Twenty people must have come up to him between the time he walked in the building and the moment he took his seat in the auditorium. It was a little embarrassing, but he appreciated it. Mrs. Jones gave him a hug and asked how work was going. Mr. Allen, who worked with his dad for years, shook his hand and talked about playing the guitar. His friend Kevin—they had gone to church together since they were three years old—always gave him the handshake-with-one-arm-half-hug-with-the-other-arm that guys do. It had been almost a year now since he regained his faith, since he held Lauren’s hand as he walked down to aisle to stand in front of his brothers and sisters—and his own mother and father—to express his repentance for four years of rejecting the Lord and letting Satan rule his life.
Bill Chancko stood in the pulpit to call everyone to worship. Marcus was glad to be there.
Blyn Dalltin led a mix of older hymns and newer songs of praise. Marcus didn’t sing loud, but he focused on the words. He loved the poetry of the second song:
The sands of time are sinking/The dawn of heaven breaks;
The summer morn I’ve sighed for/The fair, sweet morn awakes:
Dark, dark had been the midnight/But dayspring is at hand,
And glory, glory dwelleth/In Emmanuel’s land.
Marcus knew “midnight.” He lived four years in darkness. Then he met Lauren. She showed him the Jesus he had forgotten. The dawn of heaven broke.
John Humble got up to preach. The sermon was on Mark 14:22-24. He encouraged everyone to consider that, by rights, it should have been our bodies that were broken and our blood that was poured out. But we were forgiven because Jesus was forsaken. We were accepted because he was condemned. We were alive because he died and rose again.
After the sermon the gentlemen prayed before distributing the bread for the Lord’s Supper. Marcus held Lauren’s hand and closed his eyes. “This is my body,” Jesus said. But Marcus thought about his own body, four straight years of sins that he committed in his body. A four-year blur in his memory, an alcohol-soaked mixture of resentment, fighting, and waking up in strange places and not knowing how he got there or who that was next to him. He took a piece of the bread. “This is my body,” Jesus said. “He died for me,” Marcus thought. He squeezed Lauren’s hand. She leaned over and whispered one word to him, “Grace.”
The gentlemen prayed before passing around the cups. “This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many,” Jesus said. Marcus repeated that verse in his mind but substituted his own name for “many.” Then he thought about the passage from Hebrews, “without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sin.” He looked at the scars on his forearms, his knuckles, his wrists. The ones he could see anyway. He had covered most of them with tatoos. He had bled a lot and made others bleed. He took a little cup and drank it down. “This is my blood,” Jesus said, “poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.”
“Thank you.” Marcus almost said it out loud.
More about Marcus Redding’s journey of faith next week.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
Marcus Redding's Sunday Morning
He woke up to the smell of Sunday morning coffee. As usual, Lauren was up early and made coffee for him. She didn’t drink coffee herself. More of an orange juice girl. But she made him coffee every Sunday morning.
After he got ready he sat down across from her at their kitchen (card) table. As she finished her Raisin Bran, she said, “You were asleep when I got home. What did you do last night?” Marcus looked at her and smiled an embarrassed smile and sipped his coffee. “I almost burned myself,” he said. Lauren frowned, “Well let it cool down before you drink it then.” “No, I meant last night…I almost burned myself last night.” And he told Lauren about going to Ron’s house to watch UFC 101. And how he left when he realized that he couldn’t be holy and also watch guys beat the tar out of each other. And how the smell of the beer they were drinking brought back bad memories for him. “So I left,” he concluded.
Lauren reached across the table—which wasn’t that far a reach—and squeezed Marcus’s hand, “I’m proud of you.” “I shouldn’t have gone in the first place.” “I’m proud of you.” “Thanks, Lauren.” He glanced at his cell phone. “Time to go.”
They drove to the church building. A ten minute drive from their apartment. Marcus parked away from the front door, just like his dad always did. He would explain, “Leave the closer parking places for older folks and families with little kids.” His dad was always doing things like that. In fact, his dad (David) and mom (Abigail) pulled up and parked right next to them. They all got out and greeted each other. Lauren held Abigail’s hand as they walked across the parking lot to the building. Marcus and his dad walked behind the ladies.
“How’s your song coming?”
“I’ve got the tune, I’m just working on the lyrics”
“Come over after evening services tonight and play it for me.”
“All right.”
As they approached the door, Marcus walked a little slower and let his dad go in front. David knew what was going on. He reached out to open the door and held it for the ladies. Marcus hesitated. David knew why.
This door to the church building was the same door David held open for Marcus and Bruce five years ago, the Wednesday night after he got his license, the Wednesday night when Marcus wanted to take his friend for a drive, the Wednesday night of the car wreck in which Bruce died. David had stood in this very same doorway five years ago and reminded Marcus to be careful and to check in on his cell phone or at least text him and to be home by 10:00. Since Marcus had only regained his faith less than a year ago, it still bothered him to walk through that door. And to see his dad there again. It brought back haunting memories. Some Sundays he would just take a right turn and go through the side door. Some Sundays it was all Lauren could do to hold his hand and keep him from walking back to the car and leaving all together. The flashbacks to the accident, remembering Bruce’s parents at the graveside, it was all too intense.
But this Sunday he was all right. Lauren had walked in with Abigail. She glanced over her shoulder at him. Then he saw his dad holding the door. The door into the place of assembly where he could worship the God who had saved him once…and rescued him again. “Come on, buddy,” David said, “Remember…Philippians 3:13-14.”
Marcus took a deep breath and walked in.
More about Marcus Redding’s journey of faith next week.
After he got ready he sat down across from her at their kitchen (card) table. As she finished her Raisin Bran, she said, “You were asleep when I got home. What did you do last night?” Marcus looked at her and smiled an embarrassed smile and sipped his coffee. “I almost burned myself,” he said. Lauren frowned, “Well let it cool down before you drink it then.” “No, I meant last night…I almost burned myself last night.” And he told Lauren about going to Ron’s house to watch UFC 101. And how he left when he realized that he couldn’t be holy and also watch guys beat the tar out of each other. And how the smell of the beer they were drinking brought back bad memories for him. “So I left,” he concluded.
Lauren reached across the table—which wasn’t that far a reach—and squeezed Marcus’s hand, “I’m proud of you.” “I shouldn’t have gone in the first place.” “I’m proud of you.” “Thanks, Lauren.” He glanced at his cell phone. “Time to go.”
They drove to the church building. A ten minute drive from their apartment. Marcus parked away from the front door, just like his dad always did. He would explain, “Leave the closer parking places for older folks and families with little kids.” His dad was always doing things like that. In fact, his dad (David) and mom (Abigail) pulled up and parked right next to them. They all got out and greeted each other. Lauren held Abigail’s hand as they walked across the parking lot to the building. Marcus and his dad walked behind the ladies.
“How’s your song coming?”
“I’ve got the tune, I’m just working on the lyrics”
“Come over after evening services tonight and play it for me.”
“All right.”
As they approached the door, Marcus walked a little slower and let his dad go in front. David knew what was going on. He reached out to open the door and held it for the ladies. Marcus hesitated. David knew why.
This door to the church building was the same door David held open for Marcus and Bruce five years ago, the Wednesday night after he got his license, the Wednesday night when Marcus wanted to take his friend for a drive, the Wednesday night of the car wreck in which Bruce died. David had stood in this very same doorway five years ago and reminded Marcus to be careful and to check in on his cell phone or at least text him and to be home by 10:00. Since Marcus had only regained his faith less than a year ago, it still bothered him to walk through that door. And to see his dad there again. It brought back haunting memories. Some Sundays he would just take a right turn and go through the side door. Some Sundays it was all Lauren could do to hold his hand and keep him from walking back to the car and leaving all together. The flashbacks to the accident, remembering Bruce’s parents at the graveside, it was all too intense.
But this Sunday he was all right. Lauren had walked in with Abigail. She glanced over her shoulder at him. Then he saw his dad holding the door. The door into the place of assembly where he could worship the God who had saved him once…and rescued him again. “Come on, buddy,” David said, “Remember…Philippians 3:13-14.”
Marcus took a deep breath and walked in.
More about Marcus Redding’s journey of faith next week.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Marcus Redding Taps Out
12:30. Lunch break was over. Back to work. The rest of the day went like normal until they were about to go home. Ron jumped off the forklift and plugged it in to the charger. He caught Marcus at the door. “Hey man, why don’t you come over to me and my brother’s house tonight. We’re having some guys over to watch UFC 101. Pizza’s on me.”
Now Marcus had a problem. He had been trying to set a good example for Ron, praying for his mom, inviting him to the Rangers game. Ron appreciated his kindness and Marcus knew this was his way of saying thanks. He wanted to go, if for no other reason than to keep building a friendship with him. And Lauren was working late tonight...
But he knew they would wash down that pizza with something. And it wouldn’t be Kool-Aid. And UFC? He’d watched highlights of mixed martial arts on SportsCenter with Lauren. Whenever it would come on she would say something like, “I can’t figure out why Christians watch this. Remember Philippians 4:8? I’d rather watch cricket than outright violence marketed as a legitimate sport.”
All these thoughts flashed through Marcus’s mind in about three seconds. Then he heard himself tell Ron, “I’ll be there.” Ron smiled, “All right. 7:00. You know where I live?” Marcus nodded. But his conscience had already gone to work on him.
For the next few hours as he washed up, played his guitar a little, and watched the news on TV, it was a battle of two voices. One said, “This is a chance to build a relationship with Ron and his brother. It’ll be fun. Harmless.” The other said, “Ron and his brother don’t drink Kool-Aid and UFC doesn’t stand for Ultra Friendly Croquet. What are you thinking?” But the first voice was stronger and he found himself knocking on Ron’s door at 7:00.
“Hey man, thanks for coming. Pizza’s on the way. Come and watch the undercard fights. Look at this guy.” Marcus sat down at the kitchen table and watched the big screen. Two fighters in the octagon. One had the other pinned to the ground, knee on his chest, and he was pounding away punch after punch. Then he let the guy up, it was obvious his nose was broken. Blood all over his face. The stronger guy spun around behind him and put him in a chokehold. The bloody fighter weakly tapped his opponent’s arm, the ref broke in, the winner jumped up and pounded his chest, the loser crumpled to the mat as the doctor flew in to help him. And Marcus heard Lauren’s voice, “Philippians 4:8.”
He tried not to pay attention to the fights and just talk to Ron and his brother and his friends. But every few minutes someone was opening another Coors Light. The smell of beer brought back memories. Right before the main event Ron’s brother sat down next to him, “Thanks for coming man. Ron says you are a good guy. He’s glad he works with you. Want a beer?” “Umm..no...thanks...how’s your mom doing?” But Ron’s brother didn’t hear him, he was watching the fight.
The other voice was starting to win. He knew he’d have a rough time at work. But he had to do it. He found a note pad. Scribbled a note. Came up behind Ron, who was sitting on the couch. Discreetly passed him the note. Tapped him two times on the shoulder and said, “I’m tapping out. See you Monday.”
More about Marcus Redding’s journey of faith next week.
Now Marcus had a problem. He had been trying to set a good example for Ron, praying for his mom, inviting him to the Rangers game. Ron appreciated his kindness and Marcus knew this was his way of saying thanks. He wanted to go, if for no other reason than to keep building a friendship with him. And Lauren was working late tonight...
But he knew they would wash down that pizza with something. And it wouldn’t be Kool-Aid. And UFC? He’d watched highlights of mixed martial arts on SportsCenter with Lauren. Whenever it would come on she would say something like, “I can’t figure out why Christians watch this. Remember Philippians 4:8? I’d rather watch cricket than outright violence marketed as a legitimate sport.”
All these thoughts flashed through Marcus’s mind in about three seconds. Then he heard himself tell Ron, “I’ll be there.” Ron smiled, “All right. 7:00. You know where I live?” Marcus nodded. But his conscience had already gone to work on him.
For the next few hours as he washed up, played his guitar a little, and watched the news on TV, it was a battle of two voices. One said, “This is a chance to build a relationship with Ron and his brother. It’ll be fun. Harmless.” The other said, “Ron and his brother don’t drink Kool-Aid and UFC doesn’t stand for Ultra Friendly Croquet. What are you thinking?” But the first voice was stronger and he found himself knocking on Ron’s door at 7:00.
“Hey man, thanks for coming. Pizza’s on the way. Come and watch the undercard fights. Look at this guy.” Marcus sat down at the kitchen table and watched the big screen. Two fighters in the octagon. One had the other pinned to the ground, knee on his chest, and he was pounding away punch after punch. Then he let the guy up, it was obvious his nose was broken. Blood all over his face. The stronger guy spun around behind him and put him in a chokehold. The bloody fighter weakly tapped his opponent’s arm, the ref broke in, the winner jumped up and pounded his chest, the loser crumpled to the mat as the doctor flew in to help him. And Marcus heard Lauren’s voice, “Philippians 4:8.”
He tried not to pay attention to the fights and just talk to Ron and his brother and his friends. But every few minutes someone was opening another Coors Light. The smell of beer brought back memories. Right before the main event Ron’s brother sat down next to him, “Thanks for coming man. Ron says you are a good guy. He’s glad he works with you. Want a beer?” “Umm..no...thanks...how’s your mom doing?” But Ron’s brother didn’t hear him, he was watching the fight.
The other voice was starting to win. He knew he’d have a rough time at work. But he had to do it. He found a note pad. Scribbled a note. Came up behind Ron, who was sitting on the couch. Discreetly passed him the note. Tapped him two times on the shoulder and said, “I’m tapping out. See you Monday.”
More about Marcus Redding’s journey of faith next week.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Marcus Redding in the Break Room
“Did you get a little love note in your lunch Marcus? Come on, what does it say...let’s see it.” He could have told Ron to mind his own business but then the guys would have teased him more, so he went on the offensive. “Here you go.” He handed Ron the note that Lauren left in his lunch--the one that had the happy face, the letters “SHMILY,” and the scripture Acts 11:24a.
Ron scoffed, “S-H-M-I-L-Y...Schmilly? What is that? Acts? Is that something from the Bible?” Rather than get defensive, Marcus just said, “It stands for ‘See how much I love you.’ The scripture says ‘he was a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and of faith.’ She’s trying to convince me I’m a good man. I wish I was as good to her as she is to me.”
With that Marcus took his tupperware full of lentils and rice out of the old 1985-model break room microwave. The other three guys passed around the note but didn’t say anything, just went on chewing their sandwiches, reading the sports page, and spitting tobacco juice into styrofoam cups. After a long minute Ron said, “When I was a kid my mom used to leave a note in my lunch when I would go to school.”
This was not typical lunch room conversation. Right then it happened that Marcus picked up the community salt shaker and gave it a couple shakes over his lunch. That triggered another scripture in his mind. Another scripture that Lauren always threw into conversation when they got home at night and talked about their day: Matthew 5:13.
Marcus sat down across from Ron. “How is your mom doing?”
“She’s doing about as well as you can do for having cancer and Alzheimers at the same time.”
“Have you talked to your sister lately?”
“She called last week, Thursday I think it was. She said mom recognized her. But mom was mad they had to poke her with another IV. I don’t know why they are still giving her chemo. She’s not going to beat the cancer. It makes her weak and seems like it makes the Alzheimers worse.”
“When was the last time you saw your mom?”
Ron’s face hardened. He looked out the window. Not at anything. One of those long looks into the past. “It’s been a while. Haven’t got a chance between work and...” He words trailed off into a grim sigh.
“Your mom lives in Arlington, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Lauren got four tickets to a Rangers game from somebody at work. The game is next weekend. Come with us. We’ll leave early and we’ll take you by the nursing home so you can see your mom.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Can I pray for your mom?”
“Right now?”
“Yeah, right now.”
“Okay, I guess”
Ron awkwardly took off his hat. Marcus prayed. When he finished, he looked up and saw Ron had tears in his eyes. Ron looked down at his newspaper and said, “Your lunch is getting cold.”
More about Marcus Redding’s journey of faith next week.
Ron scoffed, “S-H-M-I-L-Y...Schmilly? What is that? Acts? Is that something from the Bible?” Rather than get defensive, Marcus just said, “It stands for ‘See how much I love you.’ The scripture says ‘he was a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and of faith.’ She’s trying to convince me I’m a good man. I wish I was as good to her as she is to me.”
With that Marcus took his tupperware full of lentils and rice out of the old 1985-model break room microwave. The other three guys passed around the note but didn’t say anything, just went on chewing their sandwiches, reading the sports page, and spitting tobacco juice into styrofoam cups. After a long minute Ron said, “When I was a kid my mom used to leave a note in my lunch when I would go to school.”
This was not typical lunch room conversation. Right then it happened that Marcus picked up the community salt shaker and gave it a couple shakes over his lunch. That triggered another scripture in his mind. Another scripture that Lauren always threw into conversation when they got home at night and talked about their day: Matthew 5:13.
Marcus sat down across from Ron. “How is your mom doing?”
“She’s doing about as well as you can do for having cancer and Alzheimers at the same time.”
“Have you talked to your sister lately?”
“She called last week, Thursday I think it was. She said mom recognized her. But mom was mad they had to poke her with another IV. I don’t know why they are still giving her chemo. She’s not going to beat the cancer. It makes her weak and seems like it makes the Alzheimers worse.”
“When was the last time you saw your mom?”
Ron’s face hardened. He looked out the window. Not at anything. One of those long looks into the past. “It’s been a while. Haven’t got a chance between work and...” He words trailed off into a grim sigh.
“Your mom lives in Arlington, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Lauren got four tickets to a Rangers game from somebody at work. The game is next weekend. Come with us. We’ll leave early and we’ll take you by the nursing home so you can see your mom.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Can I pray for your mom?”
“Right now?”
“Yeah, right now.”
“Okay, I guess”
Ron awkwardly took off his hat. Marcus prayed. When he finished, he looked up and saw Ron had tears in his eyes. Ron looked down at his newspaper and said, “Your lunch is getting cold.”
More about Marcus Redding’s journey of faith next week.
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