The Most Famous Person in the World

Recently or more like yesterday, I finished this book. It was a good book. It's basically what I would call a step to step look at how one becomes Christian I guess. It has three sections called getting to know the Father; learning to serve the Son; and living to honor the Spirit. Now if I'm already a Christian, why would I read a book such as this. Well I hadn't realized that this is what the point of it was until after I got the book. But I really enjoyed reading it. It was the book I was reading during Sunday school last week because I couldn't concentrate on what they were talking about. My idea is that if I can't concentrate, I'm not gonna stare at a wall and think about other things. I'm in Sunday school for about an hour and I need to learn something to God's honor, so why not read something?

Anyways, there's a chapter in the book called Christianity's trademark and it really got my attention with the burning question they ask at the beginning of the chapter. Not only that, but it's also been on my mind ever since reading it and I have a personal story to share too. Ok, I think I'm going to quote the story part of this chapter.

Why are some Christians such hypocrites? Shouldn't they be living differently than the people of the world? Shouldn't they be living with more love and less hate?

I met the most famous person in the world. Not in a palace or a ballroom or an auditorium. Not at a convention center or in a stadium or at a political rally. I met him on a blazing summer afternoon in the inner-city of Boulder, Colorado. He was standing outside a Subway Restaurant.
I'd just ordered two 12-inch subs when he walked by the window. At first I didn't recognize him. I just happened to glance out the window as he walked by. Huh, what a weird-looking dude, I thought. I ate six inches. Twelve inches. Eighteen delicious inches of submarine sandwich. Then I carefully wiped the mayonnaise off my chin and smiled. Only six inches left, but I was pretty full. For a moment, I wondered if I should throw it away....Naw, I'll just eat it on the train ride back home.
As I left the restaurant, I saw him again. This time he was leaning over a garbage can. He moved slowly and deliberately, shuffling around, searching and scouring for something. Anything. Still, I did not recognize this man. His clothes hung in shreds, his face blackened with grime. Slowly he moved from one garbage can to another, from one dumpster to the next. He slid his hand into the stench and pulled out a moldy, dripping bun. Without a second thought he slid it into his pocket and continued his search. That's when I realized he was searching for food. I looked at the sandwich in my hand. I can do a good deed and help this poor homeless man, I thought. "Here," I heard myself say. "Take this."
I held the sandwich out to him. He didn't look up. He didn't even acknowledge me. Instead he just thrust out a claw-like hand and clutched the gift. He said nothing as he shuffled away. And still, I didn't know him; didn't recognize this filthy homeless man. I strolled to the train station, impressed by my personal sacrifice. How kind and thoughtful I'd been! Chalk one up for me in the ol' good deeds department! Though I might be tempted to forget that man, I could always remember that little kindness I'd shown!
However. I saw him again. Once in a Cincinnati airport sitting by a heating vent. Once backing his way down a Wisconsin highway. Once in Tennessee, with his head hung low, holding a sign: "WILL WORK FOR FOOD." I've seen his face on commercials, on buses, on street corners, in alleys, outside high-rise apartments, in libraries, on park benches. He lives in Rwanda...Calcutta...Haiti...New York...far away...next door...down the street. His face seems to pop up everywhere I look these days.
Who is he? His name is Jesus. Yes, the Jesus.

Jesus said, "For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink. I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me." Matthew 25:35-36

Jesus said, "The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'" Matthew 25:40

Have you met Him before? I have many times before, but like most I usually ignore it. I can be such a hypocrite sometimes. Sometimes I think that he's not my problem. Someone else will help him. Or I'm in a hurry, I'll help the next one I see. Or what would people think if they saw me talking to him?

It's almost as if I'm ashamed or something to go talk to someone who needs something. I shouldn't be though and I know it. In order to server Jesus, we need to serve those in need of help.

Have you ever listened to the song Every Man by Casting Crowns? The song talks about Jesus being in every person you meet. Jesus is anywhere and everywhere. We shouldn't just ignore someone because that person might be Jesus and Jesus doesn't want us to ignore His existence.

Do you know what love is? Well it certainly isn't a feeling. Haven't you ever heard the song Luv is a Verb by DC Talk. I remember the pastor at my old youth pastors' wedding saying something about how they, my old youth pastors, really show that luv is a verb. It's true. Love is a verb. It's something you do. God calls us to love everyone, not just who you're friends with.

I've probably said this before, but I hang out with a different crowd. I guess it could be in my genes because my dad seemed to be the same way, but whatever it is, I do it and I can't help it. I hang out with those kids that others hate. Hey, Jesus hung out with prostitutes. How do I know these kids are hated? Well, ok, I hang out with two groups and one of them is my youth group friends and the other are what I'll call outcasts kinda. I hear it in the halls that some don't like these kids because they smell or dress a lot differently, a little less modest. I think I hang out with these kids because they actually "get" me. Not many in my youth group actually understand me. They don't "get" that I used to be bullied. They don't "get" that sometimes I don't feel like I fit in. They don't "get" that I sometimes feel like an outcast. I sometimes wonder if what I call my outcast group of friends, is the truer group of my friends.

Ok, I guess it's time for my personal story, which happened yesterday. But I guess you have to know the whole story to understand it. In biology yesterday, we were celebrating the fact that we're finally done dissecting the fetal pigs. Biology is right before lunch for me, so I was especially full after eating one of my friends' octuple brownies. That's a lot of chocolate, so I didn't really eat lunch because that brownie was sitting at the bottom of my stomach all afternoon. I ate a few things, but I saved my granola bar thinking I would eat it later. Come on, it was a Butterfinger granola bar. In psychology, we were working on our final projects and watching a movie. My friend mentioned to me that she was hungry, so knowing I had that granola bar in my purse (and thinking I was gonna eat it at home; how selfish), I asked her if she wanted it and she said yes. So I gave it to her because I didn't want to be selfish at the time. She was excited that it was Butterfinger. We have something in common. Giving her that granola bar made me feel good. It was my good deed of the day I guess.

Jesus said, "For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink. I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me." Matthew 25:35-36

I believe my friend was Jesus yesterday. She was hungry and I gave her something to eat. I want to serve Him and in order to do so I need to serve my friends and strangers too. Think about it. What do you want to do? Serve yourself or serve Him?