Lutherans are Christians too!

My best friend is what you could call (sorry, Em) the quintessential cheerleader stereotype-- lively, effervescent, and best known for being completely drama-prone. She was on my team last year, and never once had I heard a thing that didn't revolve around secular things-- homework, drama, her boyfriend, drama, who got voted off American Idol last night, drama... you get the idea.
This being said, you can imagine it came as a bit of a shock to me when she invited me to come to her church's youth retreat.

That, in and of itself, couldn't have been more unexpected. Here I am, listening to her describe who said what about her that day, nodding and inserting any words of wisdom that I had on the matter (which were, admittedly, few), when suddenly-- "Hey, do you want to come to this church retreat with me this weekend? It's going to be like one big bible study, and we're going to do a big community service project and everything. It's going to be a lot of fun."
That really sent my mind spinning. Up until that point, I didn't think she was that kind of Christian. The kind that goes to church for pleasure, the one that isn't afraid to cancel plans because she has youth group that night. She was the last person I ever expected to mention something church-related outside church. Then again, as I look back on life, I've never really expected anything extrovertedly Christian from anyone. But that's coming later.
No, what really caught my interest in her invitation was her enthusiasm. The phrase it's going to be a lot of fun got me-- in those few words, she told me that not only was she inviting me to do something church-related, and was going of her own free will rather than being forced by her youth minister, but she was looking forward to it and anticipated having fun.I said yes somewhat tentatively-- I was almost waiting for her to cancel, in favor of something I would expect she, the Emily I had come to know, would to want to do-- shopping, or something.

She stuck to her word, though, and when the day of the retreat came she showed up ten minutes early at my house to pick me up, all smiles and excitement. I found out she goes to one of the biggest Baptist churches in Murfreesboro. (Well, I suppose it only seemed big to me. I've known nothing but small churches all my life.) There could have been about 200 youth in that one building alone.
You could really only appreciate the sheer number of kids when the band began to play-- 98% of the auditorium was at the front of the room, jumping up and down, singing, laughing, dancing-- one big, Christian mosh pit, if you can imagine it that way. Emily and I sat somewhere near the back. Part of me wanted to go join the thrashing, music-fueled group by the stage, yet the other part didn't want to leave Emily all by herself.

It was a strange time, when the music was playing; it didn't feel as if the same girl who had invited me was sitting next to me any more. She was a new person altogether when the music played: she had this look on her face as she sang. It wasn't quite pain, but it seemed too intense to pass as joyful worship. Now and then, I would shoot a glance over at her, trying to understand her reaction to the music-- she wasn't smiling, which seemed out of place.
It was only when they began to play one of my favorite songs (and the only one I knew the words to), How Great Is Our God, that I finally understood what happened to her when the music began to play.The song started out as all the others did: the band struck the beginning beat, the crowd roared its approval of the song selection, and arms were thrown in the air and swayed from side to side. As usual, I glanced down at Emily, to see if maybe she was going to sway with the rest of the crowd, like I was going to.

What I saw there changed the way I ever saw her again.

Her eyes were closed, her head tilted back towards the heavens. Her hands, rather than folded together in prayer like they had been for the entire service, were out in the air, almost spreadeagle. At first glance, the sight screamed: I am yours, and yours alone, Lord. No greater joy could fill my heart.
It was only when I saw the tears sparkling in the corners of her eyes, running down her cheeks silently, that I saw what she was truly saying. She was not screaming her faith to the Lord; she was not proclaiming her undying love for Him.Instead, she was whispering, almost as quietly as the tears that ran down her face: I am lost, Lord. I am broken and dying inside. I need you... I want to know that you are here with me.

It was as if no one else was in the room. In that one moment, all was gone: the music, friends, the world. Everything disappeared. It was the first time that I really, truly felt Christ in my life. Not just in the same room as me; I felt Him, standing beside me in Emily's place, his hands raised to God, tears streaming down his face as he sang. And in that moment, I was crying, too. I couldn't explain to myself why; all I knew was that my hands were in the air, too, all barriers forgotten, singing with renewed faith...

And to think, I never would have known this kind of faith if it weren't for my stereotypical best friend. She made me forget everything on this earth, and brought God even closer than I had ever known. I had taken her faith for granted, and it's made me realize something...

How many times in our lives have we really been inspired by God's work in this world? How many of those times have we wanted to share it with someone?
Now think about this... How many of those times that we've wanted to share our discoveries have we actually done it?
..........
That's what I thought.

Now the question remains... why?Why are we so determined not to share our faith with those around us? What keeps us from proclaiming the good news to all those we come across in our daily lives?

And this is what I found out: we are stereotypical. We do to our neighbors every day what I did to Emily. In our everyday lives, we don't see people as Christians; we see them as the faces that they put on for us to see. Nothing that they say or do to us or near us gives us reason to believe that they are Christian-- thus, we don't bother wasting our breath teaching them of Christ's unending love.

And it's this impassivity-- can I get away with that word?-- this indifference, then, that intimidates us. We are scared out of sharing God's love by the thought of the reactions of our peers. Scorn, mockery, embarrassment.... in our minds, we shy away from what could damage our reputation in their eyes. If that means refusing to willingly acknowledge God.... hey, as long as we look good, right? Better to be cool than a bible-thumper, right?

No.

Assuming that no one will care is the worst possible assumption we can make in life. We cannot ever just think that because someone looks or acts a certain way does not mean that there is a voice within them whispering, just as quietly as Emily was, for God to find them. We never stop to think that what we have to say may change someone's life, and lead them into Christ's arms where they belong.

As for fear.... it's an understandable reaction. Fear is only human.......But then again, so was Jesus. And we've all seen and experienced the message he brought into the world.

Chances are, the people you know could be intimidated, too. They may see you, and long to share what they know of God's love. But they might assume, just as you've done to them, that because you are not outwardly religious, that you won't care what they have to say.It happens every day. It will keep happening until we are strong enough to stop it.

We are examples for and of this world. Stand out-- let others know it's okay to be Christian. Do what Emily did. Show the world that yes, I'm a Christian, and I don't care. I am a child of God, and I can show you the way to Him.

Don't be afraid of being Christian.

And don't be afraid of creating them.