Given the Choice

Given the choice nearly eighteen years ago, I decided against placing my money in the collection plate at church. I was 12 years old, had just received my $3 allowance for the week, and had accompanied my mother to church (a rare occasion for me then). My eyes were set on some obscure G.I. Joe toy, and although I spent the minutes that passed between the start of the offertory and when the plate came my way with my billfold out and my hand removing and replacing the bills inside, I ultimately chose the toy I'd had in mind.

I was reminded of this during church this morning as one of the deacons handed me the plate and I sent it on to Emily, who placed in it a check with our name on it and sent it down the pew to the end. As an adult with a wife and son, given the choice, I make a different choice. Instead of choosing to hold on to a few meager bills, which were being saved for an obscure toy, it was an easy matter of writing a check and choosing to make room in the budget for our church.

Today's scripture was the popular and well-known John 3:16: "For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life." The pastor said that this was an oft-memorized verse for many Christians. For me, it wasn't well known -- not yet, at least -- but it is one that intrigues me. One key element of this scripture's meaning is the concept of choice. The pastor elaborated on the significance of this part of John and then went on to relate the main points of his sermon: God humbling Himself, showing His children great love, and achieving victory over death. He spoke of Christ's pains on the cross: physical pain, the pain of loneliness, the pain of being misunderstood, and the pain of sin. He told us that in turning our problems over to God, we can be victorious over all the problems we find ourselves up against. We only have to choose to turn them over.

The pastor stopped his sermon to relate a story to us. It was the story of a woman who was a missionary in India. At one point in her mission, she found herself having to walk through a certain intersection in the village. The first day, a man stood on the corner holding a rock. As she walked by, he threw the rock as hard as he could at her. It hit her in the head, and it hurt like she couldn't believe, but she walked on. She was bleeding, but she chose to continue on her way. The next day, she took the same route. The same man, this time looking out the window of his house, saw her coming and ran outside to grab an even bigger rock. Again he hit her with the rock and again she chose not to retaliate. This same event happened again the next two days.

On the fifth day, she approached the intersection, saw the same man coming at her, and finally allowed her instinctive response to take over. She crouched down and cowered, covering her head with her arms. Instead of the pain caused by a rock being thrown at her, she felt the strong hands of the man lift her to her feet and embrace her. In broken English, she heard him say the following words:

"Tell me about the God who allowed you to be nice to me when I hurt you." What a powerful statement!

Although the moral of the pastor's story stuck with me for just a few minutes, I thought it poignant enough to make a note in the margins of my Bible in the Book of John. It wasn't long before my mind had moved on to other, more pressing matters.

To me now, it seems like one of those odd twists that you only see in movies or read in books. There's this ironic element that is obvious to the audience, yet totally unclear to the protagonist. Then, the moral suddenly becomes clear to him and it's this great "a-ha!" moment. This happened to me twice today. I felt like I was tested twice, and each time I wonder how close I came to failing.

There was the "friend" who made a snide posting on Facebook aimed toward me. He never had the fortitude to directly address me as the target of his cynical drivel, but like Bob Dylan said, "You don't need a weatherman to tell which way the wind blows." I wanted so badly to retort to this person, and I let it get to me, but I never followed through. I promised myself that I would not return the derision and negativity toward him. If he ever reads this blog, which I doubt he would after his comment, he'll know this is about him.

Then, as I was driving to the T-Mobile store with my wife, my son, and my mother-in-law, some kid in a white Toyota came a little too close to hitting us. He was in so much of a hurry that he tried to pass me as I turned into an empty space. Between the squealing of tires, honking of horns, and revving of engines (his way of expressing contempt at my right of way), the near conflict ended with me calmly pulling into the stall, his girlfriend (I assume) yelling at him, and him peeling out and tearing off. Any other time and I may have reacted more explosively.

In talking with my wife before going to bed, I mentioned the "friend" of mine from Facebook. I couldn't stop thinking about that post, and I also kept thinking about the jerk in the car. She then reminded me of the story we'd heard in church today.

I thought about it and came to this conclusion: God speaks to us ever day of our lives. For me on this day, it was through our pastor and through a particular scripture. It's not just on Sundays or even on those Sundays we actually find ourselves in church; God continually places tests in front of us. Either we do or do not learn from these tests. It is our choice in that we consciously decide how to act. We do not necessarily know that we're being tested, however.

I know that there will be people who scoff at any moral or lesson taught by religion. They will laugh it off as a small-minded fool lending his faith to a belief system that -- to them -- cannot be empirically proven. That is their choice to feel and believe that way. Somewhere along the line, they were turned away from or repelled by matters of faith. Somewhere down the line, either they will open their hearts and embrace Him into their lives or they will choose to continue with their lives devoid of God.

No matter how one looks at the events of my day, however, it seems simple. Whether someone on the outside believes in God or not, there is no question about it. In choosing to be nice in situations where I may be tempted to fight, I become a better human being because of my choice. It is a lesson I've learned through my faith.

I can't help but think about how sad it is for the atheists and non-believers out there. Where do they learn such lessons? How do they learn to turn the other cheek -- to be nice when one throws rocks at them?

Given the choice even five years ago, I would have thrown a rock back at whomever first lobbed one at me. Given the choice today, by the grace of God, I will make the right choice instead.