Mark Johnston, Connections Pastor
My doctor in Canton has his office on Buffalo Street, a few blocks from the courthouse. I don’t know if he has some deal worked out with the county or what, but on more than one occasion, when i’ve been in the waiting area, a sheriff’s deputy or constable has brought in a prisoner, wearing an orange jumpsuit, prison shackles and handcuffs to see the doctor.
Um… it’s the prisoner in the jumpsuit and chains, not the constable. Probably coulda worded that a little better.
It’s always an uncomfortable situation for me and the dozen or so octogenarians in the waiting room. We all look up every time the door opens, to see the next soul entering Purgatory anyway, but when we see the jumpsuit, it’s generally ‘all eyes on phones and magazines’ from that point on. But it’s impossible to ignore the rattle of chains across the fake hardwood floors, and the inmate shuffling his way to a seat. The guy always ends up sitting directly across from me, where i feel the need to make a little nervous eye contact, acknowledge him, and try to not look too condescending before going back to stare a hole through the phone until my name is called. Five or six hours later.
The last fellow had a bad cough, which probably prompted his trip to the doctor. My initial reaction was ‘dude, cover your mouth…oh wait…you can’t.’
There’s a Grand Canyon sized contrast between the people in the room who have freedom, and the one individual who does not. Any of the rest of us are free to change seats, read a different magazine, get up and read about the ‘poop in a box’ mail-order colon test procedure that’s advertised on the wall display, or simply leave, if we don’t mind the $20 hickey the doctor’s office is going to hit us with for not keeping our appointment. The guy in the jumpsuit can’t do any of those things. He can’t even go to the bathroom without asking, and being escorted there.
It probably doesn’t surprise you, but i’ve never been to jail. I did have a warrant out one time, when i lived in the Panhandle, for an expired inspection sticker. Hey—most outlaw’s first crimes are small…John Dillinger got into a fistfight as a teenager, and young Clyde Barrow didn’t return a rental car on time. My blatant disregard for the rules of decent society got back on track when the Chief of Police, who knew me from church, called and said ‘hey, son, come down here and take care of this. You don’t want me to have to come get you.’
I paid my $175 fine and have managed to stay on the right side of the law from then on. Been straight for thirty seven years. And yeah, i’ve let my inspection lapse a few times since then. Dillinger, Clyde…their mistake was getting caught.
I don’t have any idea what the guy in the jumpsuit did to end up in jail, but i’m pretty sure his crime was of a more serious nature than mine. But i’m also certain that he’s not the only ‘prisoner’ in a room with that many people in it.
What i mean is this: in our everyday lives, we see people, and have conversations or make small talk with some of them. How many of those people are trapped in their own cages, fighting addictions, mental illness, depression, loneliness, or any of a hundred other issues, and never let on? How many folks will you see or speak to today who are in invisible shackles?
Some folks flash their problems like neon, but most, sadly, do not.
Jesus sought out people—those with the obvious chains, and those with ones we can’t see; and as his followers, we should do the same. It’s hard, it’s often uncomfortable, but the great commission doesn’t say ‘go and make disciples of people who are just like you,’ it just says ‘go and make disciples.’
If there are areas of your life where you are being held captive, Stonepoint offers re:generation on Monday nights. Re:gen is a discipleship ministry where dozens of people have discarded the chains that have bound them, and found freedom in Christ.
I can’t stress to you enough, that re:gen is not just for ‘those people,’ unless ‘those people’ includes all of us. Anything that keeps you from having the relationship you need to have with God, or with another human being is something that needs to be eliminated from your life, not just ‘managed.’ Re:gen can help identify those things and help you on a road to recovery and a deeper relationship with God and with others who will fight your battles with you and spur you on toward love and good deeds.
We also stress the need for community at Stonepoint. Every member of our church, is part of what we call a Journey Group. Journey Groups are small groups of 10-12 people, and usually meet in homes one night during the week. They study the Bible, hang out, eat dinner, and sometimes go bowling, or have pool parties—it’s generally a bunch of folks just living life together. When a crisis happens—a surprise visit to the ER, a bad diagnosis, or when a family member dies, the folks in your Journey Group are your first phone calls and texts, your first line of defense and support.
It’s also the group of people you can share your struggles with, and when it works the way it’s supposed to, are counseled with Biblical advice on how to deal with those struggles, and given accountability to make sure they’re being dealt with. It’s the Stonepoint version of the church the way it’s described in the second chapter of Acts. People doing life together is so much better than trying to do it alone.
Our next GroupLink, where we put people and groups together is scheduled for November 3rd at 12:15 at our Wills Point Campus, and you can sign up HERE .
Jeremiah 29 says this “And you will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart. I will be found by you, says the Lord, and I will bring you back from your captivity…”
God is still in the business of rescuing captive souls, and the distractions of our day make seeking Him with our whole hearts difficult sometimes, but the journey is worth it. Freedom in Christ is a tremendous reward and breaking free of bondage is worth the cost.
Everyone has worn shackles at one time or another, but once you’ve experienced life without them, it’s hard to imagine ever wanting to go back.