Saying goodbye has a zillion emotions attached to it.
And.
Goodbye?
Brings closure.
Goodbye?
Brings futuristic opportunity.
This week I have to say goodbye to lots of people.
I'm not good at goodbyes!
The very last week of our five year adventure in the North East of England is about to begin.
Next Sunday, a big door closes.
A week or so after that, another big door opens.
A door which opens as we start with a 287 mile drive to our new home in London.
To a new chapter
To a new slice of vision.
On the same mission.
I sat in Church this morning, just watching.
Albert's there.
20 years sleeping on the streets of Durham. Ragged, dirty, hungry. He gives me the thumbs up. A nicotine stained, dirt-caked thumb. The fact that he's even at church sends a current of emotion straight through my body.
Richard stands while some songs are being sung. He has a pile of toast that one of our volunteers has lovingly made for him. He never sings a word. But comes without fail every day, even Sundays.
There are loads of others.
I thank God for giving me the honour of sitting at the banquet table with the deeply needy.
It's changed me.
Forever.
Because I've encountered Jesus truly.
Steven gets up and says he wants to say a few words.
Steven is a deeply troubled homeless alcoholic. He has been dabbling in dark stuff that has seen his life spiral away from him. He walks the precipice of death daily. He's 30. He comes to S21 every day. I've sat for hours with him over the last few years reasoning with him, sometimes holding him upright. Sometimes sitting while his tears have spilt relentlessly onto our carpet. Abandoned by his family, abandoned in many ways by society. Desperate to be free of his addiction. We've fed him, clothed him, prayed with him, prayed for him, befriended him. Loved him with the love of a saviour.
He doesn't say much.
But this morning he took the microphone.
This is what he said.
"I'm going to miss Dawn and Gary so much. I just want to say thank you to them. They are my family now. This place has saved my life. People like me would have nowhere. Thank you."
He set the mic down on the table.
He sat back down and looked downwards towards the floor.
I had to speak.
Needless to say it was a struggle for me to get the words out.
"My family."
Those two words leapt into my spirit.
My family.
There are so many people who could do with a family.
And that's us.
Church.
The Salvation Army are doing a vital piece of research and are taking a serious look at ourselves in the UK under the title of Fit for mission.
A good thing. I think it will be blessed.
Are we fit for mission?
Depends I guess on many things.
I guess there maybe a deeper question, it may even being dealt with I'm not sure.
It is this.
Are we fit for acceptance?
Are we totally ready to be accepting of everyone?
Yeah.
Everyone?
Are we ready in our mission to welcome the marginalized, the dirty, the disheveled, the desperately lost?
Are we willing to lay everything down to allow everyone to sit at the banqueting table with us who claim to follow Jesus.
Can we give up our criteria for who fits in or not?
Are we ready to step into the dark worlds of people far from justice and rescue them with a courage that will sustain us in our daring attempts to save people from unholiness?
That's what I would do to save my wife and daughters if they were in trouble.
That's what God is doing in the forever.
That's what families should be about.
Bravery
Acceptance.
Love.
Compassion.
Are we fit for acceptance?
We'd better be.
Because the lost are coming.
They are coming our way.
They will be coming to us in search of a family.
In search of open arms.
In search of help.
In desperate hope of rescue.
Steven has shared with me he has been turned away from some churches. I won't go into details.
Lord bless those people with a change of heart please.
Steven needs a family. A community. A Saviour.
Millions are in the same boat. I've been in the same boat.
They are coming to a church near you.
Right now.
Are we fit for acceptance?
I pray we forever will be.
