Contagion

“Hi Jerry! I’m Weili!”

The cheery voice streamed from the phone. Her accent had the musical lilt of a young Far Easterner, which clearly pulsed with excited urgency.

“I have just recently come to Tulsa from California where I have been studying at a university.”

It’s always a refreshing sound, a cheery voice at the opposite end of a telephone line. Weili caught me a little off guard with her next words – strung together with enthusiasm – high speed.

“Jerry, I am a Christian. I met the Lord there in California. Now I’ve heard about the work you are doing here in Tulsa, and I have a request!” She continued with barely a pause,

“Please come to the Jesus Inn tomorrow night. Bring your guitar! Several new grad-student guys just arrived from my country, and you can sing some songs and tell them about Jesus!”

I smiled at the spunk of this girl I had never met, Somehow she knows of our presence on campus and that I plunk guitar strings now and then. Adding to the mix, I mused, Weili seems a young lady overflowing with boundless joy, and a heart just bursting with evangelistic fervor.

Her spirit (all that I really had to go on) sparked inside me both an element of intrigue and a sense of adventure. Her child-like eagerness felt contagious. Who could not like this person? I thought with a smile.

Finally she paused, making room for a response.

“Well, Okay Weili, If it’s alright with the Jesus Inn folks, I’ll see you there.”

The ‘Inn’ – a string of aged houses lining a stretch of city block near the campus – had gotten launched as an in-residence place offering help and hope to a young generation back in the 1960s. Gordon and Susan Wright, along with ‘recovered-and-in-recovery’ volunteers – together with the Wright’s own children – had long stewarded the unconventional space.

To a long parade of the homeless, the hippied and the bedraggled – from lost and afraid flower children to strung-out , disillusioned druggies – the Jesus Inn became a haven of refuge. A place of hope.

“Lord”, I whispered the next evening as I gathered Bible and guitar and headed out the door, “please meet us, please guide.”

“Where there are prophecies, they will fail”, the writer pointedly asserts. In the same abrupt language, he follows that even faith fails. Then finally (to the readers’ glad relief no doubt) comes the apostle’s astonishing assertion, “Love never fails.”

Wow. Love never fails.

Such a breathtaking truth will mean a lot of things. Here is just one of the joyous discoveries about God’s unfailing kind of love. Love begets love.

In other words, once we welcome into ourselves God’s pure love in Jesus – repeatedly receiving it over and over – we soon find ourselves reveling in it. We never want to be without it or him. What’s more, a new dynamic has shown up on the scene.

We find it impossible to hold the agape of God to ourselves. By its nature, God’s love – like an overly-filled bucket of water – sloshes out on the surroundings. The Psalmist would not keep such news under wraps, “He restores my soul – my cup overflows”.

Love fueling love. By faith God’s much-thirsty kids simply receive. They take into themselves his generous and forgiving acceptance of them, his free-flowing affection toward them. So, Drinking. Drinking, they receive. They want never to stop receiving. Such a mindset exactly reflects the highest hope their Father above entertains. Heaven dances!

Bookshelves overflow today, and likely groan under the weight of account after biographical account of history’s multiplying disciples. In the truest sense these apprentices are pure lovers. They are being fed and fueled on the Father’s love. Such apprentices have tasted and have drunk of the Spirit’s living waters. Narrative upon narrative recounts the multiplication factor. Spanning generations and language groups – traversing mountains and deserts and plains. “Love never fails”.

It is often noted (sorrowfully and accurately) that hurt people hurt people.

By contrast, the saving love Jesus introduces into our strife-plagued world carries within it seeds of a kind of holy contagion. Like an unbridled virus on the move. From the holy contagion all those flourishing branches – linked everyone to the single common Vine – yield up succulent fruit, fruit of the Spirit. The kingdom expands. From it there springs a cycle,

Loved people love people.

Tag: Contagion

A Pulsing Contagion