Who Is My Mother?

Grace and peace, Saints.
 
Most of us are familiar with 2 Corinthians 5:17:

 
“If any man be in Christ, he is a new creature, old things have passed away; behold, all things are become new.”
 
We usually only look at this verse with regard to the New Birth: that is, the fact that when we get saved, we become a new person. Though this is very true (my handwriting and signature actually changed), it is important to understand that the Bible not only says that we become a new creation, but that all things are become new. “All things” means everything. If the Bible is true, then the moment we believed on the Lord Jesus and accepted His sacrifice on our behalf, not only were we changed, but so was literally everything else in our lives. If you think about it, that is absolutely incredible. 
 
There are a lot of things, if you will, that make up who we are and what we call life. We are much more than human beings. We are shaped and defined by our beliefs, our habits, our tastes, our opinions, our likes and dislikes, our hobbies, and our professions. There are places we like to go and others we don’t like to go, as well as things we like to do and others we don’t like to do. There is music we like, music we don’t care much for, and music we absolutely hate. We are fond of some people, indifferent towards others, and hate the rest. But there is one thing that we all have in our lives that has nothing—and yet everything—to do with us: people. People are things too, you know: living things, true, but things just the same.  If the Bible is true (and it is), then when we got saved, not only were we changed, but so were the people in our lives. 
 
I believe that the more profound the change in us is, the more profound the change in the people around us will appear. I say appear, because often it is not the people in our lives that have changed, but our perception of those people. You may see now, for instance, that someone you always thought was really cool is really not so cool after all, or you may now see that someone you thought was a friend was really an enemy. Conversely, you may realize that someone you thought was antisocial was merely discreet; or someone you thought was aloof was really just shy. It was a matter of perception. Then there are cases where neither the people in our lives nor our perception of them have changed, but our relationship with those people definitely has. And when those people are family, the change can be dramatic. Permit me to illustrate by way of example.
 
Last November, my son and I were at the gym when I received a call from my niece, which was strange because she almost never calls me.  I have never been very close to my family, and had not seen very much of them since I left home for the military at age 21. In fact, out of the last thirty-eight years, the combined total of our time spent together would not even total a month. It would not be an exaggeration, therefore, to say that we are practically strangers. When my niece called me, therefore, my first thought was that someone must have died.
 
As it turned out, no one had died. My niece had called because she was visiting the eldest son of my deceased brother, who passed away from cancer at age thirty-six. I had not seen this nephew since he was around sixteen years old, and as he was now thirty six; when he asked if I would stop by his house, I told him I would be right over. I arrived at his apartment within the hour and, upon entering, was surprised to see my niece’s mother (my sister) and my nephew’s younger brother, whom I hadn’t seen in five years. To say that I was shocked would be an understatement, as family reunions (that include me, that is) are a rarity in my family. 
 
The next thing I noticed was that the single window in the living room, where everyone was gathered, was wide open, though it was the middle of November. My nephew said he had the window open because it was too warm in his apartment, but I still found it strange that the window was all the way open, rather than halfway or cracked, especially since it was about forty degrees outside. Having been in this situation more times than I can recall, I knew that the window was open because whatever conversations we would be having that night had been planned well in advance, and it was very important that my words be heard by the unseen as well as the seen. I therefore sat back and waited. What followed was some of the most bizarre behavior I had ever seen or heard—even from my family.
 
You must understand that my family is about as typical as a black inner city St. Louis family can get. The use of and commerce in controlled substances and alcohol were always very typical; and, growing up, scholastic achievement was not only uncommon, but actually discouraged. Intelligent and enlightened conversation is not the hallmark of such families, as you can imagine, and mine was no exception. When my family gathered around the dinner table, it was never to discuss current events, talk politics, or even have healthy debates. If it wasn’t about food, then it was to play cards and ingest mind-altering substances. In all my years on planet earth, I’ve never once heard my family talk about anything other than maybe their jobs, their neighbors, or who had been recently incarcerated or murdered. In short, my family are not contemplative people; so under normal circumstances, you would not expect them to be interested in subjects that don’t affect them directly, as this is not reflected in the historical record. 
 
Tonight, however, the circumstances were anything but normal; as I had been invited. Tonight these people seemed interested in subjects as varied as PTSD and school desegregation. By far, however, the main topic, was racism—something I had never in my life heard anyone in my family talk about. My niece began by complaining about the racism at her job, which I found this odd, because prior to this, she always talked about how great her boss was, and how much she loved her job. In fact, the last time I spoke to her, which was approximately a year and a half prior, she was elated because she had just received a substantial raise. Next, my nephew chimed in about a video that had gone viral of a white woman who tried to prevent a young black man from entering her apartment building, where he was also a tenant. After talking about this for about half an hour, he spent the next hour ranting about the racism he supposedly deals with on his job. Then, out of nowhere, he starts going on about the late Ugandan dictator Idi Amin. Never mind he hadn’t even been born when Amin was in the news! 
 
For almost three hours this went on, all of them chattering like chipmunks, sometimes in turn, sometimes simultaneously, with no natural progression or logical segue between topics. Their speech and behavior were so bizarre that my then sixteen-year-old son became visibly uncomfortable. I wanted to spare him and leave when I first noticed his discomfort, but my curiosity got the best of me, and I had to stay until I was certain what was taking place. It was clear that these people had no genuine interest in seeing me or in discussing any of those topics, as these are purely sensual people who are not at all interested in the issues of the day. That they were suddenly and inexplicably elevated to such new heights of intellectual thought and with such enthusiasm was therefore so incongruous to their character that it bordered on lunacy. I realized that their sole purpose for inviting me was the hope that in a “relaxed,” “familiar,” and “totally spontaneous” environment, I would speak freely and possibly say something that could be used against me by parties inimical to my ministry. 
 
Realizing that my son was getting more uncomfortable by the minute, and not wanting him to become any more cognizant than necessary of the extent to which our family had been destroyed by the forces of darkness, I bid them all farewell, and took leave of that bizarre scenario. Two weeks later, to my chagrin, I received a phone call from my nephew ostensibly to tell me that he had just gotten a job working for a gypsy. He even repeated the word gypsy several times, as though he wanted me to respond to it. After this, I resolved to just let sleeping dogs lie. Like my mother always said, “Some people have to be fed with a long-handled spoon.”
 
The worst thing about this entire episode is that it is true. Things like this happen to me all the time, and I have had many such experiences with my Roman Catholic wife and her family, and even my own children. For some strange reason, However, I never expected to go through something like this with my blood family. I just never thought them capable of such deception. Apparently, I underestimated the power of sin.
 
This incident reminded me of an episode in the life of Jesus Christ. While at the house of Simon Peter, the Lord Jesus was informed that His mother and brethren were outside desiring to see Him. Jesus replied, “Who is my mother, and my brethren?” and, stretching out His arms to His disciples, He said, “Behold my mother and my brethren! For whosoever shall do the will of my Father which is in Heaven, the same is my brother, and sister, and mother” (Matthew 12:46-12:50).
 
We must remember that though we may have family according to the flesh, our spiritual family are our brothers and sisters of the household of faith. If we lose sight of this, then it will be difficult for us to understand the actions and motivations of those around us, especially our family.
 
Be encouraged and look up, for your redemption draweth nigh.
 
The Still Man
 

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