John was a lamp that burned and gave light, and you chose for a time to enjoy his light. John 5:35
There are people whose lives shake up my complacency. When my faith has cooled off into something dutiful, I review their stories. They had one thing in common ~ their hearts were consumed in private before light became publicly visible.
John the Baptist.
He fascinates me because he seemed almost incapable of speaking of Jesus casually. In The Gospel of John film, John appears nearly breathless with expectancy, and whether or not I imagine every detail correctly, Scripture gives me the same impression. When interrogated about his identity, he refused every opportunity to be on center stage. He denied he was the Messiah, Elijah, or a Prophet. Instead, he identified himself as a nameless voice. Imagine Jesus saying of your life, ‘She burned and gave light.’
Elijah.
He entered one of Israel’s darkest hours carrying an almost frightening confidence in the living God. Ahab had power. Jezebel had influence. Baal had prophets everywhere. Yet Elijah behaved as though the invisible God were the most substantial reality in the room. Faith had altered his perception of what was possible. He prayed and heaven moved. He confronted evil without first asking whether his actions were reasonable. Elijah reminds me that intimacy with God changes the dimensions of the world I live in.
Nate Saint.
One of five missionaries speared by the Auca Indians in 1955. Each had guns to protect themselves but wouldn’t think of using them for their own safety while evangelizing. Initially, they delivered gifts to the Aucas by dropping them from a plane. The Indians seemed warm and receptive but when they returned to land on a beach near their village, the Aucas came armed. They speared Nate first, then his four friends. Many years later, the Auca who personally speared Nate Saint was asked about that day by Steve Saint, the son of the martyr. He said, “We immediately knew we did something bad because after we killed your father, the angels came and sang and stayed with him as he died. Then they took him up in a big celebration.”
Gertrude Hewitt. My mother.
Her fire looked nothing like Elijah’s nor was it public like John the Baptist’s. She sang while she worked. She noticed who had disappeared from view. In a town of 900 people, absence registered with her. Someone lonely soon found themselves at our kitchen table. Someone sick was given her homemade bread. Someone who had retreated from community discovered that Gertrude had come looking for them. When the town alcoholic disappeared for weeks, she went to his house, found her way inside, and discovered him dying alone. She stayed. There was no mountain. No chariot. No martyrdom on a foreign mission field. Just a woman so moved by compassion that another person’s pain became impossible for her to ignore.
Each spiritual hero makes me hungry for something. John makes me want to love Jesus with that kind of intensity. Elijah makes me want to trust God more than my fear. Nate Saint makes me want a faith that embraces obedience more than safety. And my mother makes me want to notice the person everyone else has missed.
Lord, I do not want someone else’s calling; I want their abandonment to You. Amen.
