With Love to the Offended

With Love to the Offended

“Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments and unfathomable His ways!” Romans 11:33

Do not ever promise to shave your head as an incentive for
Sunday School attendants to bring more friends. A promise of 50,
and the shepherd would be shaved bald; except for one small matter.

Sitting midweek, as he makes his practice, with six and sometimes twelve
teenage students, he announced the same; no hair would remain, if they would
bring enough friends to break our goal of 50. “Oh no, Pastor”, they cringed.
“Don’t cut your hair.”

The Pastor, it should be noted, now nearly 60, was finally of an age where
most people would refrain from pointing out the impropriety of preaching holy
writ
with a ponytail. Ladies over 80 also enjoyed his curls.

So, with resistance from his teenage friends, the pastor thought a change may be
in order. “You choose the color, then,” and I will dye my hair for 50! Bright eyes
combined with school-girl squeals and the answer was moot.

Except for the few and more who come through the door on Sunday mornings.
The pastor shared his story from the teen-table and asked for a vote-by-applause.

“Shaved bald”: Are you ready? Applaud!
“Dyed hair”: Are you ready? Applaud!

Twice over we voted, unsure, the noise nearly indistinguishable. For the pastor’s ear, and his better judgment, he felt the loudest, by a mere fraction of a decibel, went to the “dye your hair”
syndicate: and it was done.

No hair was lost, nor was any painted. That year the attendance fainted short of the goal…
but…

It was discovered, laughable and weepable, one couple never returned, looking for another
place to learn Jesus’ ways because who can follow a pastor who does not keep his word.

Unfathomable! Might I call a handful of humans the very same?

Let me address You, unsearchable One. I am trying my best. I have stumbled like the rest. Why do people love cause pain, leave church, act inhumane and suppose they are the more righteous,
after all. For they never promised to shave their heads and change it to a possible rainbow updo.
Judged, perhaps. Ranted, and time ellapses between their better-hair judgments and the next
Sunday when more love and power, compassion, the Flower from the Hillsides that beautifies
our every action, if only we let Him.

Dearest depths, let me wade in Your wisdom, because that pastor I described is weeping at
the ways one more person has trodden upon his offered heart.

The pain is scream-less. The harm is one more bone broken for the 12^th time in the same place

again.

Dearest riches, now I need Your knowledge because He is a half step closer to never mentioning
the name of Jesus from a pulpit ever again.