fragrance

 

It took him about two minutes to get up and out of the wooden bench. His whole body trembled as he gripped the sides of the bench. He struggled and moans seemed to be coming from his muscles rather than his mouth. As I approached him for assistance he sternly shrugged me off. Walking across the parking lot, we must have angered passing motorists due to our snail like pace. He was focused on walking and to keep from getting distracted, he counted from 1 to 100.

His stench was indescribable. I had been in the Middle East at the beginning of the Iraqi War and went over a month without taking a shower. We slept in the dirt and didn’t change our clothes, but the way we smelled differed from his stench. This smell can only be produced by a sick man drenched in sweat and the sewage he slept in night after night. His left hand was frozen in place; not quite a fist but closed tightly enough to hold a ten dollar roll of quarters. His right arm was bent - almost impossible to straighten due to the pain. His upper back had failed him and now a pinched nerve or a slipped disc shot pain down his entire right side. His hand began to swell and by the time I got to him, it was the size of a small boxing glove.

We made our way to Wal-Mart to get a set of new clothes and some food. He insisted on staying in the car because of the pain. After purchasing some jeans, t-shirts, underwear, and socks we made our way to my place for a shower. During the ride, he began to let his story unfold. Though obviously mentally ill or suffering from some type of post traumatic stress, his story was clear. A once vibrant and strong man, he worked as a re-fueler at the Dallas Airport. He drove sophisticated vehicles as well. Although he didn’t admit being educated, the words and grammar that left his mouth came from a man who had had college level instruction.

Entering my place, the sweet fragrance that Amy ensures contrasted sharply with his stench. He sat on a small wooden chair that leaned up against the wall. He was tired and accepted my offer for lunch. I would have expected him to inhale his meal but his disabilities prevented him from eating properly. I prepared the shower for him and walked him across the hall into the bathroom. He needed help.

I unbuttoned his thick, hooded jacket (this is what he wore no matter how hot it was outside). He couldn’t take it off because of his inability to bend his arms properly. I removed his shoes. I had to cut his shirt off because it had shrunk so tightly that his head could not go through the opening. I cut his pants as well. My experience as a nurse prepared me for the task at hand. I think I would’ve thrown up had it not been for that. He took his time underneath the comfortable water and tried his best to properly soap himself. He couldn’t get his hands to his head to utilize the shampoo. Later, I found out that he couldn’t take his socks off so he showered with them on. I cut them off afterwards and had him air out his feet (I’ll spare you the details). We dressed him and left for the barber shop.

The hair clippers slowly transformed the familiar face before me. It was like unveiling a valuable painting on its opening night. This friend had refined features that gave him a distinguished look. His beard was so thick that I hadn’t noticed even the color of his eyes. They were a beautiful blue. Surprisingly, he had straight, intact, and white teeth. His smile spanned the length of the room. Getting up and out of the chair, my heart beat faster than usual and I was taken aback at this new man. God is so good.

At the doctor’s office, we watched Home Improvement. He was mesmerized. His laugh was contagious and his smile brought me to a place of peace. As I spoke to the nurse about him I observed him leaning to his side to talk to Amy. It was hard to believe that he was homeless. We made a pact that he would visit me at my place once a week to shower and to launder his clothes and in turn, he would tell me stories. I love this guy.

We can’t help everyone… I know that. There are people who will do whatever it takes to take advantage of you and rip you off. I know that from personal experience as well. But the Bible talks a great deal about the poor… especially those who are within the church. Though this man doesn’t set foot in the church during service (he doesn’t want to anger anyone), he is a believer. He is a part of the church. In the New Testament, whenever Jesus or Paul tells us to take care of the poor, he always refers to our brothers and sisters (For a theological treatise, refer to the blogsite).  The Bible tells us a lot about helping people within the Church – not to be confused with the building.

What does it mean to bear one another’s burden’s? Does it mean to put up with each other… does it mean that we merely accept each other’s faults and try hard to not let it get to us? I believe that it has a lot to do with working hard to take care of each other. I see people at New Song doing this all the time. They’ve helped this individual with food before and have spent countless hours talking to him. On behalf of this friend, I thank all of you who, according to him, “…changed my heart.”

Edwin Samson

Holy Indigestion

Los Angeles County has churches on almost every block.  The closer you get to downtown the more likely you will run into some type of Baptist church (usually with a congregation averaging below 100 members).  A couple of years ago, Justin and I went on a journey to gather just a brief glimpse of the transient life on the streets of LA.  Along this journey we passed by and stopped at several churches, none of which had the sensibility to offer any assistance.  Who can blame them?  The homeless population is in the tens of thousands while the needy families overwhelm even that statistic. Still, I expected to find at least one place of refuge… sadly, the stereotypical comfort of a warm church was nowhere to be found.  

I have been commuting to Pasadena for almost a year now (home of Fuller Theological Seminary’s main campus).  Currently, I embark on my travels twice a week.  Not surprisingly, my walk from the campus to the subway is riddled with churches.  There are literally churches on every block of my walk.  However, the difference from downtown LA to Pasadena is the quality of the buildings.  Many of them are majestically built.  I don’t know how Pasadena regulates their building codes but every building is beautiful… even the YMCA’s sobriety housing is magnificently constructed.  I just took my final exam and had plenty of time to spare so I decided to step foot into one of the more beguiling Episcopal churches. 

As I pushed open the gorgeous oak doors, the sights and smells took me back to my days as a Catholic alter boy.  The whole church was lit up with candles and track lighting.  The chandeliers were made in a medieval fashion.  There wasn’t a single sound to be made besides the thud of my boots and the clicking of my bag’s zippers.  As I walked down the side isle I let me hands pass over the wooden pews.  The setting of the sun made for an extravagant image as my eyes focused on the stained glass windows.  Coming upon the wooden pulpit, which was slightly elevated and made of the finest oak, I imagined myself giving a dry homily putting the entire service to sleep.  Then I knelt down at the foot of their humungous alter.  I wasn’t sure if that was okay, but hey, no one was looking. 

A feeling suddenly overwhelmed me deep in my gut.  Was it the Holy Spirit?  Was God trying to soften my hardened heart (I was angry because someone ran a red light and almost ran me over.  I wanted to cuss)?  What supernatural thing was happening to me?  Was I having a second baptism of the Holy Spirit?  After minutes of shear nervous anxiety I burped.  Oh… I had indigestion because of the unmicrowaveable pizza I microwaved and ate.  Alas, much like the run-down Baptist churches of downtown LA, I didn’t find what I was looking for…comfort.  

The Bible calls the Holy Spirit our “paraclete,” or comforter.  I realized that no building could bring the comfort I had been searching for.  Church is not a building… it is a body of believers.  When that body is not present or functioning as it should, then the Holy Spirit is not residing in its Holy Temple (You, His people) in a manner that can express itself with the power of Christ’s love.  Sometimes we get in the way. 

Almost always, what I’m searching for has already been found.  The Bread of Life ranks up there with Hawaii or Baghdad (j/k) as a place to visit.  Seriously, every time I enter that building many of my worries, distractions, and problems seem to vanish.  Actually, I know that what’s really happening is the overwhelming feeling of Jesus’ love that emanates from the homeless individuals who attend.  I am privileged to be on their preaching staff and feel blessed that they consider me a dear friend. It is a run down building with just enough space to feed over a hundred homeless people.  Behind the pulpit (a music stand) you will find the most stunning painting of Jesus and His disciples.  One of the homeless guys, Rasta, painted it.  When a group of believers come together to worship God in total and complete dependence, one can’t help but explode with joy.  Either that or you’ll break down and cry… still with a sense of wondrous joy. 

Who am I that God would allow me to experience such sensations?  God is good and he utilizes, as the Bible and Roy would say, the foolish to confound the wise.  I am constantly dumbfounded with the fact that I don’t need to search for the comfort of the Holy Spirit.  It’s already there… I just need to let my stereotypes, presuppositions and… my indigestion get out of the way. 

Edwin Samson

 

 

An Apology to You

As I sit on this carved stone slab overlooking luscious grass and a naturally adorned purple-leafed tree, I am drawn into some reflection time.  In the course of this day dream, I am suddenly drawn into a conversation, not of my own, with two similar people recounting their days of persecution in a closed country in East Asia.  I should’ve just pulled up a chair because of how enthralled I was of their tales evading authorities eager to spill blood.  I pictured them in the thick of some jungle, sweating and attempting to remain silent as their captors tirelessly searched for any sign of movement.  Then I imagined the journey they embarked to find a safe place of refuge.  How exciting!

Much like the vintage houses that pepper the campus (acting as office buildings and classrooms) of Fuller Theological Seminary these men were not what they seem.  As they walked away from me I observed the refined swagger of professionally clothed individuals.  Two professors, walking side by side, unknown to the rest of the world that they had endured torture, observed death, and rejoiced in freedom for our Lord Jesus Christ.  Their experience and training landed them a seat at Fuller’s missions department and it was time for them to instruct budding missionaries committed to serving the Lord.

My previous post narrated an incident that occurred some days ago regarding one of our displaced brothers, Bill.  This post is an apology for those that I have offended.  I withheld my desire to delete it in order to bring justice to those whom I irritated and to show that I was truly remorseful. Even though I wrote it, I didn’t know that that particular post led members of my community to feel like they were being portrayed as faithless bystanders.  I don’t blame them for feeling that way.  That was not my intent and it is my fault for neglecting various perspectives.  I publicly apologize to you all.  I am a disciple committed to loving, not hating.  I took it upon myself to condemn when such a task can only be attributed to the Holy Spirit.  We are a community that stands in solidarity against the forces of Satan and the last thing I want to do is to create strife and division.  My love for the Body of Christ will eventually lead to a death I gladly accept.  My love is great because I daily drown in the ecstasy of God’s AGAPE.  So, please, forgive me. 

The professors I mentioned earlier pour out their knowledge and experience to students.  Their hope is to transform lives in the service of the Kingdom of God.  They teach in a particular manner because of those experiences.  My experiences form my actions, words, desires, and thoughts.  Please bear with me as I address this.

Each moment of my life is assessed with presuppositions and spiritual gifts that ultimately guide my choices.  There are reasons why I reacted so harshly (though not justifiably) when I heard just one account of the incident that ensued regarding Bill.  I see despair and destruction, not only in the news, but in the lives of people I encounter everyday.  I know, as many of you know, the devastating impact of drugs and depression.  I preach weekly in venues outside the walls of our church.  As the Holy Spirit moves through me, the face of my audience gradually transforms to that of Jesus Christ. I can’t prevent this.  There are times when I am brought to tears and the ache of my heart becomes so unbearable that I make attempts to escape.  Those are times when my efforts to help the disenfranchised are tireless.  I have seen much death in this world… I have caused death.  My life covers almost every sin in the Bible.  I have lost best friends in death and through infidelity.  I’ve traveled the world to experience life, only to come home reflecting on despair.  I ran away from home, from responsibility, from family for selfish reasons.  I was a block away when my mother was raped by a transient, and present to enact vigilante justice that put my dad in jail.  My experiences had hardened my heart at one point in my life.  Crying, showing emotion, and compassion were once absent.  Nothing could stop me from pulling a trigger and ending the lives of enemies… or the innocent for that matter… they were just numbers.  Jesus has changed my past and has married those experiences with the life I lead now.  Though I am dead to my old self, God still uses its void for the glory of his Kingdom. 

So when I respond the way that I do, sometimes I lack good judgment.  I live my life influenced by strong emotions.  Again, I’m not justifying anything; I am merely opening myself up to you who I love.  It is a painstaking battle to separate my emotions from the people and situations I encounter everyday. 

I encourage you to continue to love like there is no tomorrow.  Love those who hate you, take care of those who burden you, and worship the Almighty God who requires nothing but the surrender of your heart.  Grace and peace to you all. 

In the Name of Jesus Christ our Lord,

Edwin

Charlie’s Sermon

Inevitably, we encounter people in our lives that will make a remarkable impact on the way we approach our limited moments here on earth.  Certainly, I admire figures such as Martin Luther King Jr., Billy Graham,  Del Loy, Dallas Willard, and yes… even Jim Britts.  If someone were to ask me who has impacted my life the most these past couple of years, I would unquestionably proclaim the name Charlie MaGehee.  Let me explain.

For those of you who don’t know Charlie, he is our resident homeless friend.  He has an apparent mental disability.  Symptoms are expressed as follows: pacing the lobby pretending to be a kung fu ninja, talking non-stop… like really NONSTOP, responding to your questions in a seemingly coherent fashion - until of course he suddenly salutes you and ceases all movement until you salute him back.  The list goes on and on.  He’s been my friend for almost 2 and a half years now.  I agree with Jeanette when she describes him as “the most gentle and harmless man I’ve met.  He’s kinda like our mascot.”

Anyways, all that to speed you up to Charlie’s encounter with Bill.  Bill is another homeless man in his 50’s with a minor mental disability that no one would discover unless you spent time with him. He fits the profile of your stereotypical homeless dude.  The two of them talked for hours… about nothing… but apparently it was about something because they became good friends.  As I pulled Charlie away to drive him to his camp, he insisted on staying to take care of Bill.  Evidently, Charlie sensed that Bill needed more help than the average homeless guy.  I assured him that all would be fine.

I left for Mississippi a few days later.  One day I received a call from Sandy Flores.  She stumbled upon Bill who was in a condition of utter helplessness.  He couldn’t walk because of the condition of his feet.  Though some people came to help, when all options seemed out of reach, the priority that came to be was the church service.  This man was sprawled out on the pavement next to the church driveway from the beginning of the second Sunday service to the last service at 7pm.  As everyone but Sandy left to conduct and participate in the final service, Bill writhed in pain but kept his wits (and apparently his pride) and wanted nothing more than to burden his companion.  All this occurred just a few feet from the church doors.  

Charlie has taught me patience.  He’s taught me how to love those that burden you.  Most importantly, he’s taught me to see everyone in the eyes of Jesus Christ, especially the least of His brothers.  Though he lives in a state of poverty and loneliness, Charlie’s mental disabilities have not been enough of an obstacle to mar his gift of mercy.  As each and every wealthy church member passed Bill to experience God in a church service, they’ve completely forgotten who they are in Christ.  God was out there waiting to be loved on.  If you don’t believe me reference Matthew 25: 31-40.  I am greatly disappointed in the action that my fellow church members have taken… that is - no action at all.  

How can we thrust our arms into the air and close our eyes as we belt out melodies of worship in a heated or air conditioned room while a homeless man struggles to literally get on his feet?  What’s worse… he needed help to find a bush to sleep in (not a room, not a handout, not even money).  He just needed a companion to help him.  Sometimes, even in the midst of an awe-inspiring worship session, we have to wonder… is our faith dead? (James 2:14-17)

Edwin Samson

Work and Peace

The faded white paint that was brushed haphazardly throughout the exterior of the barn gave away its age… old. I’d never seen a real barn before, except in the movies. Directly in front of the barn stood a makeshift greenhouse protecting seedling watermelons and artichokes. The sound of a saw cutting real oak wood drowned out everything Bob was trying to teach me regarding the essentials of farming. Just outside this greenhouse, a Marine was constructing the frame of his very own bed. As I toured the grounds, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace like I’ve never felt before. The tomato crops and the beautiful trees that peppered the land made wonderful targets for the sun to shoot its rays at. God was here… God is everywhere, but this particular parcel was especially blessed.

Adjacent to the Mission San Luis Rey is a large piece of land. This land exists to provide peace, therapy, and love to military members who have been affected by posttraumatic stress. John sat under one of the trees putting PVC piping together to help irrigate the crops. I learned that we served in Iraq together during the same tour, just under different units. Out of the corner of my eye, I paid attention to 9-year old Chase. He was searching for the right type of wood to assemble his birdhouse. I was afraid he’d ask me to make it for him, and my knack for being creative with wood does not exist. I didn’t want his view of me as his mentor to be tarnished, so I picked up a piece of lumbar and started to cut it… you know, to act all manly and such. I wish he watched me do it, but instead he was playing with the tiny little dog that protected the area.

There’s something about working with your hands that brings great peace. Even in the midst of back breaking, sweat producing, blister making work, I have never felt better than when I had been exerting effort to accomplish a task. I think God built us that way and in order for these Marines to recuperate properly, this seems to be part of the process. One day, a Marine came by to see one of the ministers. He wanted to end his life and “there was nothing anyone could do about it,” he warned. After spending some time gazing at the live picture painted by God in the form of luscious leaves and green grass, and after taking in the distinct aroma of wood chippings, he fell in love. He helped to take care of the dog, built a fence, and worked with the vegetation. Needless to say, he didn’t end his life. In fact, he moved to New York and is doing quite well.

God is present everywhere. Certainly, relationships with others help us to realize who we are in God’s eyes. However, there are moments when God paints pictures for us and draws us to the realization that we are valuable. He does this by immersing us in His creation.

~ Edwin Samson

Packing Rice, Beans….and Love?

Every first and second Saturday of the month, we have the sublime privilege of packing rice and beans at the Bread of Life.  Arriving at 9am, most of the volunteers are barely awake on a Saturday morning, but after a few minutes, the productivity of a well oiled machine is underway.  Lotion is no match to prevent the moisture from being sucked out of your hands from the rice and beans.  As scoop after scoop pours this staple nourishment into clear plastic bags the delightful sound of hungry street residents line up just one building away.  They’re ready to eat and volunteers are ready to serve.   

Sandy Flores and the Junior High Ministry have been doing this for an uncountable number of years (7) and Frontline got involved just a couple of years ago.  So, needless to say, there are certain people (Sandy) who can be deemed as experts at packaging these food items. However, this is definitely a form of service that can get monotonous and almost boring unless you have an attitude that yearns for fun.  You can almost do the job with your eyes closed.  I love coming here because some of the best conversations and relationship building times have come while I’ve been packing rice and beans.

This led me to ponder about how easily I allow my mind to venture into the dark depths of doubt. There are moments when I feel like this ministry isn’t exciting enough or that we aren’t impacting an ample amount of individuals.  This is assuredly the work of Satan because, with the flick of a pen, I can cancel all involvement with this project.  What if I did that?  Well if that happened then a family of four residing in a studio apartment wouldn’t recieve the sustenance they require to survive just one week.  If that happened, members on base would continue to patron check cashing facilities (one of the biggest, legal rip-offs in our country) just to afford groceries.  Many times, we never see the impact one bag of rice creates, and that force called “doubt” easily manipulates our train of thought as well as our actions.

It is sometimes impossible to see the impact of our hard work.  Working in an outreach ministry requires humility and patience.  Without those traits, volunteers rarely last long at all, and Frontline peeps are no exception. But sometimes God projects a picture as clear as HD T.V. that gives us a little bit of confirmation.  One of our church members is also a resident at a hospice facility.  He’s dying of a disease that gives grace to no one.  A year and a half ago, his closest friends were mormons.  Yet, even with close fellowship with these people, he didn’t feel a genuine sense of love.  Then he met the volunteers at Frontline.  They started coming over weekly and conducted Bible studies with other residents.  They put on barbeques and hosted movie nights.  They even transported people to and from their facility to church and to medical appointments.  Needless to say, after 6 months or so, he was baptized at the beach.  

Today, I sat on his comfortable leather couch veiled with Dallas Cowboy paraphernalia.  His jovial laughter infected all of us in the room with wide-open smiles.  His medications were strewn across the coffee table. At any moment, he could suddenly get into a fit of seizures.  After showing me his text-messaging abilities, he looked at me and smiled.  That smile represented everything that was going on in his mind.  A year ago, he was dying from a devastating disease.  Today, he is a child of God awaiting his entrance into paradise.  

~ Edwin Samson

One message, two worlds

John 10:10 tells us that Jesus came to give us an abundant life.  For those of you who toil day and night preaching His message of hope (I’m not talking about a pastor speaking to the masses), this is a verse that is inevitably communicated.  Nonetheless, sometimes I forget that the first part of that verse tells us that there are thieves that come to kill, steal and destroy.  

Sometimes, the abundant life isn’t what we think its supposed to be.  Our culture teaches us that success corresponds with money and a good vocation (not just a job).  This wealth and prosperity defines success, especially in Southern California, and that type of success is ALWAYS disseminated as this abundant life that Jesus talks of.  Try telling that to someone who attends the Bread of Life, someone who has a job, rents a small room, but doesn’t make enough money to eat.  Try describing this abundant life to a Marine who’s deploying for the fourth time.  

Like all of you servants of God, I live an abundant life that has been and is currently being fulfilled. I am a blessed man, though the money doesn’t pour in and trials and tribulations come as often at the sun rises.  I am blessed.  To be able to spend time with God in humble devotion to Him, to come together in community to sing and dance praises to our Lord, and to interact with people like you brings me to this wonderful realization.

But I am constantly reminded that the thieves who want to destroy this life of servitude walk next to me, jump on me, and attempt to take all that I have.  They never succeed!  They don’t because I live life in community with other followers of Christ.  Though I walk through the valley (O’side) of the shadow of death every day, people in this community hold me up, protect me, and love me.  They do the same for you, and many times, we forget.  I admit that in the midst of hard times I sometimes forget that I belong to an amazing Body of Believers.  

That was the message I gave at the Bread of Life soup kitchen.  I told the small congregation that the New Testament spends tremendous effort reminding us that we are supposed to take care of each other in the church.  It tells us that we are supposed to take care of people who aren’t part of the church also.  Sometimes we get caught up with doing church.  Every moment we pray, listen to a message, sing worship songs, and go to a Bible study, we should be in a state of unrest immediately following.  Certainly God gives us a peace that surpasses all understanding.  But he also gives us a Holy Discontent which will distract us unless we do something about it.  The love that is poured down upon us by God during these moments should be overflowing from your heart and the only way to contain that unrest is by going out and loving people who don’t experience that type of love. That morning, the members at the Bread of Life felt the Holy Spirit moving within them.  They felt an overpowering feeling of love and to just sit there letting that love do nothing, would have been a wretched feeling.  Its a good thing that they were gearing up to feed about 100 homeless individuals that night.  All of these members live below America’s poverty line, but they live an abundant life because they worship and serve a great God.

After that service, we had to get ready to go to Camp Pendleton to feed and to preach.  Though the message I gave contained the core message of community, it had to be geared toward people who were about to deploy into another country; to people that may not come back; to people who had to face an enemy that wanted them dead; to people that were leaving everything behind; to people that may be called to kill a human life.  They would be facing those aforementioned thieves at the same time as the homeless of the Bread of Life would be facing them.  But as we worshipped God together, as we let the Holy Spirit move, we could not get away from the fact that Jesus Christ had given us all an abundant life.  At this we rejoiced.

~ Edwin Samson

miracles

I’ve been thinking lately about what a miracle life is. Truly. That a sperm can even make it to an egg is a miracle (if you don’t believe me, look up what all has to be in line for conception to occur). This was on my mind this afternoon as I ministered to a young woman today at the Pregnancy Resource Center. She left still struggling with whether or not to keep her baby. She left still confused and overwhelmed, and I am aching for her.

Which leads me to another thought I’ve been having lately…that sometimes I think we are needed just to stand in the spaces of pain so others don’t have to carry it so deep. I’ll gladly ache for them if by it I will remember to pray and carry others to Jesus. And I trust that the Holy Spirit will settle thick around this young woman (she accepted the Lord today) and lead her in comfort to choose life.

Just that we can stand before the Lord of heaven and earth with hands outstretched, our heavy hearts carried to His feet…this is a miracle. So today I’m swept into the miracle-reality of living in Christ. He creates each life through a miracle conception, and He lives with us through His miracle Spirit. Praise Him.
~ars

The Few, The Proud…

There are times in life where you know that our Almighty Father is attempting to get you to open a pair of blind eyes to get a glimpse of heaven.  True, a lot of times we don’t even know that we’re supposed to be watching for something as spectacular as that.  However, I’ve figured out that it’s during those times that God starts to scream at you, literally. 

Standing at the doorway of the Edson Range Chapel the distinct smell of boot camp wafted passed my nose.  I know that smell well… I used to be a Corpsman.  Its been over a year now but every time I attend, it feels like my first time.  As I prepared myself to shake an endless array of calloused hands I was jolted by the screams of a Drill Instructor.  He was ever so politely instructing his men to pay attention, focus on the prize, and win the race… at a decibel slightly louder than the boom of a howitzer cannon.  

Drill instructors are not allowed to enter the chapel so as the last recruit made his way through the entryway, he looked at Eddie, a volunteer, and said, “I place them in the reliable hands of those who serve Him.”  How cool did that sound?  Man, I’ve been trying to find the appropriate moment to regurgitate those exact words, but alas…

Today, the worship team consisted of five sisters from a church in downtown Oceanside.  I appreciated their authentic approach to worship and though they did not sound like bands I’m used to, their prayerful song-prayers moved me to an emotional state of girliness.  Usually, we use a DVD and projector to sing so today was a treat.  I wish you all could experience the sound of 500 men  (Marine Corps Men) singing praises at the top of their lungs.  Picture a Promisekeepers worship session (10,000 men singing).  Yeah, its louder than that.

After preaching to the Marines, I stood at the corner of the room to observe everyone worship. That’s when it hit me.  The screaming Drill Instructor was talking to me… actually, it was God.  I was ripped back into a state of awe for my majestic King.  Pay attention! Focus! Run the Race! Woa!  My response…”Alright Lord! I’m ready, I’m listening!”  

Then all of a sudden a recruit came up to me and said, “Hey, do you remember me?”  Naturally, I said no.  He explained how he had met me two years ago as he was passing through Oceanside.  I invited him to a Bible study.  He decided to stay a while.  During his few weeks here I introduced him to some church members who happen to be Marines.  He embraced me with a big thank you. And before I could reflect on that wonderful moment, another Marine grabbed my arm.  I turned and recognized him as a guy I had mentored in the youth ministry.  He moved a year or so ago and was now becoming a Marine.  Woa!  

Then a group of Marines encircled me and demanded prayer.  Like, demanded it in such a way that I couldn’t get out of the circle.  After circling up in one giant embrace, we all prayed, and we all cried.  Again, another girlee moment for me… but honestly, can it really be that girlee with a bunch of big bad Marine Disciples?

~ Edwin Samson

Abstaining from God?

On Tuesday night, Amy and I held a training event to teach abstinence at a local church.  We presented on behalf of the Pregnancy Resource Center and Frontline.  The both of us have been presenting for this organization for quite a while now but this was our first event where we were privileged enough to speak together.  We had an amazing time but one thing I realized was that the issue of abstaining from sex went clear beyond a person’s faith.  

One teenage student admitted that their belief in Jesus Christ and the Bible was not enough to prevent any sexual experience with their significant other.  They knew that the other person didn’t have an STD, they had birth control, and they planned to marry each other at some point in their lives, so to them, it wasn’t a big deal.

Amy’s experience with counseling teenagers and young adults at the Pregnancy Resource Center coupled with her involvement in antihuman-trafficking ministries have given her a different perspective on the whole issue.  My experience on the streets ministering to teenagers involved in the drug, party, and sex scene combined with the sexual exploitation and human trafficking I’ve witnessed have definitely formed my views of sex as well.  Our experience didn’t do much to help those students decide to choose a lifestyle that would honor God and their prospective spouse.  

It’s hard for me to understand how Satan has distorted an amazing, God-given experience such as sex and made it into the root of some of the most horrific acts against humanity that we’ve ever seen.  Sex outside of marriage is the leading cause of abortions, leads to the success of prostitution, has ripped children from their homes to be sold into the sex industry, lowers self esteem, raises depression rates resulting in an increase of suicides, is the leading mode of the transmission of diseases, and so much more.  

People cannot abstain from sex because they are abstaining from God.  Though the Bible never says that we can conquer, beat, defeat, and overpower temptation, it does say that we must flee from it.  If we abstain from God, we don’t have the strength to flee and we definitely don’t have the strength to abstain from pre-marital sex.

~ Edwin Samson