Sunday, March 20, 2011

Sadness and Joy

I'm a biker. OK, I admit it, not the ride into the village and burn everything you see kind of biker that's portrayed in some movies, but one who more like all the bikers that are out there kind of biker. We are normal, loving, compassionate and pretty nice people. Today, after chucrh, I attended a memorial service for a fellow biker who was killed last week when the rider, for no apparent reason went straight as the road curved. They hit a wall and Kathy was killed. She was on the back and her boyfriend, Jimmy was very seriously injured. I only knew her slightly because she worked at the hospital where I was a chaplain. I had spoken with her only briefly a few times. I never shared Christ with her and I am told she knew the Lord so at least I won't have that to live with.
We are all diminished by someone's passing. And in the biker community, we grieve greatly for the loss of a brother or sister. But as I told a few today our loss is heaven's gain. But as I thik about the few meetings I had with her, I keep asking myself, "Why didn't I ask her if she knew the Lord?" Isn't it my duty (I preached on that today) to tell everyone about Jesus? It's not only my duty, it's an honor to tell others about the joy I hold in my heart. And I am joyous, I am so elated that God calls me "son" and if I am so happy, why isn't that the first question out of my mouth when I meet someone? If that the thing that makes you joyous, don't you want others to be joyous too? Wouldn't you tell someone if they were blind and about to walk off a cliff?
If they are offended by the question, just apologize and move on, but according to Peter, we should always be ready to show why we have hope... 1 Pe 3:15
15 But sanctify the Lord God in your hearts, and always be ready to give a defense to everyone who asks you a reason for the hope that is in you, with meekness and fear;
We have Christ. Let us no wane in our efforts to show Him to a world that doesn't know and fails to understand such a wonderful savior.

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