IF ONLY

I heard a story once about a man who was walking along the shore of the ocean. He came across an entire beach, filled with starfish, who had been washed up.

I think about that story all the time, when I am overwhelmed to the point of tears, in this Nobody life. Only in my mind’s eye, it looks a little different:

I see Bill and me, hand in hand, walking along the beach. We come across these little starfish, washed up on the shore and IMMEDIATELY start picking them up and chucking them in the ocean. Only with every wave that hits the shore, more starfish get washed up. So we look at each other, take off our jackets, and start to scoop as many as we can in our jackets to get more than one back into the ocean. We are frantic and overwhelmed. I stop for a second to wipe the sweat from my brow and get a glimpse of what is behind me, on the beach.  

There was a resort, with lots of bling and glamour. Cabanas lined up near the building. Servers bringing drinks and food to the people lying in the sun, with their Coach Sunglasses and Nordstrom swimsuits. They each had recliners and umbrellas to shade them if the sun got to hot. They were all reading a book, although I could not make out what book it was. The wood plank path led to the resort so no one would burn their feet on the hot sun. Music was playing and people raised their hands up to the heavens.

Splash! A wave hit my feet and I came back to the task at hand. Bill yelled, “Did you see that up there?” “Yes!” I yelled back, and kept scooping up the Starfish in my jacket to throw as many into the ocean as I could. The sun set and left a majestic glow on the water. Diamonds danced on the surface as the waters began to calm. We were exhausted, but saw that NOW was the time, when we could get more Starfish into the ocean, because the calm waters were no longer throwing Starfish onto the shore.

My muscles aches and I was hungry. I wanted to run to the resort and ask for some water, but the urgency of getting the Starfish into the water was greater than my thirst. So we kept going, Bill and I. A man in uniform started walking up to us, as the Starfish were being hurled into the air, reflecting the moonlight and splashing into the safety zone of the ocean.

“You can’t be here,” he said sternly, “the resort is closed.”

Bill stopped, walked up to the man, looked at the resort, looked at the shoreline and said, “The resort does not own the shoreline, no one does. We can be here as long as we want.”

“Well that may be, but you our making our guests feel uncomfortable.” He replied.

“Uncomfortable?” I asked. “Are you kidding me, they are in total comfort, having everything handed to them on a silver platter. What could we possibly be doing to make them feel uncomfortable?”

“Well,” he said sheepishly, “You are working and helping those Starfish and it is making them feel, well, guilty, I guess, because they are trying to relax and enjoy themselves.”

“But these little ones are dying!” Bill said heartbroken.

“Well that is not our problem,” the man in uniform said irritated at our resolve.

“And their discomfort is not our problem either,” Bill said and picked up a Starfish and threw it into the water.

I laughed hysterically, and gathered more Starfish into my jacket and threw them into the water. Adrenaline filled our beings and food and water were no longer a necessity. The man in uniform threatened to have us removed and hurled insults at us for wanting to help these little Starfish. The more he said, the more resolve overwhelmed us. All night we worked, knowing soon the sun would rise and so would the waves that hurl the Starfish onto the shore.

The sun began to rise and I could see that we had made an evident dent in those Starfish stranded on the beach. A smile crept onto my face and my body ached with great tension. In the background I could hear faint voices begin to rise into the air. I turned to see the resort and people filing out of their rooms and onto the beach. One by one they positioned their Egyptian cotton towels on the lounges, and sat down to enjoy the view, that we were obstructing. Again they began to read the same book and servers came around and brought them food and drink while they sat there, fat and lazy.  Bill walked over to me and said, “Can you believe these people? They see that all these Starfish are about to die, they see us, by ourselves, trying to help, but they do nothing!”

“Oh, they do something,” I said. “They grumble and complain that we are making them feel uncomfortable. They are irritated that we are obstructing their view of the ocean. They indulge in all the comforts and won’t even lift a finger to help, but expect others to serve them.”

Before the last word came out of my mouth, music began to play, and just like the day before, all the people started to raise their hands to the heavens. Bill and I looked at each other and started laughing, “What the hell is this place?” Bill scanned the resort to try to make out the name. There, on the top of the resort in sparkly letters spelled out the name:

My heart sank, but… but… they are Christians… was my thought. I realized that the book they were all reading was the Bible, and the music was Praise and Worship. The servers were the pastors, feeding them on a silver platter and the resort was the building, American Christians call the “The Church.” The expensive, lavished lifestyle was neatly packaged in what “The American Church” calls Christianity. Not wanting to move outside of their comfort zone, frustrated with people who ask them to, and uncomfortable with people who do what the Bible says, right in front of them. Putting their time and money into a resort (the building) and expecting the paid parishioners to feed them on a platter, because that is their job, right?

Bill and I looked at the fat and lazy “American Church” and said, “IF ONLY!” If only they would help. If only they would get up and get their hands dirty. If only they would feel uncomfortable for Jesus. If only they would partake in the sufferings of Christ, so that just ONE life could be saved from eternal damnation. IF ONLY. If only the pastors would stop building their own kingdoms on earth and magnify God’s kingdom instead. If only the church would rise up and be who God created them to be in Romans 12, walking in their redemptive gifts and practice their spiritual gifts in 1 Corinthians 12. IF ONLY. If only we had the proper tools to scoop up all these Starfish. If only we had more people to help us. If only we had some support and encouragement. IF ONLY.

The waves started breaking on the shore and more Starfish began to be coughed up by the sea. We gave each other a high five, took a deep breath, and took the simple tools we had: a jacket, a willing heart, and our love for Jesus; and started at it again. IF ONLY half of these Starfish make it back into the safe zone of the ocean… that is still half that will live.

So we got to work, only this time there was a joy in our exhaustion, splashing in the water and a spring in our step. We do not have the title or fancy clothes or servants like those on the beach, we are just NOBODY’s trying to make a difference in the lives of other NOBODY’S, so that they will be will see themselves as a SOMEBODY.