Along the Road: A Parabolic Appalachian Journey

By James T. Elder

In the midst of a prospering career, Jim and Rita Cmolik heard the Lord calling them to bring His gospel of love to the people of McCreary County, Kentucky. They abandoned the comforts of their home in the Chicago suburbs and moved to the hills and hollers of Appalachia, following Gods directive to teach the people about My love, and show them how to take care of each other! The couple established Hills and Hollers Ministries, a mission organization in their new community, to do just that. This writing is a parable of sorts, a work of fiction in which the story of the joys and heartbreaks of this journey of discovery is brought to us through the lives of Paul and Marie, a husband and wife who continue daily to encounter the Living God along the road. Reading the account of their journey is a constant reminder that the Lord still calls and equips missionaries of all ages, often at most interesting moments in their lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Oct 11, 2012
• ISBN: 9781449766429

James T. Elder

James T. Elder is the pen name of James Cmolik. Following a dramatic encounter with God, Jim abandoned his comfortable life as a telecommunications manager in Chicago and, together with his wife, Rita, embarked on a journey of discovery. Follow and comment on their journey at Facebook/Along the Road.

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Along the Road

A Parabolic Appalachian Journey

James T. Elder

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Copyright © 2011 James George Cmolik

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

ISBN: 978-1-4497-6641-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-6642-9 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-6643-6 (hc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012916359

WestBow Press books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Unless otherwise noted, scriptures references are from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

WestBow Press rev. date: 10/08/2012

Contents

Foreword

Preface

Acknowledgements

Special Appalachian Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Afterword

The work that follows is dedicated to…

… The One who has always traveled along the road with me, revealing Himself repeatedly … often choosing to do so through a great many wonderful people.

… My soul mate and kindred spirit, Rita, who has traveled this often tumultuous road by my side, sacrificing everything of herself for the sake of me and so many others.

… My three beautiful, caring, loving daughters who, along with their devoted husbands, are pressing forward on their own roads of discovery, nurturing the young spirits that God has entrusted them with.

… And my grandchildren and their children to come, who may some day say, Tell me again about the road my Grammy and Poppy traveled! You are a source of some of the greatest joy in my life. May this testimony reveal to you what has driven this man and woman who have loved you so very much!

Foreword

Ecclesiastes 3:11 says, He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from the beginning to end. From this simple yet profound truth comes the primal yearning for every person ever born: the search for God. From this truth springs the desire for what we were created for—a relationship with a Father we were estranged from shortly after the dawn of time.

We are born and soon begin to fill this eternal yearning with the temporal stuff of this world, as if the temporal can ever fill the eternal. Our quest back to God is largely dependent upon us. We begin by pursuing worldly trappings to meet our every need, going from never-quite-full to ever-so-empty in a vicious, unforgiving and repeated cycle of life until we finally lose the game. At some point in that cycle, some of us will finally take that familiar yet previously bypassed fork in the road and begin to turn our attention to God. As we do, we immediately begin to see our truest needs and desires met. The road we are on begins to reveal a whole new world of beginnings and discovery. Yet, no one can fathom what God has done from the beginning to end. So many questions answered, yet so many new questions to contemplate. We may never be able to fathom the greatness of God in its entirety, but we can enjoy a lifetime of getting to know him. This is a journey, not a jaunt.

Each of us are on this journey—a road that doesn’t lead as much to somewhere, but rather leads to someone. This road begins broadly and, for those who seek God, the road narrows considerably. So many questions answered, yet so many new questions to contemplate.

Along the Road is a parable about one man’s journey. But this man can be any man or women. Like most roads, there are bends, sharp turns, hills, valleys, mountain tops, dead-ends, U-turns, thorns and briers, potholes, beautiful scenery, breathtaking moments, love and joy, disappointment and hope. But like most good journeys, the road isn’t traveled alone. There is one constant Companion in this journey, One who is closer than a friend. Others step in for a ride and leave better for it. Some go further down the road than others. Some jump off when the going gets rough. This is life. For each dull moment there is an intrepid adventure to match.

Along the Road is less a story of destination and more a story of discovery—God-discovery and self-discovery that comes through ever deepening relationships with God and with other people. It’s a discovery of what relationship really is, or perhaps should be. As such, like most good journeys, I recommend that the reader linger, take time to contemplate. Enjoy the scenery, stop at the best overlooks and experience the time you spend on this road. I pray that you leave Along the Road with some questions answered, yet so many more questions to contemplate.

Pat Brady

Barnabas Group Director

www.barnabasgroup.org

December 8, 2011

Preface

He did not say anything to them without using a parable. But when he was alone with his disciples, he explained everything. (Mark 4:34)

I don’t think we spend enough time considering. We are too quick to take a stand in support of, or opposition to, something that’s been presented to us. We then either defend it or tear it to shreds. This exercise is nearly always accomplished in the realm of our intellect, our current point of understanding, and usually is colored by our emotions. How blessed we are when we learn to engage our spirits and draw our understanding from the One who somehow, mystically, yet undeniably, lives within us.

Of making many books there is no end, and much study wearies the body.

(Ecclesiastes 12:12b)

There is an uncountable number of books in print where the author shares their understanding of the issues at hand, directly and instructionally. Jesus began His teachings in this manner, such as we experience in The Sermon on the Mount. But our Lord seemingly changed his style to that of parables, perhaps because most people are more apt to consider a point if it is presented to them through another person’s experiences, whether actual or fictional. A parable is less threatening to the person hearing it and it allows the Holy Spirit to be the real power behind the application.

This is the story of a special journey that my wife and I embarked on a number of years ago, an undertaking which ultimately required us to divest ourselves of literally everything of worldly value. While the characters are fictional, they either represent flesh and blood folks who have greatly influenced our lives in some manner, or spiritual visions and experiences that cannot be described in any other fashion than through conveying the message through a human representative (as in chapter 7).

You may not agree with my philosophy, theology, or whatever you wish to term the concepts I’ve presented here. Please know this: the events are real; they have changed my life for the better, for eternity!

All that I pray for is that you, the reader, will pause and consider what you read here as you journey along your own road.

James Cmolik

Acknowledgements

It would be impossible to acknowledge, and properly thank, everyone who has inspired me to undertake the writing of this manuscript … mainly because every person I have met along the road has been used by God to somehow, someway, mold me into the man I am at this moment, and will continue to become throughout the rest of eternity. That’s the wonderful and inevitable dynamic of relationships.

Of course, the precious being that has inspired, encouraged, suffered alongside and rejoiced with me throughout this effort is the greatest human blessing I have ever received, outside of my salvation… my spirit partner in life, my wonderful wife, Rita Marie. My sweet bride, to you I owe more than anyone, including myself, could ever imagine. Thanks for being willing to sacrifice everything and walk along this narrow twisted road with me. I experience the love of God through you every single day of my life.

My three wonderful daughters, Jennifer Lynn, Michelle Ann and Beth Marie, stood by my side and not only contributed to the material, but experienced many of the trials I’ve related. They already know that they have my undying love and I trust they know how much I value theirs.

There have also been many others who, over the years, have encouraged me to publish my experiences in some fashion. Certainly there is Betty and Bill, neighbors from the Chicago-land area who have stayed in relationship with us despite the miles, and Renee, who came into our lives recently and read each chapter of this story as it unfolded, journeying along her own stretch of the spiritual road of discovery. A special mention must be made for Janie Slaven who captured the cover photo of two tired people walking along the road.

I also want to thank those who have shown only a little, if any, interest in this writing, and there have been a few. There are those who’ve stated that my ideas have merit, but my style of presentation just isn’t marketable. Thanks for being a stabilizing force that may have kept me from running off in some egotistical endeavor. Thanks as well to those who commented, "I think that things may not be as you seem to understand." You helped to keep me from leaning on my own understanding, or yours, and encouraged me to seek God’s wisdom at every turn in the road.

Of course, all thanks go to our wonderful God, Savior, Counselor and Friend. Lord, may I never become so casual in our relationship that I cease to recognize you in the people I encounter as we journey along the road for all of eternity!

Special Appalachian Acknowledgments

I do have a special message for the wonderful people of Appalachia whose gentle manner, colorful culture and genuine way of life first drew me to this region. As you read the story that follows, you may find yourself feeling offended at what I’ve shared. I know you (we) have long struggled to rise above a stereotype which has fallen upon folks who hail from the hills, much the same as an individual from inner-city Chicago might be unjustly tagged as a gang member, carjacker, or henchman in some mafia operation, simply because of the history of their home town. It’s difficult for many of us to take a deeper look at ourselves and pause to consider something outside of our current point of understanding.

Like all the experiences I’ve related in this book, the substance of the story that I’ve shared in chapter sixteen is quite factual. I did have a rather heated discussion with a local business owner regarding the manner in which a mission team from Ohio had portrayed our community in a news article that was published in their hometown. I do understand her frustration. When you work hard to rise above a perceived shortcoming, and then have people fail to recognize your efforts, offense or disappointment is a natural response. While we may not be a direct product of the culture we are raised in, we certainly are influenced by it to a very large degree. To this day I still can’t understand why northern efficiency and southern hospitality can’t seem to coexist, and I say this with a huge smile on my face.

On a warm summer’s evening would I rather sit around Buckingham Fountain in Chicago’s Columbus Park, listening to an ensemble of cellos weave a mystical melody, or rest on an Appalachian front porch and be captivated by the joyous sounds of a banjo and guitar duet? Both venues of musical expression hold their own special place in my life and I could never elevate one over the other. Maintaining our cultural uniqueness while overcoming any barriers to growth that it may present is a daunting task, but doing so brings richness to our lives.

My dear Appalachian family, please know that I place as much value on what you have shown me over the years that I’ve lived and ministered among you as I do any other experiences that I’ve had along the road of my life. You’ve helped me to see the vital need for true relationship to be the bedrock of our existence on earth and beyond. You’ve revealed how important it is to flee from leaning on our own understanding of the things of God. You’ve afforded me opportunity to retreat from the frantic, and usually senseless, pursuit of living that seems to be the norm for the city life I was raised to accept as normal, and even desirable.

If, as you read this story, you should find that our interactions are represented in a manner that you find offensive, then please forgive me and remember that I, like you, am still a work in progress. And accept my heartfelt gratitude for the part you have played in bringing about a heightened level of spiritual maturity in this flawed human vessel. I love you all as much as I cherish the culture in which we live together.

Chapter 1

Along the road… As he neared Damascus on his journey, suddenly a light from heaven flashed around him. –Acts 9:3

The Encounter

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Paul sat in the molded plastic chair and laid his head down on the table before him. The knot in his chest was growing tighter by the moment. At first he thought he was having a heart attack, but this feeling of constriction was emanating from far deeper within his being than a vital organ. For a brief moment he recalled an occasion in his childhood when he had felt a similar, yet much less painful episode of this discomfort.

As a boy Paul was always intrigued with the concept of flight. Escaping the forces of gravity and soaring through the skies seemed like the ultimate freedom to this youngster. Paul recalled how he had relieved his mother’s purse of a twenty-five-cent piece of silver one morning. Racing to the corner store on his battered bicycle, which he had just received as a gift celebrating his seventh birthday, this sun-burned would-be aviator laid the quarter in the store keeper’s hand in exchange for a balsawood glider, painted to resemble a newly introduced jet aircraft. Sadly, this winged marvel landed in a towering tree on its maiden flight and Paul considered how, even at his tender young age, his life always seemed to travel in a similar manner: a moment of excitement followed by lingering disappointment.

Arriving home, after cursing the tree that had robbed him of his pleasure, Paul walked through the front door to find his mother standing in the hall with her arms folded. This was never a good sign. Mustering up his most angelic smile, the boy didn’t even have opportunity to exchange pleasantries with his mom before the inquisition began.

Paul, his mother began, did you take any money out of my purse?

The youngster shifted on his feet trying to dream up a believable story to explain the disappearance of the quarter—perhaps something to do with burglars he might have seen lurking in the alley behind his home. Unable to quickly develop a substantial reason for the vanished money Paul did what any red-blooded, prepubescent young boy would do: he lied.

No, Mom! I never even touched your change purse, replied Paul.

Turning his back to his mother was probably Paul’s biggest mistake, second only to taking the money to begin with. He never saw it coming. The earth suddenly shifted beneath his little feet and the impact with the wall he had just experienced left him more than a little dazed. Mom’s righteous right hand of correction had connected with his body, setting Paul’s attitude in a different direction.

It’s one thing to be a thief, his mother shared with great passion, but I won’t have any son of mine being a liar!

Thirty-three years older now, Paul could still feel the pain of the moment. Oh, the red mark on his body had dissipated quickly and his relationship with his mother remained strong, despite her reaction to his transgression. But the nausea of being confronted with a serious shortcoming in his life had always remained. In fact, Paul had grown to expect the same type of response from anyone he failed to please, especially the God whose existence he was just beginning to recognize.

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Are you in need of forgiveness?

Paul lifted his head from the hard tabletop in response to the question he had just heard asked. When he agreed to attend this retreat, seminar, inquisition—whatever you want to call it—he never dreamed that it would be so emotionally draining.

The pastor of his church had asked him to become a part of this small team of so-called spiritually mature men in his congregation. The three-day event, called Christ Renews His Parish and nicknamed Chirp, was apparently designed to help the participants delve deeper into their understanding of God and ultimately themselves. Paul felt quite comfortable accepting this invitation. After all, wasn’t he one of the leading members of that church? He had risen from the ranks of a pew-sitter and become one of the more visible and active lay leaders in the parish. Where once he had attended church only for the required sixty minutes on Sunday mornings, Paul now could often be found attending ministry meetings during the week as well. He and his wife, Marie, were rapidly becoming the go-to people when you needed something done within the church. They had been honored frequently for their efforts. Wasn’t it natural that Paul should be selected to also be a leading figure in this emerging effort to build up the church?

But confidence was not something Paul was feeling at the moment. He was halfway through the second day of the Chirp event and he was experiencing some lightheadedness. He assumed it was due to sleep deprivation, since the prior evening had required him to sit in a circle with his Chirp companions and listen to these men share some of their deepest secrets in life. For whatever reason, grown men who normally kept their personal lives very much to themselves had felt the need to begin unloading some significant burdens before the sleepy assembly of attendees, maintaining a momentum well into the early hours of the new day. Paul was amazed at the amount of hurt that these people, whom he thought he knew, actually carried with them every day. One man spoke of the betrayal he felt when God allowed his young son to be killed in a skydiving accident. Another shared the paralyzing fear that still gripped him as a result of many late evening patrols into the jungles of Vietnam. Still others related being held captive by anxiety, brushes with addictions—especially to pornography—and numerous other life-controlling issues where they failed to see God’s love intervening for their benefit.

Of course when it was Paul’s turn to share he had already rehearsed in his mind an eloquent response, one that was very stirring but not too revealing; a story that would touch hearts but leave him looking strong. After all, no one else needed to really know of all the trash he had laying around within him. Paul had become very good at organizing his environment, including the issues of his life which he knew needed attention. He had long since learned that most people aren’t interested in the things that deeply troubled him. From his father, who died when Paul was just twelve years old, to the crumbled relationships following that tragedy, he had come to believe that no one, not even the God he claimed to serve, was really willing to step forward and try to soothe the pain that had only grown over the years. Not one person, except for his wife.

Marie had come into Paul’s life at a moment when he was most desperate. Experiencing the backlash from a serious relational betrayal, Paul had begun to sink into a deep funk. His attempts at coping with his increasingly meaningless life were quite predictable. He had begun to cease caring for others as well as himself. Oh, to be sure, he showed a feigned concern for those about him, especially anyone he thought might do him some good, but it was a hollow gesture. Paul had started viewing life for the moment at hand, and he attempted to maximize the pleasure of each encounter. Sleep deprivation, excess alcohol, improper nutrition and unhealthy relationships had become the norm. On more than one occasion the depression that resulted from such a lifestyle had led Paul to consider taking his life, but some unexplainable compulsion stayed his hand.

When he first met Marie they were working for the same corporation. Their brief work-related encounters had led to Paul asking her out for dinner. Their first date was amazing. For the first time in years he felt something other than self-concern. As Marie spoke a little of her loves and fears, Paul began to resonate with the concerns of this lovely woman. He found himself willing to soften a little and let down his own defenses. Paul eventually told Marie of the hopelessness he was experiencing. Over the next few months he carefully confided in her his deepest fears and struggles. Never once did she seem to be passing judgment on his character as so many before her had.

Their feelings for each other intensified and Paul knew that this special lady was someone he did not want to lose. As they sat on a patio one evening, sharing their thoughts of what the future might hold, Paul turned to Marie, with tears in his eyes, and whispered, Marie, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. If we continue seeing each other you will some day see just how utterly insecure I really am.

Marie slowly turned toward Paul and, cupping her hands beneath his downcast chin, she lifted his face to meet hers. Paul, I’m certain that in time you will realize just how secure you really are … not in circumstances, but in love.

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The rest, as they say, is history. Within the year Paul and his new bride embarked together on the journey of life that, fourteen years later, brought him to this point, sitting in a classroom of an aging seminary building in Stone Park, Illinois. As he slowly allowed his gaze to drift across the faces of his classmates the question was once again placed before the stilled crowd. Are you in need of forgiveness?

Forgiveness! Paul shouted out in his mind. Of course I need forgiveness! We all need forgiveness for something! But how is that possible? And what does that really mean? As he pondered this issue he remembered an event from his early childhood, a time when he had witnessed the restorative power of reconciliation that can only be experienced through forgiveness.

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Paul’s mother and father seemed to have a somewhat typical marital relationship. Dad worked a fulltime job while mom stayed home, caring for the house and three energetic children. His sister, Joy, was just a year his junior, while his brother, Jimmy, arrived in the world just short of Paul’s seventh birthday. He loved his family and, while he cared deeply for his little pre-school aged brother, Paul had a most special relationship with Joy. If there were ever kindred spirits amongst siblings, he and his sister enjoyed that bond. Although they had their share of spats, Paul and Joy frequently shared their innermost fears with one another.

One summer evening, Paul had awakened to the sound of quarreling in the living room of the family’s little two-bedroom home. These moments, though not constant, were frequent enough for the grip of anxiety to seize this ten-year-old youngster. He listened to the muffled sounds of his father’s voice forcefully trying to drive home a point to his equally vocal mother. These moments always sent waves of nausea over Paul. As the exchange escalated he found himself inexplicably drawn to the top of the stairway, perhaps hoping that the sound of the creaking floorboards would draw attention to his presence and quell the argument. But the verbal assaults had grown in intensity and neither of his parents was aware of him as he perched on the top stair, shivering with fear. It was at that moment that his mother screamed out the words that still reverberated in Paul’s most disturbing memories.

Go ahead, he heard his mother sob, shoot!

The shock of the statement was more than he could bear. Paul peeked under the railing of the stairway to see his mother sitting in the dining room chair, her face swollen from crying. His father was standing next to her with a gun pointed at her head!

If it will make you feel better just kill me, his mother shouted. Go ahead! Do it!

Paul began to whimper, fearful to offer any more of a response, but the groaning which accompanied his tears came at a moment when an uncertain stillness hung in the air. The next thing he heard was his dad’s voice.

Paul! Come down here, his father commanded.

Paul nearly vomited.

Get down here right now!

Paul wasn’t certain if his legs would hold his weight, but he responded to his father’s command. Creeping down the carpeted stairs, convulsing under the spasms of grief that had gripped him, he approached the scene of the battle with more fear in his little heart than he had ever experienced in his short life.

Paul, who do you want to go with, your mother or me?

The question hit him like a punch in the gut. Was this really happening? Did his dad really just set before him the demand of choosing between his two parents? Was this the end of the family life which had become the only stability that Paul had ever known, such as it was? Paul didn’t know how to respond, so he simply stood, trembling uncontrollably and sobbing so hard he couldn’t catch his breath. His mother was quick to rescue him from the moment.

What’s wrong with you, she snapped at her husband. Can’t you see that he’s paralyzed with fear? Paul, go back to bed. Daddy and I will work this out.

Paul darted up the stairs like a bird just released from the bondage of its cage. He paused at his sister Joy’s bedroom, hearing the sounds of her own whimpering coming from behind the closed door. As he entered the room, his eyes adjusting to the shift from light to darkness, Paul saw his precious sister huddled under the protective canopy of her bedspread. The cover over her head was quivering, reflecting her body’s own reaction to the moment. All the boy could do at the moment was to crawl under the blanket and hold his little sister tightly.

It will be okay, Joy, he softly whispered. Don’t worry. Somehow we will get through this.

Once he felt Joy’s body begin to relax Paul kissed her on the forehead and returned to his own room, relieved to find his little brother snoring loudly in the upper bunk, apparently oblivious to the life-or-death drama which was unfolding in the room below him. Laying his head on the pillow, Paul quickly received the blessing of sleep, the type that often accompanies total emotional exhaustion.

The morning song of a robin in a nearby tree brought Paul back to consciousness. Slowly opening his swollen eyes his first impression was one of a strange, though uncertain peace. The sun had just begun its climb over Lake Michigan and his room was bathed in a surreal glow of orange and red. Paul remained motionless in his bed, allowing some semblance of life to return to his being. The events of only a few hours ago seemed like a somewhat distant nightmare and for a moment the nausea returned.

From his second floor bedroom he was able to see the driveway behind the house. On any normal weekday his father’s aged automobile would be gone by now. Paul was surprised to see the old Chevy still sitting in its resting place. His father must not have gone to work today. The possibilities began to flood his mind, fueled by the imagination of an adolescent boy. Was he going to descend the stairs to find his parents lying dead on the floor, victims of murder and suicide? As he pondered the possibilities, Paul once again started to experience a retching feeling deep within. The acidic substance that worked its way up his esophagus brought tears to his eyes. Slowly, fearfully, he crept down the stairway, unable to stand the suspense any longer.

Paul’s parents didn’t have a bedroom of their own. Once Joy had grown to a point of it being considered inappropriate for her to bunk with her brothers, mom and dad had sacrificed their comfort and privacy to give Joy her own room, and from then on spent their nights on a hide-a-bed in the living room. Perched on the same stair where he had held a horrific vigil only hours before, Paul slowly peered into the room, hoping with all his heart to see his parents sleeping on their makeshift bed, but fearful of the carnage that he might encounter.

Paul saw that the convertible sofa was unopened, adding more uncertainty to this already overwhelming moment. As he crept down the stairs, the aroma of coffee brewing began to bring an element of hope to Paul. But, still expecting to be confronted with some horror, Paul inched his way through the lower level of his home. He had to muster all the courage he could to round the corner into the kitchen, knowing this encounter must take place.

Sitting peacefully at the table was his mother. Her eyes, which instantly met with his, were still swollen from hours of crying, but she had a strange look of tranquility on her face. Rather than taking up his traditional position across the table from his wife, Paul’s dad was sitting next to his bride of eleven years, his arm wrapped around her as he sipped his coffee. The suspense was more than the boy could endure, but once again his mom offered the relief that he so desperately needed.

Paul, his mother began, your dad and I sat up the entire evening working out our problems. You don’t need to know everything that we discussed, but I want you to rest in the fact that we love each other. What happened last night was something very wrong, but we have forgiven each other for the hurt we allowed to surface.

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Thirty years later Paul was still asking himself how it was possible to forgive someone who, only moments before, had threatened to blow your brains out. His mom and dad had gone on to enjoy what appeared to be a time of relative bliss. Their actions toward one another, and toward their children, bore witness of some great change that had entered their relationship. Of course, Paul and his siblings were relieved to be in a home where a spirit of peace prevailed.

But something still gnawed at Paul, especially as he considered the question that continued to echo through the classroom. Are you in need of forgiveness? The leader of the session was unrelenting in his inquiry. As Paul relived those most traumatic of boyhood moments, he found a question beginning to bubble up from deep within. Certainly he had witnessed some type of relational miracle in the reconciliation of his parents. But what about him, and his sister? Weren’t they entitled to some level of apology for all the anguish that was dumped on them during that eventful evening? Needing forgiveness doesn’t just mean that we need to extend that condition to someone else. Doesn’t it include the condition of receiving it when we feel we’ve been wronged?

Paul thought back to a prayer that he had often recited during church services, but never really gave much consideration to.

"O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, Who are all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve with the help of Thy grace to confess my sins, to do penance, and to amend my life. Amen."

Early in his church life, this Act of Contrition, as it was called, had drawn Paul’s attention to the sinful state of his own existence. He had come to accept the undeniable fact that there was something deep within him that wanted to do the things he shouldn’t, and these things didn’t line up with some bigger plan, which he couldn’t define, but which stirred within him nonetheless. He was in a constant state of conflict. Paul did take issue with a part of the concept of forgiveness being brought forth in this prayer. He did not dread the loss of heaven, primarily because he had come to understand that nothing he could do could ever really separate him from God’s love—except for one thing.

He had heard a great many evangelists speak of accepting Christ as Lord and Savior, and certainly this condition needs to exist. But Paul had come to understand that more than an acceptance of this ultimate act of love, the rejection of it would be the only condition that could exclude him from Heaven. God wasn’t going to kick him out of the club, but he could choose to deny that the relationship even existed, thus excluding himself from the promise of eternal life in his kingdom.

The leader of the Chirp session slowly walked up to Paul’s table and stood motionless in front of him. Paul expected to hear this man espouse the condition of forgiveness that was seemingly embraced by the teachings of his church denomination and reflected in the prayer he so often quoted. But the instructor stooped down so that his face was level with Paul’s slightly raised head.

Gently, but firmly, the instructor asked, What does forgiveness mean to you, Paul?

With the recollection of that frightful evening on the stairs still fresh in his mind, Paul began to ponder what it was that he really expected forgiveness to look like. Certainly there was the aspect of knowing you had wronged someone, feeling regretful of that action, and asking the individual to consider it for what it was: a mistake, error in judgment or deliberate, but improper response to some condition. The term the church often used was contrition, but the word itself sounded more religious than descriptive. Paul knew that forgiveness was more than saying you are sorry.

Without the confidence that usually accompanies his verbal responses, Paul allowed his eyes to momentarily meet with his teacher’s and softly offered, I’ve been told that God is only willing to forgive us as we forgive others. That has always troubled me because it tells me that somehow, this whole thing goes much deeper than me simply asking God to forgive me for the sins which I confess to Him. If that is true, then there is some type of relationship that exists in forgiveness between God, others and me. And if that is also true, then complete forgiveness—total resolution—can only be realized when all three relational areas are satisfied. I can ask God to forgive me. That really isn’t very difficult. I can ask the person I’ve offended to forgive me. That’s a little harder, but still doable. I can even forgive myself for any momentary lapse in righteous living I may have had that contributed to the issue. But I can’t control the other person’s response. I can’t force them to realize the part which they may have played in bringing about a situation that demands reconciliation, and then stepping up to ask me to forgive them for their action, or lack of it.

A smile slowly spread across Paul’s teacher’s face. That’s amazing Paul! You seem to have a good grasp of the idea that forgiveness goes beyond an admission of guilt and that it is not remedied by a few moments in a church confessional. You have rightfully discerned that, rather than a momentary accounting for a misdeed, forgiveness is a relational matter involving God, you and your neighbor. But there is still one more aspect of forgiveness that you need to consider along with asking God’s forgiveness, your neighbor’s pardon, and your own reconciliation. Search deep inside yourself and ask the question, ‘What else is missing?’

As the teacher uncoiled himself from his stooped position in front of Paul, he directed his question to the entire assembly of now curious students. Paul has shared an understanding of forgiveness with you that is most accurate and relationally healthy, he stated, but I’m asking each of you the same question. What is still missing? Paul quickly scanned his memory banks in an attempt to recollect how he may have felt during previous times of reconciliation.

One of the greatest revelations he had ever received was a deep appreciation for what happened on the Cross of Christ. This happened during the Lenten season, as the church calls it. Paul and Marie had established a tradition of leaving their chilly, pre-spring Chicago-area home and driving to Florida for a week of rest and recreation with their three children. The evening before embarking on that long journey they sat together and watched a video entitled Jesus of Nazareth. With all the theatrics that Hollywood usually employs, and the church sometimes mimics, the movie portrayed Christ as a somber, mysterious man who roamed the countryside of Judea encountering pathetic people in need of His miracles. Paul remembers thinking that one of the most amazing things about this Jesus was that He never blinked; not once in the movie! The crucifixion scene was rather gruesome, as you might imagine, and Paul focused on this event throughout the drive to Cocoa Beach. His concept of Jesus had, for a long time, been limited to the agonized look on the face of a twisted figure hanging on a cross in the front of most every church he had ever entered into. Paul wasn’t sure how the hideous death of this man, claiming to be the Son of God, was able to relieve him of a judgment resulting in banishment to the fires of Hell. And although he was happy to accept the release from guilt that it provided him, Paul still found himself at an impasse in trying to understand it.

A few weeks before viewing the movie, Paul had been listening to a radio program as he drove home from work. The person being interviewed was an internationally renowned human rights worker who had recently returned from a very troubled area of the world. The missionary’s horrifying story was actually preceded by a warning to the parents of any young children who might be listening, advising them of some rather graphic descriptions which would follow. Of course this intrigued Paul. The missionary proceeded to paint a horrific picture. An invading guerilla army had entered a small village, killing nearly every one of the impoverished residents. Finding a young teenage girl alive, they tied this terrified child to a tree as a string of soldiers assembled, repeatedly raping her as her father and brother were forced to look on. Tiring of this inhuman sport, the commander dragged this little girl’s father before her and demanded he also rape her, or be executed. Of course the father refused to violate his daughter and he was immediately shot through the head. The son was then thrust before his sister with the same demand. For fear of his young life the boy succumbed to the soldier’s threats, but was still put to death in front of his nearly unconscious sibling. Before departing from the field of carnage a soldier was ordered to sever the little girl’s limbs, leaving her to die alone.

Paul had nearly wrecked his car as the tears flowed down his cheeks and he swerved to the side of the roadway. What a barbaric action! How could any human being commit such disgusting acts of cruelty? How could God stand by and seemingly turn his back on moments such as this? Regaining as much composure as possible, Paul’s mind formulated the question that had really gnawed on him for a considerable time. Screaming out loud in his car, with his fists pounding the steering wheel, Paul had looked toward the sky and sobbed, How is it possible that Jesus could have suffered any more than this precious child had? God, how can you tell me that your Son experienced a death any greater than this? The Romans didn’t rape him and the Pharisees didn’t cut his legs off! How can you tell me that Jesus’ death was the most horrendous action every undertaken by man?

Paul silently pondered that question as he navigated the big Chevy van down Interstate 75 toward the Florida state line. Marie and the kids were sleeping, as most people do in the middle of the night. But Paul had a strong dose of adrenaline pulsing through his veins as he gripped the steering wheel, and once again, though far less passionately, gritted his teeth and whispered, How is it possible?

Arriving at the hotel at mid-morning, Marie and the girls headed to the beach to collect shells while Paul entered the lobby to inquire if his tired family might check into their room a little early. The desk clerk took pity on his circumstance and allowed Paul to move into an older room adjacent to the parking lot, rather than facing the ocean as he had requested in his reservations. He was too tired to argue right now so Paul accepted the room key without comment and walked across the courtyard to his temporary home. Entering the room Paul didn’t even bother to close the door behind him. He simply walked to the bed and flopped down on the well-worn mattress, all the while mulling over the question that had accompanied him throughout the long drive, How is it possible?

As he drifted into a twilight sleep Paul became aware of something beginning to stir within him. More than a physical response to hunger, fatigue or distress, he turned his attention to trying to determine what was causing this agitation. The question upon his mind was becoming larger by the moment. How is it possible? This thought began to swell within him, just as Marie’s freshly mixed bread dough did under a towel on the countertop in her kitchen. Pressing with a greater intensity every moment, the unrest Paul experienced moved past the point of being an irritant and was rapidly becoming explosive. He began to groan as he rocked back and forth on the hotel bed, seeking to somehow soothe the pain that was growing within.

At the moment when Paul thought he might burst open, he sensed the presence of another being, not within the room, but having an immediate influence on him nonetheless. Without a conscious effort on his part, the consuming question began to assimilate in his spirit: What was the real suffering of the cross?

Just as mysteriously Paul sensed an answer being offered: It goes beyond your ability to understand, Paul!

At that precise instant he saw an image of someone he had a relationship with many years before. This person had caused Paul a considerable amount of pain. In retaliation for his hurt, Paul had taken some desperate measures to inflict his own wounds on his perceived offender. The details of his actions began to play out before him, but this time they were not presented as a justifiable response; they were seen for the destructive power that they actually held. Paul witnessed the far-reaching impact his attack on this solitary person had had, and how many other people in the world were also affected by the venom he had unleashed in his time of self-righteous fury. He saw his offender standing before him weeping, and others doing the same. There were children looking toward him with hopelessness in their eyes, looks of terror on their little faces. All of these frightful images were being directly tied to the act of hate which Paul, in his time of pain and his need to be justified, had inflicted upon this one individual.

The physical response which Paul’s body experienced to this revelation was more than enough to jolt him up out of bed. In his entire life Paul had never known such nausea, fear and hopelessness. In a moment he had witnessed, within his human spirit, the overwhelming affect of this one act of sin. He collapsed on the floor of the little hotel room and began sobbing.

What have I done, he cried. Why did I do that?" Holding his knees with his hands, he began rocking back and forth on the carpeted floor, alternating between groaning and crying.

Stillness suddenly came over him and, once again, Paul felt another force within him beginning to stir. Submitting to this presence, he allowed his spirit to absorb what was being presented.

"What you just experienced, Paul, was a small amount of the result which your single act of sin had upon the world. Your acts of hate, no matter how seemingly justified, never simply rest