Turining Point Church

Poor Ollie knew he’d been hit with something uniquely awful. On leaning down to get a closer look, I found that he’d been sprayed in the face, which burned his eyes and made him sneeze so much I feared he might wheeze his brains out. He began rubbing his nose into our rug before it dawned on me that whatever he touched transferred the vile smell, leaving it wafting from the floor like some horrific cologne.

Did I mention this happened at around midnight? Stores closed. No one to call. What to do? I remembered hearing something about soaking the victim of a skunk in tomato paste, of which we had none. By now the entire house was reeking with the revolting, omnipresent smell. Ollie stood there looking like Pepe Lepew. Skunked he was! The only real solution at hand was to take him out back (first checking thoroughly for the original perpetrator) and shampooing him down within an inch of his life. Looking like a drowned and somber rat, we brought his little bed into the living room, closed the door, and let him seriously ponder the consequences of having lunged at a skunk.

Ollie’s experience brings to mind a man I once met while conducting an evangelistic outreach in a popular Dallas park one hot summer day. I was there with a band, ready to play some fully amped up music, after which I was to step to the mike and bring a gospel message. I was nervous, having never done anything quite like this before. Enough people were milling around to attract a pretty good sized crowd. What if I bored them? Or they walked away after realizing what I was saying?

Joe approached right about then. “Whatcha up to?” he asked with a mischievous sort of smile on his face.  Joe was an older man, bald, sharp featured, and short. He sported large, brown eyes with big, bushy eyebrows that furrowed down when he wasn’t smiling, making you wonder if he was mad or just studying you in a scrutinizing kind of way. I told him we were there to play some songs and share the gospel. “Want a sno-cone?” he suddenly asked. Just the ticket!  “Sure,” I said, as we began strolling toward the sno-cone stand on the other side of the park.
So Joe, are you a member of a church? I asked, trying to find some common ground with him. It was here that I encountered a skunk of a different kind—the skunk of an offense. “I don’t go to church!” Joe shot back. Realizing I’d stepped on a land mine, I asked quietly “Why not?” From there I heard the story of Joe and his former pastor locking horns in a hot disagreement. Incredibly, the spat had ended with blows. Ouch!

Ever the restorative type, I thought that maybe I could get Joe and the pastor together and    mediate the situation. “Where is your pastor now?” I ventured to ask. “I don’t know!” Joe retorted again, his eyes spitting venom. Then the bomb. “I haven’t seen him in 24 years!”  Twenty four years!

Standing there speechless, the truth of it all washed over me like a tidal wave. Joe had been “skunked” by an offense twenty four years before, and it had sucked the spiritual life out of him like a spiritual vampire. He had not darkened the door of a church in all that time. His spiritual potential had been dwarfed. His adult life was defined, not by Jesus, but by an offense. A spiritual tragedy stood before me.

My encounter with Joe lingered like skunk spray long after he was gone.  A lifelong message burned itself into my soul that day. Never allow an offense to have longer than a 24 hour shelf life. No person, place or thing is worth the heavy toll of an unsettled offense.  The best time to  forgive is quickly. Even if you don’t feel it (and you usually won’t) you can say it. Let the offender go. Give him or her to God. Focus on the brightness of your future, not the offenses of your past. God will help you do it! “And “don’t sin by letting anger control you.” Don’t let the sun go down while you are still angry.”   —Ephesians 4:26