Standing for the truth makes us roar!
Have you ever been placed in a position where telling the truth cost you? As I pastored my second church in a farming community in rural Arizona in the early 1990’s, a new epidemic swept the land — AIDS, and the fear associated with it. We thought we were secure and better than that, considering that AIDS was a blight on those “less than Christian.”
Then the day came when a young man, we’ll call “Jamie,” returned from college. Jamie was the son of one of the most prominent families in our church. Jamie was sick. His mother met with me and explained that Jamie returned home with AIDS and must now undergo treatment at a Phoenix medical center, with an uncertain prognosis. As Jamie and his family sat in a forward pew with other relatives seating behind, we served Holy Communion by intinction. We would serve the bread, which the congregants would dip into the cup.
Word spread through the church faster than a brush fire that Jamie had AIDS. As it is with gossip, a conspiracy theory spread that Jamie and his family were exposing the congregation to AIDS. Now at the time, we offered Communion by traditional plastic cups and wafers in another service, but battle lines were drawn over the AIDS patient in church.
To allay the fears of the church members, we invited a speaker to address the church on AIDS and educate us so that we might not worship in fear. The speaker that night suffered from hemophilia, a disease that prevents blood from clotting. He told about the hundreds of hemophilia patients who tragically received AIDS tainting blood transfusions who later died. What was a seminar to allay fears turned into proof that the church was at risk of catching AIDS via Communion. But I made a decision — because we offered two different methods of Communion in two different services, the church members could choose which to attend. Some were happy and some were not.
One Sunday in Easter season, I made the announcement to the children present for the children’s sermon, “Today, boys and girls, we have a special guest. The Easter Bunny has come to church. Please come forward to meet him.” As the kids came forward, Jamie came up with them and sat on the chancel steps next to me. The kids sat wide-eyed and silent waiting for the appearance of the Easter Bunny.
I explained, “Jamie raised pygmy bunnies at his farm and he brought one for us today.” Jamie produced the tiniest and purest white bunny with ruby-red eyes and gently placed it in my cupped hands on the purple velvet of my clergy robed lap. The children sat enraptured by the beautiful gentle creature. We then took a few moments and spoke about the meaning of Easter and the new life given by Jesus Christ.
As I gently placed the bunny in Jamie’s palms, the children returned to their pews. Some months later, as I drove the youth to church camp, my pager went off, and without voicemail or cell phone, I knew what the vibrations meant. Before we left for camp, I asked the church secretary to page me if Jamie died, as his condition had been deteriorating. I turned the van around and drove back to the church to comfort the family.
Today, looking back over 45 years of ministry and sermons. Some worth listening to and some not. The best sermon ever told was the day the Easter Bunny came to church and when Jamie placed that tiny white velvet bunny in my palms. That was a gift of God’s grace.
Some day you may be called upon to deliver a message of God’s truth. You may be asked to deliver grace and truth in a time of fear. You may be slandered because of your truth. Jamie, even while certain church members wagged their fingers at him behind his back, sat in a circle of children and his pastor and presented a message of God’s grace incarnate.
Citizens for a Fauci First-Class postage stamp.
He is Risen,
Pastor Jim