My prior post about
Blue Like Jazz touched on how the author had used love as a commodity--giving it out if others proved themselves deserving, withholding it otherwise (and even attempt to change others by communicating disapproval, etc). He was transformed when he shifted to just loving people. When he observed his friend changing in this new loving atmosphere, he didn't care--his friend's change was not his responsibility to watch and determine.
Last night after midnight, I went for a walk. I'd just had a great discussion with my sister Joanne and her husband Scott, being reminded of some spiritual truths that I wanted to solidify in my heart and mind. I went for a walk at the high school around the corner, a place I've oft used for walks.
On my way back across the big school parking lot, I noticed a car crawling along, headlights off. Cops. I continued my slow pace out of the parking lot and was nearly to the sidewalk when I heard one call out to me. He asked me to come back, asked me what I was up to. I was part way back when I gently commented that "I just had a conversation with my sister and her husband and was praying about stuff." "Can you stop right there, sir?" I'd reached some magical point that was still fairly far from them but clearly too close for whatever kind of person I was. That was the first point of feeling that cloud of suspicion.
"So, you were out praying?" "Yeah." I started to slip my hands in my pockets out of habit, and he said, "Sir, could you please keep your hands out of your pockets?" More of the cloud.
"Can I see your id?" I got out my driver's license, and one cop took that back to the car, watchful. More cloud. The other asked if I had any drugs, weapons. So, the basic check-him-out discussion. "Could you please sit right there?" I sat down on the curb. I heard the cop over by the squad car saying my name into the radio mic. (Ever tighten up when you're cruising safely down the road and the notice a cop right behind you? You know you didn't do anything wrong, but you wonder if they're just going to find something wrong.)
The cop remaining nearby looked like a pleasant guy. I knew I didn't have anything to worry about. Why not strike up conversation? I asked how tonight rated--busy or uneventful? We talked about the schools they check out; we talked about the location of the schools, about whether he grew up in the area. So, I filled the time with a little chatter. Eventually, the other cop approached again. "Do I win any prizes?" I called out with a silly smile. "Am I a legal resident?" Yeah, I was fine. He offered a courteous, "Sorry about the inconvenience" and a thanks, and I was on my way. They were decent guys, mind you, and they were doing their job with care. I have respect for them, for their service. I'm glad they checked me out as part of keeping our area safe. I thanked God for them, in that regard.
Love isn't what the cops are there for. Their message wasn't "We like you; pardon us while we go through the motions to clear up a question in our mind." No, they approached me with suspicion. I was on school property, wearing a black leather coat and sporting a goatee. Trouble comes in packages that look more pleasant than me. They keep an eye out for things that look questionable. They have their approach for confirming trouble. It's their job to investigate. So, I got to "go along for the ride" and deal with the questioning, the check-me-out. I couldn't help but notice the atmosphere of "You are trouble until we say otherwise."
A simple reminder of how others feel when I displace love with distrust and judgement.
If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don't love, I'm nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate. If I speak God's Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, "Jump," and it jumps, but I don't love, I'm nothing. If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don't love, I've gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I'm bankrupt without love.
Love never gives up. Love cares more for others than for self. Love doesn't want what it doesn't have. Love doesn't strut, doesn't have a swelled head, doesn't force itself on others, isn't always "me first," doesn't fly off the handle, doesn't keep score of the sins of others, doesn't revel when others grovel, takes pleasure in the flowering of truth, puts up with anything, trusts God always, always looks for the best, never looks back, but keeps going to the end.
Tall order. Do others feel free to put their hands in their pockets when I'm around?
