Part I: You’ll See

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things. - 1 Corinthians 13:11

“Hey, when did you give your life to Christ?” I asked my brother Stan.

“Oh, a little over twenty years ago.”

“Wait. What? But you were baptized as a child!” 

As children, my two older brothers and I had been dunked in a small pool of water in our local church’s basement. It would signal the public declaration of our acceptance of Jesus Christ as our Savior. Stan, who is seven years my senior, was now fifty-four, and the math wasn’t adding up.

“Yeah, but that was out of pressure. Everyone was doing it.”

“Hmph. Really? Well, it wasn’t like that for me.” I shared. “I distinctly remember hearing Jesus say, ‘Come to Me,’ so I did. For me it wasn’t a fad. I heard Him! And I responded.” 

Stan paused. The silence over the phone grew. Knowing my brother, he was contemplating his response. The wrong words would render me defensive, but the right ones would peak my curiosity. I wanted to continue my rebuttal, to share how I knew it was the voice of God calling me at the age of eight, but the quietness felt necessary. Besides, I was on an assignment of which he was unaware. He was terminally ill and I needed to garner information to succinctly write his obituary.

The stillness lingered a bit longer, and now I was curious. 

Finally he spoke, softly and with care, “You’ll see.” 

Perplexed, I said nothing. 

Neither did he. 

Until his words broke through the silence once more. “You’ll see.” 

Three weeks after that conversation, Stan died of cancer. Over the next forty months, the rest of my family followed suit. Year after year, God called for Mom, Dad, then lastly my brother Kenny. Then God stopped. Instead of calling me Home too, He left me. God chose to leave me here, on earth, without the sanctity of the family He’d given me. Without the comfort they afforded me. Without the security of their presence, which I failed to realize how desperately needed it was. Until they were gone. 

Navigating life without the people I trusted left me petrified. Mom and Dad had been there, always. Now with them and my two older brothers gone, I was lost. Thrust into unfamiliar terrain, the road was dark and murky. Disoriented, I had only one thing remaining: my faith. However, I needed help. A trusted hand. Someone to assist in picking up the remnants of my life. To salvage what remained and aid with my reconstruction and re-emergence. 

I had no shortage of options. After each funeral, friends, acquaintances, and a plethora of extended family vowed their support. Their concern seemed genuine, though their words were scripted. Customary and rehearsed, I heard the same sentiments repeatedly: “If you need me, I’m just a call away.” Caving under the crushing weight of grief, I conceded. I picked up the phone. In search of a lifeline, I called fellow Christians. I believed those of the faith could offer more than what the secular world had. Those without Jesus lacked hope. But not the believer. Be it a word, a prayer, or the ministry of presence, we knew what to do in times of bereavement. Or so I thought. 

In the pit of despair, while at my lowest, the unfathomable happened. In nearly each instance, on the other end of the line, professed Christians gave no more than the world: shallow platitudes and tenuous words. No sagacious guidance. Little empathy. No reminder of the assurance of Jesus Christ. Instead, they talked. A lot. About themselves. Full-on, incessant, self-centered ramblings about everything and nothing. I heard but didn’t listen. Their words were like power tools with drained batteries. They lacked the substance required to break through the impenetrable pain. Despondent, I ended each call silently wailing, until it was safe to do so aloud. 

This made no sense. How could a faith that sings of the neverending power of the blood of Jesus be so impotent? How could worshippers claiming the Living God to be their all-in-all have so little of Him to share? And these weren’t novice saints; they were seasoned. 

The Holy Spirit drew my attention back to my conversation with Stan. Then He exposed the lie. A deception so cunning that only the Hand of a merciful God could reveal it: carnal christianity, and its membership was massive. This cleverly disguised counterfeit masqueraded as the real thing. Designed to the appearance of Christianity, but grossly faulty. The Christianity I knew, was a part of, and now relied upon, wasn’t Christianity at all. Just when I needed it most, this imposter revealed itself through the ineptitude of broken promises. I had fallen prey to the very thing Jesus profusely told us to guard ourselves against: deception. Duped, I was on the path Jesus warned of; the broad road. A route congested, scenic even, that ultimately dead ends at the Lake of Fire, leaving its inhabitants eternally separated from God. 

However, there was more. The Holy Spirit revealed that I was culpable and complicit. Being spiritually lethargic, I was susceptible to the devil’s schemes. But my Bible was far from dusty, I used it. I believed I was a practicing Christian, a follower of Jesus Christ. I resembled the real thing to the world and myself! However, identifying a fraud has never been difficult for an omniscient God. Though I’d been hanging around Jesus for decades, learning about Him, and giving parts of myself to Him, God knew my heart. It was wishy-washy. A telltale sign of fake christianity. The Holy Spirit made it clear that I did not truly know the Lord. Further, He was far less interested in anything I had to offer apart from my total surrender and obedience unto Him. He wanted my whole heart. He required my life. If I were to be His disciple, for real, it had to be on His terms and not mine. It was time for me to grow up by growing in the full grace and knowledge of Jesus Christ. 

Stunned. I wept.

Then wondered: Lord, how could I spend most of my life in church and still miss You? My late brother’s words resurfaced. ‘You’ll see.’ Instinctively, I knew those words had only been spoken through Stan but were not from him. You’ll see. And now, I was about to.