Be Opened

Psalm 125

Mark 7:31-37

Preached at Prescott Baptist Church

September 9, 2012

I grew up in Gainesville, Florida. We lived right downtown and next door to First Church of the Nazarene where my daddy was the preacher. I was raised in a home where everything was black and white; there was no gray area. Either something was right or something was wrong. It was right to go to church on Sunday morning, Sunday night and Wednesday night. It was wrong to stay home from church. It was right to read the Bible and pray every day. It was wrong to smoke cigarettes, drink beer, go to the movies and dance. There were people who did wrong things. There were people I knew who smoked cigarettes, drank beer and went to movies. It was clear and there was no doubt in my mind that those people were going to hell. Some of them were Baptists, Methodists and some Presbyterians. I felt superior, even sorry for them. I could not understand why people would know the rules and understand the consequences and still jeopardize their eternal salvation. I was just glad I was not a sinner. 

There were two things that were of utmost importance in my family of origin: getting to heaven and getting good grades in school. It was clear that church was more important than school but not by very much. Our lives revolved around both institutions.

I loved school. I went to Kirby Smith Elementary and when it was time for me to enter the sixth grade I really hoped I would get Mr. Mac for my teacher. He was the only teacher at Kirby Smith who was a man. I had never had a man for a teacher. I know that Mr. Mac was special. He got out on the playground and played kickball with us during recess. No other teacher did that. The other teachers sat on a bench in the shade. But not Mr. Mac. He kicked the ball and ran the bases, laughed hard and loudly, got sweaty and dirty.

I’d heard that Mr. Mac let the kids in his class do experiments; pour things together in glass jars and make smoke appear. He played a banjo. He brought his dog, a border collie, to class one day. Mr. Mac would be a fun teacher and I was so happy when my mom registered me for sixth grade and I learned that I was one of the lucky kids who would be in Mr. Mac’s class.

I fell in love with Mr. Mac. I learned to love math as a result of loving Mr. Mac so much. He made everything fun. He was handsome and I imagined marrying Mr. Mac one day. 

There was just one problem. And it was a big one. Mr. Mac smoked cigarettes. I saw him in the morning, standing under the arch as the school buses arrived. He stood there puffing and blowing smoke into the air. It was awful. Scary. He was a very smart man so it was hard for me to realize that I knew more than he did about what was right and what was wrong, about how to get into heaven. But I could see I would have to show my teacher the way.

Every fall at First Church of the Nazarene we had a revival. Somebody special would come in from far, far away to do the preaching, somebody who really knew how to scare the sinners into coming down to the altar. And we had a song evangelist come for the revival too. The song evangelist often had a wife and children who traveled with him, extra voices for the Lord’s work. All of them stayed at our house from Sunday to Sunday. It was crowded too what with the preacher, the singers and the Holy Ghost too. I always had to sleep on the screened porch, on the couch, during revival. Made it all that much more exciting for me.

That year the preacher was Dr. Harrington. He was a short but powerful man. The Fulwood family sang for our revival. Mrs. Fulwood played the accordion and Mr. Fulwood played piano. Their daughters, Francis and Evelyn, stood on stools behind the pulpit and sang with their parents. It was the kind of line up that was sure to win souls for the Lord. 

I intended to bring Mr. Mac into the fold. I started inviting him to the revival the week before it started.  I wrote down the name and address of our church and put it on his desk. “You need to come too, Mr. Mac,” I got close by his side before I left school on Friday. “It’s going to be a revival that will bring down a host of heaven’s angels. My daddy says so.” I prayed for Mr. Mac and I urged all the folks at First Church of the Nazarene to join me in praying for my teacher. 

On Monday while we were playing kick ball I reminded Mr. Mac that the revival had begun. “The singing is really special, Mr. Mac,” I hollered at him as he ran by first base. 

On Tuesday I took my tray and walked by the teacher’s table at lunch time. “Mr. Mac, there’s food for your soul over at my church tonight.” 

On Wednesday I wrote my teacher another note and put it on his desk. “I am praying for you.” 

And by Thursday night I was getting worried. The week was getting away. I was standing at the back of the church talking with Mrs. Booth, my Sunday school teacher, when I saw him come through the front door. He was a tall man, olive skin. He had a crew cut and that night he was wearing a brown corduroy jacket over brown pants. His eyes searched the sanctuary for my face. I was instantly thrilled! “Mr. Mac! Come meet my Sunday school teacher, Mrs. Booth! Just make yourself at home, Mr. Mac! I am so glad you could make it tonight!”

He sat in the back on the left where all the sinners choose to sit. Dr. Harrington preached a good sermon.  He told  a story intended to bring any sinner to his knees about a sweet young couple, man and woman, who had just been married. They were heading out of town in their old jalopy of a car with the windows rolled down when they happened to hear hymn singing inside the church as they passed by. So that sweet young couple, drawn by the love of God in the songs being sung, stopped their car and went inside the church. They sat in the back. And when the altar call was given, that young couple just stayed in the pew in the back with the sinners. They hardened their hearts and left when the service was over. That sweet young couple, Dr. Harrington told us, drove out of town and when they got to the railroad tracks on the edge of town the engine in their old jalopy of a car just died right there. The train was coming and they couldn’t get out of its way. Dr. Harrington shook his head with sadness. “Lost, lost. Almost but lost.”  The Fulwoods started to sing. “Almost persuaded, turn not away…”

I looked back at Mr. Mac. He wasn’t coming forward yet. So I stepped out of my pew and went back to stand beside him. I put my arm around my teacher’s waist and I asked him, “Are you persuaded to stop smoking and give your soul to the Lord, Mr. Mac?” 

And Mr. Mac looked right at me just as nice as ever and without any fear in his face. He patted my shoulder and said, “No, Elaine, I’m not. And it will be all right. It will be all right.” 

The next morning I went to school and I saw Mr. Mac standing under the arch while the school buses were arriving. He was puffing on a cigarette and blowing smoke up into the air. I stood and watched him from the cross walk. He was the best teacher I had ever had. And I was wondering that day about all Mr. Mac was teaching me. It was the first time, the first time that I ever wondered: Is it possible that everything isn’t black and white? Could there be some gray area in life? It was the first time I ever wondered if maybe I wasn’t altogether superior to the Baptists, the Methodists and Presbyterians. 

Have you ever had a teacher so wildly dedicated to teaching that he or she took the time to show you the way to be opened? To see with new eyes? To hear with new ears? To speak more plainly so that more people could understand what you have to say? 

Some lessons in life move us toward authenticity. It’s the best teachers in our lives who move us toward being our true selves in a real relationship with God. Nothing legalistic or religious—but open to what is real and personal. It’s the best teachers who guide us in that direction. 

They brought to Jesus a deaf man whose speech was hard to understand. Jesus took the man aside, to a private place. And in that private place Jesus put his fingers in the man’s ears. He spit on his fingers and then touched the man’s tongue. Who ever heard of such treatment? Who would stand for such a thing? Then looking up to heaven, Jesus sighed. And said, “Be opened.” Then the man could hear and his speech was clear enough so anyone could understand what he had to say. My hunch is that this man went from the private place with Jesus into the world with an authentic story of love. He was open not only to healing but also to a powerful transformation.

A few years ago Rita Van Loenen called a taxi from her home in Phoenix, Arizona. She needed a ride. The taxi driver, Thomas Chappell, was late. Rita was furious and she gave him up one side and down the other, calling him names all the way to her destination. And when they arrived she stiffed Mr. Chappell, didn’t pay him or tip him for the ride. 

A few days later Rita needed a taxi and she called. Thomas Chappell got the call. He knew it was the address of the woman who had cursed him and refused to pay. He went anyway. She cursed him again—even though he was on time. She did pay him and Thomas Chappell wondered what made this woman so unhappy.

Thomas Chappell, the taxi driver, could have cursed Rita Loenen and given her the finger. Instead he wondered what would make a woman so cranky and out of sorts. He was delivering her to a dialysis clinic. So he asked Rita, on the third ride, about dialysis. She told him how she hated sitting through long hours of dialysis three times a week. She told him how she hated being so sick, her body swollen with fluid. She told Thomas she was in kidney failure and she needed a kidney transplant. No one in her family was a match. 

Thomas went to the library and read about kidneys, kidney failure and transplants. Then he went to the doctor and got tested to see if his kidney was a match for Rita. The doctor said, “If you were a closer match I would swear the two of you were siblings.” 

Being a kidney donor is a major matter of surgery and recovery. Thomas asked for no compensation. "This opportunity to help Rita has opened me up,” Thomas says. “Being able to give a kidney has put a whole new kind of lift in my boots. I never knew what it felt like to give somebody life and that's what I'm doing," Chappell said.

Rita Van Loenen says the gift from that taxi driver has opened her up too. She is opened to believe in angels on earth. She has quit cursing and complaining. She has been opened up to hear with new ears and speak plainly so that others can understand. 

“Be opened,” Jesus said. Be opened by the teachers in your life to learn new ways to share your faith. Be opened by your worship to wonder about the people in your life, your home, your neighborhood. Be opened by curiosity and grace to hear, to be healed so you can speak clearly and be understood. Be opened and see how much you have to contribute, like a host of heaven’s angels, come down to touch the lives of the people around you.       Amen