Amanuel

The hot African sun burned the back of her neck as she walked along the dusty city road. Her throat was dry and her legs ached but she did not waver. Her destination was St. George church, in the heart of Addis Ababa, the capital of Ethiopia. It was the city’s most renown place of worship. Certainly it would have many parishioners. Certainly one of them would notice him.

Wrapped snugly against her damp chest was her infant son, barely 3 months old. He was thin and malnourished, as most children are in this part of the world, and most mothers too. Her body failed to produce enough milk for him to thrive and the fever that ravaged her was like a bully in a schoolyard, assaulting her relentlessly. Her child’s belly had already learned that growling only fell on deaf ears. She knew what she had to do.

Finally the church came into view. It wouldn’t be long now. The lump in her throat began to rise but she commanded her brimming tears to stay put. How dare they spill over her lashes and expose her sorrow to this apathetic world. No, she would wait to weep in secret. Now, she must be brave. She was about to hand over her child to the angels, never knowing his fate.

As she neared the church, she refrained from getting too close. Swarms of people milled about. Some walked with purpose, others lingered or simply sat on the hardened earth. She needed to remain inconspicuous. Abandoning a child is a crime and she couldn’t risk imprisonment. There were 2 more fragile souls waiting for her at home, a shanty made of scrap metal and discarded wood.

Diesel fumes filled her nostrils as she swiftly untied the fabric that had strapped her babe to her bosom. She allowed herself one tear as she quietly memorized his face. He barely blinked as he returned her gaze. Kissing his forehead and the tip of his nose, she whispered in her native tongue, “I love you”, and then laid him on the warm pavement.

She dared not to look back as she walked briskly away. His cry of discomfort was drowned out by the sound of a passing bus. She must be strong now. Certainly someone would notice him. Certainly someone would take him in. Certainly…someone…

Fortunately, someone did. He is now our son, Samuel Amanuel Hadjian. After spending 7 months in an Ethiopian orphanage, we adopted him. A pedestrian was said to have found him lying on the ground across the street from St. George Church and turned him in to the city authorities. Subsequently, they brought him to Le Toukoul, a local orphanage founded by a French man named Mr. Ferez. The staff named him Amanuel.

The description of Samuel’s mother is fictitious, however it could potentially describe a thousand mothers in Addis Ababa. The truth is that only God knows who abandoned Samuel there that day and the reasons why they did it. It isn’t difficult to fill in the blanks. Africa is called the Dark Continent for a reason. Poverty and disease run the show. Who wants to live in a place where forsaking your newborn baby seems to be the best chance at their survival? Of the orphans in Africa, Samuel is one in a million, literally.

Why am I sharing this story? I’m sharing it because there is a reason Samuel was left in front of a church. He wasn’t tossed in an open field to waste away or be devoured by wild dogs. No, he was brought to a place where God’s people meet. The person who left him must have harbored some belief that God’s people would step up, and rightly so, since our Lord saturated His daily life with good deeds and we are called to imitate Him.

But is my life really saturated with good deeds? This is the question that has been dogging me for months, years even. Yes, I am a “fisher of men” and I strive to help as many people know Jesus as possible. But once people are caught in His net, then what? Converting others to a specific theology is not enough. I am becoming more and more convinced that my life must be one that demonstrates love in sacrificial, tangible ways and actively changes the landscape of our society.

Matthew 26:31-46 spells out the criteria for those who will be welcomed into God’s heavenly kingdom and those who will not. The only thing Jesus is concerned about is if we truly loved our neighbor. There aren’t any accolades given for how many friends we have at church, how many marriage retreats we attend or even how many people we baptize. What matters most to Jesus is how much we cared about our fellow man. Does this mean that we should neglect The Great Commission? No. But it does mean that we can’t be content with that alone. We are to be Jesus’ hands and feet in this train-wreck of a world, ministers of compassion and agents of change.

In the story of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:30-37), sadly it was not the priest or Levite, both men regarded as religious, who came to the aid of a dying man. It was a half-breed Samaritan. What kept the religious men from getting involved? Both are said to have crossed the street when they noticed the victim, although the Levite first decided to get a closer look before doing so. Perhaps they were too busy, too important, too judgmental or just too overwhelmed with the thought of helping yet another person. Why did the Samaritan respond differently? I believe it’s because he paused just long enough to actually feel for this man (vs.33). He got his heart involved and that made all the difference. So he did what he could, and nothing more.

Maybe you’re not in a position to adopt an orphan. But perhaps you can prevent children from becoming orphans by helping to provide clean water for their village or AIDS awareness for their parents. Maybe you can’t solve global hunger but you can ask the principal at your child’s school if there are any families that might need a bag of groceries to get them through the month. This is the kind of love our neighbors need. If they don’t get it from us, the Christians, then from whom will they get it? I believe that every time a meal is served to the hungry, the gospel is preached. Every time a prostitute is treated with mercy and kindness, the gospel is preached. Every time an orphan is brought into a loving home, the gospel is preached. Let our lives be a Sunday sermon.

When the Trumpet Blows

"He's going to blow His trumpet soon. He's coming."

Those were the words the homeless man said to my sister's friend, Cindy, after she'd asked him if there was anything she could pray for on his behalf. Cindy, who lives in Minnesota, was describing to my sister Brie what had happened to her last August while she was out evangelizing in Minneapolis.

Bewildered by his remark, Cindy walked away. Wanting to get another glimpse of the man, she turned back around, only to discover he was gone. As darkness loomed, she headed for her car. Fumbling for her keys and tripping over the man's words in her head, Cindy hadn't noticed the police officer approaching.

"Are you OK ma'am?" he asked. She was alone in a sketchy part of town.

"I think so... I have to tell you what just happened to me." She then shared the details about her encounter with the homeless man.

The officer replied, "You're the third person that has said that to me today."

Cindy's experience thrilled my sister Brie and she was eager to share it with another believer. She called our sister-in-law, Alana, and recited what she'd heard. Astonishingly, Alana had a story to tell as well. She enthusiastically unraveled a similar account told to her by Andrea, a small group leader at Alana's church.

Andrea's brother had been driving through South Dakota last September and offered a ride to a seemingly harmless looking man who was walking alone along a deserted stretch of freeway. The stranger happily accepted. As the two men drove along, the stranger made small talk, asking questions about the driver's life and family. He was kind and genuinely interested in what Andrea's brother had to say.

Then suddenly the stranger announced, "OK! You can drop me off here."

Perplexed, the driver replied, "But there isn't anything here..." They were smack in the middle of South Dakota nothingness. There was no logical reason for him to get out of the car. Undeterred, the stranger persisted.

"You've taken me as far as I need to go. Just leave me here."

The driver reluctantly acquiesced.

Then just as the stranger was exiting, he turned to the driver and said, "He's going to blow His trumpet."

"Excuse me?" replied the driver.

"The Messiah, He's coming. He's about to blow His trumpet." And with that, he turned and walked away.

Chills covered the driver's body as he sped off, thoughts spinning as fast as the wheels of his car.

"Could I have been talking to an angel?" he wondered. He glanced back to steal another look at the man but he was nowhere to be seen. Adrenaline and excitement took over and Andrea's brother was oblivious to how fast he was driving. Soon a police officer appeared in his rear-view mirror and he pulled over.

"Sir, do you know why I pulled you over?" asked the officer.

"No Sir." he replied. The driver then attempted to recount the incident with the stranger and the prophetic declaration he made about the Messiah blowing His trumpet.

Unexpectedly, he officer replied, "You're the fourth person today to tell me that story."

Revelation 8,9 and 11 speak of 7 trumpets being blown by 7 different angels. After each angel blows his trumpet, what follows is a series of calamitous events that befall the Earth, causing catastrophic damage and death, thereby ushering in the Apocalypse. Truly scary stuff. Regarding the exact day and time this all occurs, God has remained tight-lipped. Jesus carefully states in Matthew 24:36 that only the Father has that privileged information, yet He instructs us in that same chapter of Matthew to observe the times. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to recognize we're approaching our expiration date. The evening news confirms it every night.

So now what? What am I supposed to do with these miraculous stories I've heard? First, I've chosen to share them with you, knowing full well that I risk being thought of as gullible and ridiculous for believing them. Second, I have accepted them as a spiritual wake-up call during my long winter slumber. It feels like I've spent years in a state of spiritual hibernation. My faith isn't dead, just deeply asleep. The breathing is shallow. The pulse is sluggish. My once razor sharp heart has been dulled by the worries of this life (Luke 21:34). My mission to seek and save the lost has been compromised by dirty dishes, tantrums and soccer practice. If Jesus was to return today, would I hear the words "Well done my good and faithful servant!"? Sometimes I'm not so sure. I've been weighted down with America's yoke - apathy.

Being an American is without a doubt an undeserved blessing. But because we are so blessed we must vigilantly guard against the curse of complacency. Our nation is insulated from extreme poverty, swollen with excess and spoiled by abounding freedom. The end result is a population that can feel entitled and smug. Unless the good Lord intervenes and brings us to our knees through some personal crisis, we may forget that He's even there, forever buoyed by our pride. We'd do ourselves a favor by heeding the warning given to the church in Laodicea.

Jesus says in Revelation 3:15, "I know all the things you do, that you are neither hot nor cold. I wish that you were one or the other! But since you are like lukewarm water, neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth! You say 'I am rich. I have everything I want. I don't need a thing!' And you don't realize you are wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked. So I advise you to buy gold from me - gold that has been purified by fire. Then you will be rich." True wealth is only found in the arms of Jesus. I believe my soul has been impoverished for quite some time.

When the last trumpet sounds, I pray that I am dressed and ready to meet my King. In the story of the 10 bridesmaids, in Matthew 25, the women were waiting to meet the bridegroom. Five of the bridesmaids failed to bring enough oil for their lamps to burn through the long night and consequently were refused entry into the marriage feast. Jesus called these 5 women foolish. To be a fool is to be a simpleton, someone who lacks wisdom. These women ceased to give careful thought to their meeting with the bridegroom. They were too casual, too lackadaisical. When it comes to our relationship with God, we cannot just "wing it". We must be thoughtful. We must be intentional. For us to enter the heavenly feast, we must be prepared.

What does "being prepared" look like? It looks like a servant busy doing his master's business. According to Matthew 25:31-46, Jesus will separate all of humanity into two groups. The two groups being: those who are doers and those who are not.

To the doers, Jesus says, "Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you fed me. I was thirsty and you gave me a drink. I was a stranger and you invited me into your home. I was naked and you gave me clothing. I was sick and you cared for me. I was in prison and you visited me."

To those who refrain He says, "Away with you, you cursed ones, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his demons. For I was hungry and you didn't feed me. I was thirsty and you didn't give me a drink. I was a stranger and you didn't invite me into your home. I was naked and you didn't give me clothing. I was sick and in prison and you didn't visit me."

One group is responsive and impassioned and one group is apathetic. Having previously been of the good intentioned tepid persuasion, I can attest that it feels like there's this giant chasm between the two extremes. But in reality, the only thing needed to bridge the distance is a simple decision to repent.

Whether it's tonight, tomorrow or 200 years years from now, the trumpet is going to blow. When that day comes, may we all be able to say, "I'm with the band."