Directions for 6/27/14

Spat On…

In New York City last week, we were walking up 8th Avenue to get to our show.  The sidewalks were crowded as people hurried to get to their shows, their suppers, and their shopping.  At the corner of 8th and 44th, the “walk” figure was lit and the crowd surged across the street.  A stretch limo was trying to turn right from 8th onto 44th

Under normal circumstances, even in New York, a limo would wait until the crowd thinned, and then would make the turn.  Not this limo.  The driver edged his way forward, heedless of people, determined to use his size to get to his destination.

I was holding Gina’s hand.  The girls were right behind us.  The limo came forward.  I was right in front of it.  The driver wasn’t stopping.  The front bumper pushed against my leg.

Instinctively I turned toward the car and pounded on the hood with my palm, yelling, “Hey, buddy!  Hey!  Stop!”  I really wasn’t thinking, just reacting.

The limo slowed for a moment, then resumed a dangerous path through the crowd.  That’s when I felt something moist on my back.

Gina said to me, “That driver just rolled down his window and spat on you!  And he was a big guy too!”

By this time the crowd carried us on up toward 45th Street.  We needed to get to the show.  I needed to just let it go.  But I couldn’t.  Even through the first 5 minutes of the show, all I could think about was the limo.  What if the driver had pressed on the gas?  What if he had a gun?  And why did he spit on me?

I couldn’t help but think about Jesus.  He was the perfect one, standing up to sin, saying you will not bully human beings anymore.  You will no longer push through humanity asserting your power.  And sin spit on Jesus too.

I’m not sure all my actions were right, but I am sure that Jesus ultimately stands up to the bully of sin and says, “Spit on me all you want.  You will not intimidate my people anymore.”

There is once again the reminder that He is stronger than me – than anything.  Spit all you want, and it doesn’t change His power.

Now if you will excuse me, I need to send a shirt to the cleaners.

 

Grace

Clay

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