We’d just wrapped up filming Dave’s story (which you can read here). Before we finished, I asked him what he would tell God if He were standing right in front of him at this moment. Dave said he would tell God he wanted Him back in his life. That he wanted to be filled with the Holy Spirit and used for His glory. I told Dave if he was serious about what he just said, then he could go to church with me that night. Dave said he’d love to, and hopped in the car with me.
As we were pulling off I found myself thinking of all the reasons this was a bad idea. I’d only known this guy for a few hours. I had no idea if he had any weapons on him. I didn’t know if he was addicted to drugs, or if he had psychotic episodes, or anything. I started wondering if my family would even know where to begin looking for me if I didn’t come home because I was bleeding out behind some dumpster. Luckily mind can only go to so many dark places in the ten minutes it took to get to the church.
The moment we got out of the car my mind was leading my fears in a new direction. What if someone offended Dave? What if Dave offended someone? You never really know what you’re bargaining for when you bring a homeless person into the rest of society with you. They’ve often times lost the precious filter that keeps the rest of our mouths from saying whatever thoughts may land on our minds. I wondered what I’d do if someone said Dave couldn’t come in because he looked sketchy. I’m sure no one would have done that, but fear and anxiety love to rob us of the good things in life. They make the people we trust the most seem so capable of the darkest evils.
We sat down in a pew near the front. I joked with him about him being the oldest one there. No one sat by us. Some people hugged him for no apparent reason. Some people just looked– not with judgment, just curiosity. It was time for worship. We stood as the band began strumming the chords to “Lord I Need You”.
I was paying attention best I could, as I always do, to pitch, and melody, and rhythm. It was a familiar song I’ve sung many times before. Dave obviously didn’t know the melody, or when he should sing the words appearing on the screen; he paid no attention to pitch. He was also embarrassingly singing louder than anyone else in the room.
Before my cheeks even had time to flush with embarrassment, conviction struck my heart. His mind did not know the song, but his soul knew it well. His hands, his feet, every aching bone in his body, knew the truth, “without You I fall apart.” Everyday of his life for the past two years his heart had sung, “Lord, I need You, oh, I need You.
Every hour I need You.” Yet here I was, lying to the Lord, singing words I’d never meant as correctly as I could.
I’d never realized before then how little the songs I song on Sundays really mean to me. I’m not living any kind of life where I have to cry out the words to these songs as earnest prayers. I’m quite a stranger to suffering and pain. After the played “Lord I Need You” they played “King of My Heart”, and “Good Good Father”. It was the same with those songs as well. I’ve never needed the promise, “You’re never gonna let me down” as much as Dave did in that moment. I’ve never needed “You’re a good good Father, and I’m loved by You” to be true like Dave did.
Probably half of the time I’ve been living has been spent not even believing in God. I didn’t begin believing in Him because I needed Him, but because for whatever reason He wanted me. And let me clarify something, of course I need God as we all need Him to forgive us of our sins. I needed Him in order to step from death to life. I’m not speaking of our universal need of the love of God. I’m speaking of the kind of need for God so many people have. The kind of need the people who are depending on God to come though every day have. Depending on Him for their daily bread, for clothing, and peace, and comfort, etc. The kind of need that made Karl Marx call religion “the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions.”
I don’t risk enough. I don’t give enough. I don’t live my life in a constant state of needing God to show up or else I’m not going to make it. I’m not sure what that looks like for me. I’m not sure what it looks like for you. I know I’m not there but I want to be there. I know it’ll probably hurt. I know I’ll have to suffer. But I want to actually need God.