The Weirdo in the Lobby

I liken it to the nurse who hands the doctor his scalpel on cue, or the guy who keeps the painters pallet full of paint. Perhaps the typesetter of the author's words ready for print. In any case the artist is the creator and the assistant just does as they are told; sometimes even without knowing what that creator is up to. The old "just do what you are told and don't ask questions." However, yesterday, and I assisted, I found myself with just that: questions.

Here's how it played out.  For those who are little weirded out, no worries, so was I.   I value the community and discipline of going to church on Sunday mornings so it wasn't a surprise to find me there yesterday.  One way I am able to really connect with God in a service is through music.  I often will sing the guy in front of me's toupee off, and have been known to hit Dave upside the head as my arms raise in a deeply worshipful time for me.  Yesterday was no different - at first.

As I worship I often feel that I am able to hear God's whisper of a voice in my heart more clearly than during the hustle and bustle of other life happenings. Yesterday the whisper was loud and clear.  He wanted me to leave my hands raised for the entire service. Now I was okay with this as long as there was music going on, but as I became more convinced he was serious, I moved to the back of the auditorium, realizing that this was and would be strange.

As worship ended and the sermon began I was going on a bout six minutes of hands raised in the air, I knelt down so as not to draw attention to myself, but that was the least of my worries.  My arms were beginning to really hurt. I remembered that God had once asked a guys named Moses to do this same thing, and I also remembered that he had some help with the difficult physical task. I left the auditorium in hopes of finding some kind soul out in the lobby who could help me keep my arms raised, or tell me I was crazy and relieve me of my obligation.

That is what I felt like it was.  Yes, it was my choice to obey, and I just as easily could have given up and chalked another one up to the human condition, but I felt like it was very important that I follow through.  This was no small ask, and the weight of it rested heavy on my soul.

I found in the lobby those who had lead us in musical worship, a group of people that I know well and feel very open with.  As I approached them, hands in the air, I opened my mouth and the tears started flowing. "I feel like I am supposed to keep my arms raised for the whole service and it is really starting to hurt!" Without a question or even a hesitation two of them grabbed an arm each and helped me stay obedient. A third came over and said "I saw you and I knew you were supposed to keep them raised all service." This was the kind of confirmation I needed to know that I wasn't just hearing things, that God was for real asking me to do this. And so I endured.

They helped me find a bit more private of a spot in the lobby and they stood by me, holding my arms and praying for me - even wiping my tears and snotty nose when needed. I cried, I cried in pain and I cried for reasons I don't know.  I literally had the thought, "Maybe the Lord spared me from the pains of labor (I had 4 c-sections) because he knew he was going to ask me to endure this pain."

One of those precious sisters that was with me realized that my calling to do this was likely somehow connected to the fact that later on in the service there was going to be a call to engage in the freeing of women who are caught in the horrid black market trade of sex trafficking.  (As some may or may not know a bout a year ago I lead a local campaign, Free|Five, to raise awareness and funds for the battle against human trafficking. This issue and justice for the poor and the oppressed are sort of passions of mine.) I did not know that the service would head this way but they did because they had taken part in the service prior to this one. Once this was revealed the pieces started falling into place for me intellectually and the tears began to flow all the harder as I felt the burden of freedom for the captives.  I just kept thinking, "If I have to endure pain for a short while so that they can have freedom I will do it, I will do it!"

They supported me and walked with me through the pain and the foolishness that onlookers must have thought it was. And finally after about 35 minutes, the service ended and I felt released to put my arms down, ouch.

It was a difficult few minutes as I had to walk the halls of the church gathering my kids and dodging the eyes of people who wanted to ask, "What in the world happened to you?" and "What's wrong?" I had no more make-up on, my eyes burned and my face was red and swollen. Not to mention I had to keep shaking my arms to warm them up and get them back to normal.

I didn't really want to tell anyone.  I was glad to have shared the experience with a few that could support me and help me process if needed, but I didn't (and don't) feel like it was my thing. What happened to me? Somebody [God] just asked "Would you help me with something?" and I said "Sure.".  "What's wrong?" People are bought, sold and treated like animals.  

Some have praised me for my obedience, and I am glad that I was entrusted with the task of partnering with God, but I don't think this experience was about my ability or willingness to obey.  As I have been thinking today, and asking the many questions that yesterday's experience has left me with, I was brought back to that story of Moses.  (For those interested it is found in the Old Testament book of Exodus, Chapter 17.)
To sum it up, the people of God, the Israelites, were under the attack of Amalek. While Moses' arms were raised the Israelite army prevailed, if he ever dropped his hands, they were overtaken. Moses, with the help of his brother and a close friend,  raised his hands to heaven until the Israelites defeated Amalek.  Later on it says that 'the LORD will be at war with Amalek from generation to generation.'

As I thought about this I thought about the absolute evil that exists in the practice of human sex trafficking.  I believe that there is a very real war waging for the freedom of those unjustly caught in it's darkness.  I believe that the LORD will be at war with the darkness that enslaves from generation to generation.  He will continue to call upon his people to fight those battles in many ways. If my part is painfully and foolishly holding my hands to heaven then I will do it. I'll be a fool if it means freedom, for them...and for me.