Years later I belonged to a 6,000-member church located in a very affluent location in Southern California. People came in their perfect cars with their perfect spouses and their 3.2 perfect children. All the outfits were designer labels, and I saw some handbags that cost more than my car.
But it was all the same:
The man in the pew next to me apologized to his wife for the 100th time for giving her that bruise under her eye. The bruise that she had tried, unsuccessfully, to cover with make up.
The accountant in the pew behind me was terrified because of the upcoming company audit. But what choice did she have, really? She was going to lose her home.
That the guy with the expensive cologne, the one who was always the life of the party: he hadn’t spoken to his father in three years.
And here I am using this platform to gossip about them all.
Yet, this was the body of believers I belonged to. Any way you looked at it, it was undeniable: The body was and is broken.
So I don’t pray for them anymore. Well, not in the same way. Because I know someone who knows exactly what to do with broken bodies.
You see, one day not too long ago, my Savior went up a hill and was nailed to a cross where his body was broken. And when all seemed hopeless and lost, and his torn, bruised, bloody body was placed in a tomb. Three days later this same broken body rose from the grave. Death was defeated and salvation came to the world.
So this is how I pray now, “Here we are, Lord. We are your body and we are broken. Lift us up so that the world may see your salvation. Amen.”
On hearing this, Jesus said to them, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners” (Mark 2:17, NIV).
Jael Amador writes from New York, New York.© 2002 - 2020, AnswersForMe.org. All rights reserved. Click here for content usage information.