There he lay in the street bleeding; the hit and run driver gone. He needed medical help… immediately. Yet he kept pleading, "don't take me to the hospital --- please." This scene didn't make sense.
Surprised, everyone asked, "Why not take you to the hospital?"
He continued, "Because I am on the staff at the hospital. It would be embarrassing for them to see me like this. They have never seen me bleeding and dirty. They always see me clean and healthy. Now I am a mess."
"But the hospital is for people like you — can't we call an ambulance?"
"No, please don't! I took a pedestrian safety course and the instructor would criticize me for getting hit."
"But who cares what the instructor thinks. You need attention."
"But there are other reasons too — the admissions clerk would be upset."
"Why?"
Because she always gets upset if anyone for admittance doesn't have all the details she needs to fill out her records. I didn't see who hit me, and I don't eve know the make of car or license number. She wouldn't understand. She is a real stickler for records. Worse than that, I haven't got my Blue Cross card."
"What real difference would that make?"
"Well, if they didn't recognize me in this mess, they wouldn't let me in. They won't admit anyone in my shape without a Blue Cross card. They must be sure it isn't going to cost the institution. They protect the institution."
"Just pull me over to the curb. I'll make it some way. It's my fault I got hit. Why should the nurses get their clean uniforms dirty with me? They would criticize me."
Saying this, he started to crawl to the gutter while everyone left leaving him alone. Maybe he made it — maybe he didn't. Maybe he is still trying to stop his own bleeding.
Does that strike you as a strange, ridiculous story? It could happen any Sunday…in a typical church membership. I know it could happen because last night I asked some active Christians what they would do if Saturday night they got hit and run over by some unacceptable sin. Without exception, they said, "I sure wouldn't want to go to church the next morning where everyone would see me."
Now, be honest, would you? Or would you reason, "The members would ostracize me — they would look at me like I was strange and didn't belong there anymore. Some of the self-righteous would accuse me of being a hypocrite. The Sunday School teacher would be mad at me for not learning what had been taught. Those sitting next to me would be embarrassed, not knowing how to react because they didn't know how everybody else felt. They really wouldn't know how to react to a new dirty saint.
In the good natured spirit of the conversation, we decided if hit and run over by some unacceptable sin, we would be better off to go to the pool hall instead of the church. At the pool hall we would find sympathy… real understanding…immediately someone would say, "This isn't the end of the world. It happened to me and I lived through it." Another would say, "I see you slipped and got caught. Don't let it get you down. I know a good lawyer who will help you." And another would add, "You really seem more like one of us than you did before."
Now the question that bothered us: Where should real love and understanding be found? In the pool hall or in the church of Jesus Christ who died for sinners? Is the church really going to be the church until every Christian hit and run over by some sin starts pleading: "Take me to the church. My brothers and sisters are there — they care for me — I can get well there — I am a weak member of the body, but when I hurt the strong members favor — I don't need a paid up Blue Cross card, and I know they won't talk about me when it is over."
Yet, to the last single person at the party, there was not one who said he would feel welcome in his church if that night he was publicly caught in some sin.
We kept exploring: is the church for imitation saints dressed up and smelling good, or is it for bleeding sinners who know they have been run over but want to get well? Without genuine Christian community, how can personal alienation be lessened?
I remembered one of the most saintly women I've ever known who startled me by saying, "Fred, there isn't a sin of which I am not capable…I could be a prostitute…I could be a murderer… I could embezzle."
I was convinced she couldn't. Instead I thought she was displaying humility… therefore I congratulated her on it. She didn't appreciate my insensitivity to the gospel. "You don't really believe I mean that. I do mean it because I realize if there is a person who has committed a single sin of which I am incapable then I am not able to love that person. The same sin that crops up in their life also flows through me and expresses itself in other ways. Until I believe that I am but a self-righteous, proud, arrogant woman."
Somehow the question stops being one for the entire church. The question becomes singularly mine — one individual — one sinner saved by grace — one human being striving either to insulate myself in a superior group or becoming involved in the total body.
"Behold, how they love one another." The winners and the losers, the healthy and the sick, the hurt and the well are welcome. I need to be a giver and receiver in a church where the hurt say expectantly, "Take me to the church, please."
