Love -- Jamie

It was the tattoos on his hands that caught my attention. 

I was offered a gentle handshake.  “They call me Little John,” he said with a low gravelly voice.  He was not your “typical” worshipper at the big downtown
church.  Hair pulled back into a ponytail; Tattoos on his arms, neck and hands.  No shirt and tie for this dude, but he was ready:  Bible, pen, notebook, the whole works.  His anticipation was palpable.

With hands raised and voice singing “Arise, take Your place…” I became aware of this young man’s hands.  On the knuckles of his left hand, written in light green, was the word “fear”.  On the opposing hand, in much darker, bolder ink was the word “LOVE”.  Had he planned it that way or was that just the way his days had played out? 

Fear.  Love. 

What had happened in his life that would cause him to write “FEAR” into his skin?  How long had he lived in that fear?  What about “LOVE”?  What prompted that inking? 

Throughout the sermon, he would nod his head in agreement with the preacher; saying, “Amen” or “That’s right!”  The way he handled God’s word made it seem as if he was starving.  Maybe he was.  Looking around me some folks had their Bibles opened, while others were engaged in cyber conversation.  While some of us had such little regard for this Word, here sat Little John lapping up every word that was being preached.  Yeah, starving is exactly how I’d put it. 

Or maybe he responding the way the lovestruck hangs on every word of his lover.  Actively listening.  Leaning forward.  Engaged.  Waiting with bated breath for what morsel of truth or love may come next. 

Fear.  Love.  Over and over, the sight of his hands, lifted high to the heavens, ran a loop in my mind.  Concentrating on the sermon was difficult as I tried to decipher what the Holy Spirit was saying to my soul.

Then I remember.

I John 4:18-19 says, “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear…we love, because He first loved us.”

Fear and Love are both captors.  Love creates a prison in which you find perfect freedom and joy.

This man in front of me on Sunday morning had experienced that perfect love.  It was written all over his face.  There was no fear of appearing different or out of sync with the rest of the group.  He was there for one thing only and that was to feast at the feet of his Beloved; worship Him with abandon; pour back onto the Savior a portion of that perfect love that had at one point cleansed and renewed his soul.  I was in the presence of a genuine love-fest and I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

          I left the service that morning touched and changed and longing for renewed passion for the One who had first loved me.