BY SOPHIE BERECZ
HE PHONE RANGE IN THE MIDDLE OF my nap. Why wasn't there a snooze button on it like the one I had swatted on the alarm clock a half hour before? "Sorry," my friend Tisha said, sounding alarmingly cheerful, "we'll be five to 10 minutes late."
The clock glared 5:00 p.m. Time to leave for the wedding. "Oh no! I just woke up!" I stuttered, flustered from sleepiness.
"Uh-oh, better hurry," Tisha said.
I hung up the phone, the ticking truth almost paralyzing me. Since my husband was busy as a groomsman, I'd had nearly six hours that afternoon to spend at the hotel. Six hours was like money in my pocket. No more rushing, catching planes, or making plans. Six hours responsibility-free, just for me.
But like money in my pocket, it disappeared too quickly. I read by the pool and splashed around, sunbathed, and relaxed. After I'd asked my friend to pick me up at 5:00, I'd meandered into my hotel room, sticky from suntan lotion, set my alarm, and promptly fallen asleep. "One more minute," I told myself when the alarm buzzed. "I'm so tired."
Then the telephone rang. Panic-stricken, I leaped up, showered at the speed of a water-skimmer, and stopped, bewildered, in front of the open closet, where two outfits hung. No time to debate. The knock came while I was still frantically trying to look as if I was attending a wedding instead of gym class. My friends, dressed in short summer dresses, grinned sympathetically. "I'm coming," I yelped. "I should have worn my other dress," I moaned. We were off a bit late, but while my heart rate settled down, my mind raced as quickly as the car.
A Scary Thought
This is how it's going to be when Jesus comes, the thought warned me. I'm going to be almost ready, dozing, still needing about "a half hour" more to really feel ready. But just like now, it will be too late. In my mind I could see the 10 sleepy virgins from the parable, trying to start their lamps, five of them unsuccessful. My friends and I reached the wedding just in time, and I left the allegorical virgins back in the car to fight over their oil. But I sneaked some of that worry with me. I wondered how much oil I had in reserve.
As a Christian, I know the lamp-trimming message of buying extra oil, keeping the Holy Spirit in my life. I know the need to stay ready, because Jesus will surprise us like a thief in the night. As an Adventist, I've had my lamp trimmed with end-time prophecies as well, and sometimes, I hate to admit, I snuff those warnings out. On a plane I barely hear the flight attendants' routine safety instructions anymore: the seat belt, the air mask, the seat cushion. "If you go down, you don't have much chance anyway," someone told me, their observation jibing with my attitude toward this major crisis. There's nothing I can do to get ready except to accept Jesus as my Savior daily, have a relationship with Him, and trust Him to get me through whatever happens. He is the only lifeboat, period.
Yet isn't there something else I can do to avoid feeling flustered? Ultimately most of us feel unprepared when a personal crisis comes. We don't expect it. Just so for a spiritual or world crisis. We have to depend on Jesus and how He brings us through the life we're living right now, our mini times of trouble. But there is something else that I feel would make me more prepared, something I can be doing now that will help my faith, both present and future. But first, another story.
He Wanted to Talk
Several years ago, while single, I sat on a flight next to a young psychiatrist. I had recently sworn off conversations with single men on airplanes, but since my seatmate wanted to talk, I told him I taught at a Seventh-day Adventist boarding school. He wanted to know more about our faith.
I breathed a prayer and drew him a picture on my airplane napkin. It was a rough sketch of the Hebrew tabernacle. I briefly explained the ancient sanctuary and its purpose, and then, since I stored my Bible in my carry-on bag, I opened to Daniel 8:14 and explained to him the time prediction that ended in 1844. From there came the beginning of the Advent movement and the beginning of the end-time. With more focus on Bible prophecies, new light grew on these studying Christians, and they began to challenge the accepted traditions of Christianity, coming to new conclusions. I've never shared it this way before, I thought.
"I've never met anyone who knew the Bible like this," he said.
If he only knew what a klutz I'd been. I winced inside—I don't know my Bible, not as I should. I'd stumbled around, I couldn't explain my Bible texts thoroughly, and I couldn't detail all the time prophecies that he was so curious about. The Holy Spirit gives us the words we need at the times we need them, I believe. Still, He could use only the information I'd stored from some previous learning.
"I don't care about knowing all that Bible information," a friend confided at a worship group one Friday night. "As far as the ‘why' and knowing the texts, I would rather just believe them than study for myself. I hate reading the Bible, because it bores me."
It struck me for the first time that there are many Christians who love the Lord but who hate to read, who don't feel the need to know what they believe, who will splash at ease in the shallows of scriptural understanding. I can't judge them. How many times have I secretly felt the same? Is the Savior a savior of only those who love to read, of only those who've learned to cherish the Bible?
Still, these experiences haunt me. There are some things that I'm too lazy about to ingrain into myself, despite my good intentions. One day I will memorize the entire New Testament. One day I will memorize all the texts on the state of the dead. One day I will be able to explain with pastoral accuracy, better than the clumsy attempt on the plane, the reason for my hope. "One day" may never come.
For me, the answer to keeping unflustered lies somewhere between fanaticism and apathy. But it's a middle ground that is far from lukewarm. It would make me feel more prepared for answering the airplane questions, for standing when the world collapses under me, or for waiting for the wedding feast. To me, a fanatic is someone who is obsessed by something, a calorie-counter of life, to the extent of leaving life unbalanced. Knowing my Bible well and memorizing the texts and references where I can find a promise or an explanation is the antithesis of being unbalanced. Living well grounded in my Bible gives me more freedom to open my mind and explore new ideas. Memorizing scripture will not save me, but this mental discipline will strengthen my mind, and the promises retained will encourage me to keep committed through the rough.
We admire people such as H.M.S. Richards and the Waldenses, who memorized great portions of the Bible. Too much work, I've thought. But I know better. My mother taught me entire psalms, entire chapters of the Bible, through song when I was only a child. I didn't realize I was doing hard work. When I left home, I stopped memorizing, except for school assignments. I figured I'd remember enough secondhand or through a daily dipping into the Word. But I'm starting to feel it's not enough. If I wait for hard times to plant God's words in my heart, then I will miss my chance. There may be only a small harvest to supply my hunger. I don't want to be wistful then. I want that confidence and joy now.
Stay Awake, Stay in Tune
I made it to the wedding on time. One of my friends, Paula, didn't. She trusted her ride to get her to the wedding, but she discovered that he didn't know the directions. They'd driven 20 miles beyond the wedding site before they called someone for help. They eventually arrived for the reception. When Jesus comes, neither Paula nor I will be so lucky if we still pull our stunts of oversleeping or being without directions. Staying awake by staying in tune with God will find me ready, and hiding His words in my heart will find me unflustered when the knock comes.
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