others when they hurt me. I looked to you for guidance, I prayed for your help, but I didn’t see you. Where were you! I needed you and you forsook me!”

“I have been here all along, waiting.”

Lord, help me to forgive, help me to forget. Help me to see that is was I who moved away.

Amen.