Life in an Army barrack was a combination of brotherly camaraderie and social conformity, particularly if the year was 1971 and the country is South Vietnam.
The constant connection with the fellow soldiers in the platoon and the ever present threat from those outside drew the "brothers" into a tight, even if sometimes dysfunctional, family.
Six months spent on foreign land in a constantly hostile environment were the emotional equivalent to 20 years in a traditional family, so brothers they were indeed.
Perhaps when Jesus' brothers did not believe in him, it hurt more to the core than any fist, whip or nail? It is always those within arm's reach that are able to strike you on the cheek, after all.
One member of this unit was captured, not by an enemy, but by Jesus during his tour of duty. A 20 year old Corporal from Arkansas responded to the Gospel, captivated by the story of One who was willing to die in his stead.
The reaction to the Corporal giving his life to Jesus in the midst of warfare was met with some rejoicing but with much more disdain. The man who had swore, cheated, lied, mistreated, even killed, was now professing a new life in the one called Christ and that was met with scepticism and disbelief by his comrades.
But after his baptism, a new man arose. No more brawling, no more crude stories, no more foul language. The Corporal was expected to revert back to his old ways soon but after several weeks of fresh behavior, the cynicism turned to anger at his reluctance to join in with the rest of his unit in their carousing.
One night, after a day long march through battering rain and calf-deep mud that made boots weigh like cinder blocks, the unit returned to the barracks for much deserved rest. For this night, the rules of tidiness and precision were bent if not discarded altogether. The last two members of the unit to sleep were the Corporal and his Sergeant.
The Sergeant had seen the change in his subordinate and expected the show to stop any day now. He had seen others in the unit hurl insults to the Corporal's face and laughed behind his back while the Corporal did not return any scorn or take any revenge. Each night before bed, the Corporal could be heard whispering prayers from the foot of his bunk. And again tonight, in the near black of night, there at his bunk, on his knees praying was the Corporal.
The Sergeant was ready for this to end. He pulled off one of his mud-caked boots and hurled it at the Corporal, hitting him in the shoulder. "Start praying for your God to get us out of here!" the Sergeant mockingly called. The Corporal continued his prayer. Furious that his attack had gone seemingly unnoticed, the Sargent pulled off the other boot and flung it as well, striking the Corporal against his temple. The Corporal was knocked to the floor, but rose only back to his knees to continue his prayer.
The Sergeant said nothing, just returned to his private quarters and collapsed on his bed. "What brain damage does this man have that he won't even throw my boots back at me?" the man thought as he drifted off to sleep.
Reveille broke the silence of the camp the next morning and as the Sergeant opened his door to hit the showers, his feet tripped over something outside his door. He had to blink his eyes clear to see the offending object, but when he saw them, his heart sank.
His boots. Last night muddy and disgusting; but now polished and clean.
Indeed some of Christ's commands defy our intuition. It makes sense to strike back against one who has struck you. It makes sense for a man to love himself most instead of others. It makes sense to require an eye for an eye and to demand justice when you have been wronged.
But the Christ follower, when he or she truly follows in the dust of His feet, will be a light in the darkness and salt in the midst of a bland and insipid world.
What have you done for others that have made them look twice at you or think that you might be brain damaged? Do you stand out? Do you dare to?
Will you be willing to wash the boots of a persecutor? Would you pray for an insulter? Would you give a drink of water to someone who stole yours? Could you follow after the one who prayed for his executioners? I ask again, do you dare?
The constant connection with the fellow soldiers in the platoon and the ever present threat from those outside drew the "brothers" into a tight, even if sometimes dysfunctional, family.
Six months spent on foreign land in a constantly hostile environment were the emotional equivalent to 20 years in a traditional family, so brothers they were indeed.
Perhaps when Jesus' brothers did not believe in him, it hurt more to the core than any fist, whip or nail? It is always those within arm's reach that are able to strike you on the cheek, after all.
One member of this unit was captured, not by an enemy, but by Jesus during his tour of duty. A 20 year old Corporal from Arkansas responded to the Gospel, captivated by the story of One who was willing to die in his stead.
The reaction to the Corporal giving his life to Jesus in the midst of warfare was met with some rejoicing but with much more disdain. The man who had swore, cheated, lied, mistreated, even killed, was now professing a new life in the one called Christ and that was met with scepticism and disbelief by his comrades.
But after his baptism, a new man arose. No more brawling, no more crude stories, no more foul language. The Corporal was expected to revert back to his old ways soon but after several weeks of fresh behavior, the cynicism turned to anger at his reluctance to join in with the rest of his unit in their carousing.
One night, after a day long march through battering rain and calf-deep mud that made boots weigh like cinder blocks, the unit returned to the barracks for much deserved rest. For this night, the rules of tidiness and precision were bent if not discarded altogether. The last two members of the unit to sleep were the Corporal and his Sergeant.
The Sergeant had seen the change in his subordinate and expected the show to stop any day now. He had seen others in the unit hurl insults to the Corporal's face and laughed behind his back while the Corporal did not return any scorn or take any revenge. Each night before bed, the Corporal could be heard whispering prayers from the foot of his bunk. And again tonight, in the near black of night, there at his bunk, on his knees praying was the Corporal.
The Sergeant was ready for this to end. He pulled off one of his mud-caked boots and hurled it at the Corporal, hitting him in the shoulder. "Start praying for your God to get us out of here!" the Sergeant mockingly called. The Corporal continued his prayer. Furious that his attack had gone seemingly unnoticed, the Sargent pulled off the other boot and flung it as well, striking the Corporal against his temple. The Corporal was knocked to the floor, but rose only back to his knees to continue his prayer.
The Sergeant said nothing, just returned to his private quarters and collapsed on his bed. "What brain damage does this man have that he won't even throw my boots back at me?" the man thought as he drifted off to sleep.
Reveille broke the silence of the camp the next morning and as the Sergeant opened his door to hit the showers, his feet tripped over something outside his door. He had to blink his eyes clear to see the offending object, but when he saw them, his heart sank.
His boots. Last night muddy and disgusting; but now polished and clean.
Indeed some of Christ's commands defy our intuition. It makes sense to strike back against one who has struck you. It makes sense for a man to love himself most instead of others. It makes sense to require an eye for an eye and to demand justice when you have been wronged.
But the Christ follower, when he or she truly follows in the dust of His feet, will be a light in the darkness and salt in the midst of a bland and insipid world.
What have you done for others that have made them look twice at you or think that you might be brain damaged? Do you stand out? Do you dare to?
Will you be willing to wash the boots of a persecutor? Would you pray for an insulter? Would you give a drink of water to someone who stole yours? Could you follow after the one who prayed for his executioners? I ask again, do you dare?
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