I heard the voice of God once–or at least I heard one of the many voices that He uses to get our attention. In His infinite wisdom and mercy, God once spoke a single word to me in a voice that I couldn’t possibly mistake–or worse yet miss altogether.
My father, John Herman, was the living embodiment of a saint. Daddy was a faithful Elder and he immersed himself daily in Scripture. Our son JC was Daddy’s undisputed best buddy. Sadly, Daddy joined the Church Triumphant at the much-too-early age of 73. JC was only thirteen years old at the time of his grandfather’s death.
Unfortunately that was not to be the last time that JC lost a loved one at a very tender age. Four years later one of his closest friends Joe was struck head-on by an older gentleman who had suffered a heart attack at the wheel. Joe was killed instantly, leaving all of us who knew him utterly devastated.
Joe had moved to Hickory from Florida with his mother and sister, and they had been searching for a church home for some time. They were coldly informed by the pastor of the church they had been attending that they could not conduct Joe’s memorial service there because they were not yet members. When Joe’s sister called JC to share this tragic news, he ran to me sobbing. “How could a pastor say such a heartless thing?” he screamed.
This was on a Sunday evening and since we had all had a really rough last few hours I had taken a warm bath, put on my pajamas, and made us soup and grilled cheese for dinner. I sighed and headed to the kitchen to do the dishes.
And then I heard that Voice whispering that one word urgently in my ear. “Becky,” the Voice implored. It was the sound of my father’s voice calling my name, just as I had heard it hundreds of times before. I whirled around, fully expecting Daddy to be standing right in front of me. And in that instant I knew exactly what I needed to do.
Our church’s monthly Session meeting would be convening within the hour. I threw back on a pair of jeans and roared up the driveway before I had a chance to lose my nerve or change my mind.
Our Associate Pastor’s eyes widened when I stormed into the room uninvited, but the Session granted my desperate plea to allow Joe’s family–complete strangers that they were to everyone but me–to hold his memorial service in our sanctuary and to open our Fellowship Hall to allow the friends of Joe’s grief-stricken mother to host a lovely bereavement reception for the many out-of-state family and friends who would be in attendance.
Is genuine service to others rarely convenient and sometimes even a bit risky and unorthodox? But does it almost always spring from a heart so moved with compassion for suffering humanity that it becomes willing to put itself “out there” to provide whatever comfort and healing that it possibly can? The Good Samaritan just might have something to say about that.
Prayer:
Loving Lord, please forgive me when I turn aside from anyone in need. Please break my heart for the things that break Your heart. May I never rest until I try to find a way to offer comfort and healing to anyone who is hurting.
