Angry With The Muslim World

 
I used to work in the Banking industry. For a while I worked in the bad bank, though I’m sure you never knew a bad bank existed. The good bank is the one you see every day; smiling, nice, polite, taking in deposits and lending them out. The bad bank is different. This is the bank that works to get the loan money back. In the bad bank no one is nice to customers, or smiling, or polite. No one wants to visit the bad bank, and very few want to work there. In the bad bank we had a special type of correspondence. We called it the ‘Drop Dead’ letter. When we received a proposal to repay a loan - usually substantially less than what was owed - we would send a terse, legally correct reply. If the customer thought about what this formalized document really meant, he/she would quickly realize they were being told to drop dead. Thus the name.

Now when I was a younger lad telling someone to drop dead was almost a daily occurrence. That or some other clever expletive, was just part of the normal way my friends and I communicated. But now that I am a little older and slightly wiser I wish to find a better way to communicate. What I really want to do is to learn how to tell someone that I disagree with him/her, or that I am angry with them, and do it in a way that is loving and kind. I’d like deal with my anger without delivering to someone a drop dead letter.

However, since 9/11 I have been itching to tell the entire Muslim world to drop dead. First came the attacks from Muslim terrorists. Then I learned about the abuse of Christians in Arab countries. Christian communities that have existed for two thousand years are being driven out of Egypt, Iraq and Iran. Other Arab countries throw Christians in jail for ridiculous reasons. Asia Bibi has been rotting in a Pakistani prison for two years after being convicted of blasphemy against Islam. And here I thought blasphemy disappeared with Dark Ages. And then I read about the European cartoonist who dared to draw the Prophet Mohammed causing riots to break out all over the world and hundreds to end up injured or dead (the Jyllands-Posten cartoon controversy). Innocents dying because of a cartoon? This really gets me angry, but not as angry as I feel whenever I look upon the NYC skyline. There should be two towers in lower Manhattan. They’ve been there as long as I remember. Now they are gone, and thousands are dead and thousands more are injured for life. I know it’s been ten years, but I’m still really ticked off.

Jesus says to love our enemies and forgive those who sin against us over and over again. Sounds good, but does this apply all of the time? I prefer the rabbinic teaching from the time period. One is required to forgive a trespasser three times. If the person sinned against you a fourth time, that’s it, time to lower the boom. Seeing that the Arab world has many long standing complaints against the Western world and vice versa, let’s just forget the forgiveness stuff. They’re mad at us, we’re mad at them, so let’s just get it on.

The problem comes in when we apply this strict behavioral standard to ourselves. I have sinned against my wife much more than the allowable three. And so if my wife applied the three strikes and you’re out standard to me, she would be long gone. Yet, she has forgiven me over and over again. The same goes with my relationship with God. I swung three times and struck out long ago, and yet Jesus tells me I’m still up at bat. “Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy” Matthew 5:7. I keep receiving mercy over and over, but I have to have mercy in my own heart. That’s a problem when you’re so mad you want to spit.

And so the challenge is on to learn to disagree and forgive. Even to forgive those I want to see drop dead. The angry side of me demands justice. And I know that God is a God of justice. And I also know that a day of judgment awaits all of us. But the merciful side of me reminds me that I too will face a day of judgment. And on that day I will want to be judged mercifully. I will hope to be forgiven “seventy times seven”. Can I do the same with murderous Islamic terrorists? It’s asking a lot. But Jesus said, “Be perfect therefore, as your Heavenly Father is perfect”. So I guess I can try.

Peace,

Pastor Bill Whitehead

I'd Be Dead if Mom Could Have Got Away With It

A Story of Forgiveness by Pastor Bill

I look back on my life and I give a loud ‘thank you’ for the patience and understanding of my friends and family. When I think about all of the stupid things that I have done I am amazed that they have forgiven me. Because of all the times I have been forgiven I understand what forgiveness is all about.

I remember a time when I was around ten years old, my mom was so angry with me she could have killed me with a look. We attended a church in Rahway, NJ. Mom sang in the choir and I was active in the Sunday school. Mom was up in the choir loft, only ten feet from my friends and I sitting in the front pew. We used to fool around a lot, like all boys our age. Mom and the other adults used to warn us every now and then to keep us in line. Warnings only go so far, while death threats are much more effective.

The way we Baptists take communion is different from many other Christian denominations. We slice plain white bread into little cubes and place them onto silver communion trays that stack up real nice and pretty on the communion table. We then take grape juice, never wine because of our prohibitionist roots, and pour it into little plastic cups. We used to use glass cups but people got tired of cleaning them. They are now in a box in a storage closet somewhere, want to buy some? We put these cups into silver communion trays that also stack. It all looks lovely shining on the communion table. Deacons then pass the trays around the congregation on communion Sunday, for us once a month. The only people who should partake of the bread and cup are people who have professed faith in Jesus Christ and been baptized. With this in mind, I return to my story. The ten-year olds sitting in the front row had not been baptized and thus were excluded from communion.

Now as you probably know when you exclude kids from something there are always consequences. Try taking your child to an ice cream shop and buying one for yourself but not for your child. The reaction will be swift and furious. Or try drinking a glass of wine in front of your children. You get the big-eyed look and the question; can I have some? You say no and they want to know why not. Have some wine after the kids have gone to bed. Life is easier that way. It’s the same thing that happens in church. Tell the kids that they can’t take part in the communion service and they might seem to accept it but there is trouble brewing down the road.

On this one very memorable Sunday morning I was with my coconspirators in the front row only a few feet from my ever-watchful mother. And as the bread was passed around the congregation I pretended to take some bread and eat it. My friends and I giggled and had a good time over this. Then as the cup was being passed around, I pretended to take a cup and drink it. I acted like I was looking at it up and down and then I pretended to eat the cup. Roars of laughter rose up from the front row bouncing off of our high tin ceiling and down onto the congregant’s reverent ears. One congregant in particular was no longer focused on Jesus’ sacrifice, she was focused on a ten-year old ‘dead boy walking’ in the front row only a few feet away. I looked up and the eyes were boring into me. Mental daggers flew out of those eyes and struck me full of holes. To be told at that point that I was in trouble was an understatement. I am sure to this day that she was thinking about leaping over the wall that separated the choir from the congregation, quickly covering the few feet of space and throttling me right then and there. Fortunately for me she was after all celebrating communion.

I was forgiven a long time ago for that little episode. Though the memory lingers for me, my mom no longer remembers. I think about the many times that I have messed up over the years. I think about all of the people I so foolishly hurt. And I realize how often and how many people have forgiven me. Because of this I am truly blessed. The gift that I have received is the practical experience of being forgiven. Being forgiven over and over taught me how to forgive. And if it weren’t for this valuable lesson I wouldn’t have any friends, I wouldn’t be married. Healthy relationships depend upon going beyond the failings of each individual. They depend on forgiving and forgetting.