The smell of marijuana–sickly sweet and unforgettable–clung to the porch where I was standing. I was listening to a man talk. “I love Jesus and I love to get high.”
The man talking to me was busy with his fingers, rolling the marijuana into cigarettes. A tall Icehouse beer was on the floor next to his chair. The man’s three female companions who were sitting on the porch cackled, questioned, and ridiculed him as they listened to him defend his salvation. I just listened while an intense debate proceeded.
While visiting neighbors in my Jerusalem, my friend Andrew and I happened to come across this group of people enjoying a front-porch Sunday afternoon–drinking, talking, and rolling grass. I didn’t come to bust up a drag weed party. I came to tell them about Jesus. And like other pushers, hookers, child molesters, and criminals that I’ve met, they were born again believers. Or so they claimed.
I am not the judge of hearts. I do not know who is saved and who is not.
What I do know is simple: Jesus will not be syncretized. Jesus is King. Jesus is sovereign. Jesus is the Way. Jesus is the Truth. Jesus is the Life. Jesus is the way to the Father. Jesus is Lord.
The spicy chicken is glistening darkly under the lights; he has never been less hungry in his life. When he resumed the journey he was thankful that he had kept to the woods as a body of Confederate cavalry, coming out of a path from the north, turned into the main road and advanced at a good pace toward Jackson.