Seeing Jesus
by John William Smith
In 1962 I was preaching in Indianapolis, Indiana. I was single, and it
was Christmas time. I was headed home to Michigan to enjoy the holidays
with my family. It was an extremely cold day, and it was snowing. The
wind was howling out of the North, blowing thick clouds of fine flakes
across the road - it looked like a blizzard. The roads were icy in
places, and there was little traffic. Somewhere near Ft. Wayne, Indiana,
I saw a soldier standing under an overpass. He had a green army cap
pulled as tight and low as possible over his head, his collar was pulled
up around his ears, his hands were shoved down in his pockets, and he
had a stuffed duffel bag standing beside him.
I was driving a Chevrolet Corvette, and I was going very fast - faster
than I should have been, considering the road conditions. As I sped by,
the soldier jerked one hand out of his pocket and raised his thumb. My
Corvette had two seats - not a front and back seat, but two seats side
by side - and I was in one of them. The trunk was big enough to hold
three loaves of bread and a pound of lunch meat. Not only was my limited
trunk space stuffed full with the clothes and boots I would need for my
stay in Michigan, the front seat was stacked high as well, with the
presents that I had purchased for my folks and my nieces and nephews.
When I saw the soldier, I was going much too fast to stop, and I was
well down the highway before I gave it much thought. I told myself that
I couldn't possibly get him and his duffel bag in the car - I debated
about the terrible inconvenience and delay it would cause if I did, and
by the time I decided that perhaps I ought to at least offer to help, I
was two miles down the road and out of sight. But my Christian
conscience really went to work on me. It was so cold, traffic was almost
nonexistent - he was a soldier - and it was Christmas. The inner battle
raged for another three miles. Finally, I decided I would never get any
peace unless I offered to help, so I made a U-turn and went back. I
hoped with all my heart that someone else had picked him up. That way, I
could satisfy my conscience and not be inconvenienced - wouldn't that be great?
But he was still there, looking more forlorn, lonely, and cold than
ever. I was disgusted. I pulled up and rolled down the window. He came
running, stumbling on his numb feet, dragging the duffel bag. He leaned
over and stuck his head in the window. His face was bluish, his teeth
were chattering, his eyebrows and eyelashes were matted with frozen
snow, and he could scarcely speak intelligibly. "Thanks so much for
stopping,"he said. "I had about given up hope."
That was not what I wanted to hear.
"Where are you going?" I asked, hoping that it was in some direction
that would alleviate me from further responsibility.
"I live in Michigan, in Taylor Township," he said hopefully. That was
really discouraging. It wasn't directly on my may, but it wasn't too
much out of my way either. "I'm going to Royal Oak," I said reluctantly.
"Oh, " he said, "I know where that is. That's great! If I could just
ride with you to Ann Arbor, it would mean a lot to me. I'm almost
frozen; I can't feel my ears or feet any more," he said plaintively.
"I don't think I can possibly get both you and your things in," I said.
"If you'll let me, I'll get in - I promise you. I've been standing here
for three hours."
I told him to try getting in, and we began rearranging things. The
duffel bag was almost as big as he was, and there was only one place for
it - the passenger seat. No matter how he put it in the car, he couldn't
get in himself. I suggested that maybe he could hide it somewhere and
come back for it later. He said he couldn't possibly do that; it had his
kids' Christmas presents in it, and he wasn't going anywhere without it.
I finally got out, walked around the car, and told him to sit in the
passenger seat. As he sat there, I wedged the duffel bag between his
legs and between the floor and the roof of the car, I sandwiched all of
my presents around him - and I slammed the door. He couldn't move, he
couldn't see out either the windshield or his side window - but he was
in. I still don't know how we did it.
Once he began to get warm, he began to talk. I found out he was
stationed at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. "Didn't I see you go by about
five minutes ago?" he asked. I really felt stupid.
"Yes," I said very matter-of-factly.
"You mean you turned around and came back?" I nodded an affirmative.
"Why would you do that?" I paused a long moment. "Well, you see, I was
raised in a home where helping people who were in need was very
important. In addition, I'm a minister - actually, it's more than that-
I'm a Christian, and if it weren't for that, I'd probably still be
going. I have as hard a time doing the right thing as most folks. I
fought with this decision for five miles - it's Jesus who makes me do
things like turn around and come back. When I don't do the right thing,
I have this feeling He's looking at me, and He's so disappointed that I
can't stand it.
"Oh!" he said. "you don't know how that convicts me. I'm going to tell
you something I never thought I'd tell anybody. I'm no Christian, but my
wife is the best person in the whole world, and she goes to church all
the time and takes the kids. Truthfully, I've done everything I could to
discourage her, but she just keeps going. She's all the time trying to
get me to go, telling me that someday I'm going to wish I had.
"Do you know why I'm here hitchhiking? Let me tell you a little story. I
was turned down for holiday leave because I got drunk and caused some
trouble at the base. I was sick about it. I haven't seen my wife and
kids for six months. A friend of mine, who's single, found out at the
last minute that his folks were coming to visit some relatives who live
close to the base during the holidays. He went to our commanding officer
and volunteered to take my duty, if he would let me go home.
"He gave me permission, but I had spent all my money buying presents,
which I was going to mail home, so I decided to start hitchhiking. My
family doesn't even know I'm coming. I wasn't sure I'd make it, and I
didn't want to disappoint them. I've been standing there for three
hours, thinking. I watched folKs drive by, and it occurred to me that
some of them must be Christians, and it made me feel pretty bitter -
until I got to thinking about what a lousy person I am, and I knew if I
was them, that I probably wouldn't stop either.
"Let me tell you something embarrassing - I got so cold, so lonely, and
so desperate that I started to pray - honest to God I did - it was so
humiliating. I told God that if he would help me, I'd do better. And you
know what? About that time you showed up, and you told me that you came
back because of Jesus - now what do you make of that?" "Well, first I'd
say that maybe there's more to Christianity than either of us thought,
and second, I'd say you'd better start doing better."
I found out exactly where he lived, and we agreed that I could get him
pretty close before I had to go in another direction. I think I knew
what I was going to do long before I actually said anything. As we
approached the intersection where I was going to let him out, I told him
that I had made up my mind to take him home.
About two hours later, we pulled up in his driveway. It was almost dark.
He was really excited. He asked me to blow my horn, and I did. A few
minutes passed, and the inside door opened slowly. The glass in the
outside door was frosted over, and whoever was looking out could only
tell that there was a car in the driveway. The outside door opened, and
a five- or six-year old, barefooted boy peeked around the door. When he
saw my sports car, he came out on the porch and peered intently at us.
His dad opened the door and stepped out.
"Hi, David, it's Daddy; I'm home for Christmas!" He started to say more,
but the boy had seen the uniform and heard the voice. The boy's face lit
up, and he turned back into the house. I could hear him distinctly -
"Mama, Daddy's home," he yelled shrilly. "Daddy's Home! Mama! Mama!
Daddy's home for Christmas!"
The door opend again, and it didn't open slowly this time - it was
thrown open. A woman dressed in a bathrobe and house slippers came
running down the steps, her hair flying in the wind, oblivious to the
snow and the cold, eyes and mouth opened wide with excitement, with joy
etched in every line of her face. "Oh, Carl," she said, "Oh, Carl,
you're home. Praise God, you're home. The kids and I have been praying
every day that, somehow, God would send you home."
She was followed by a skinny, fair-haired, ten-year-old girl and finally
by a tow-headed, blanket-toting, two- or three-year-old girl. They
kissed and hugged and laughed and cried, and they danced in the cold and
the snow until the soldier finally disentangled himself from them long
enough to introduce me.
"This is John," he said. "He's a minister and he's also a Christian; and
if it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be here. And I'm going to tell you
something, Sandy, right here and now. I told John that I had promised
God that I was going to do better, and I am. I'm going to stop drinking,
be a better husband, a better father - a better man - and we're going to
start going to church together."
I have never witnessed such gratitude in my life. They all had to hug me
and kiss me - even the two-year-old - and they told me what a blessing I
was to them and that they owed me a debt thay could never pay. I was so
embarassed, because I was so unworthy. I had grudged the whole thing
until after we had started talking. I wanted to tell them that I didn't
deserve any thanks. I tried to leave, but they simply wouldn't allow it.
I had to go in the house. I had to eat something and drink something; I
had to accept a gift from them - yes, I had to. They would not allow me
not to, and the more they did, the better and the worse I felt. I was so
embarassed. You know why? I had just witnessed something private - a
family thing - something I wasn't part of - something not meant for
outsiders - and, yes, I was - I was embarassed. And you know what else?
I envied Carl. I thought that it must be wonderful beyond description to
be loved by a woman like that and missed like that and to be so unworthy
- and I think Carl was just beginning to understand what he had. I have
learned since then that only those who have come to know and feel the
love of God can love the unworthy - and I have also learned that we are
all unworthy.
Carl was home. I think that at that moment, home meant more to him,
perhaps, than it would ever mean again. And when I got to my home and
saw my folks and told them why I was late, they were so proud of me -
and I was a little proud of myself. Home was somehow brighter, warmer,
more dear to me than it had ever been before. Every human longing -
bound up in the inherent yearning to be loved and to be "home" and to
experience the peace and security that "home" signifies - has found its
fulfillment in Jesus who said, " I go to prepare a place for you."
Everything we ever dreamed of home being - what it was or was not - is
in that place. Jesus has given purpose, even to the dream of death,
because for those who know God - that is the way home.
"How silently, how silently,
the wondrous gift is given.
So God imparts to human hearts,
the blessings of His heaven.
No ear may hear His coming,
but in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him still, the dear Christ enters in."
Jesus comes to us in many ways. He came to me in the form of a freezing
soldier trying to get home for Christmas. He came to a freezing soldier
in the form of a young minister trying to find his way to God. Either
one of us could have missed Him.
Jesus will come to you this Christmas too, and His coming will be in an
unexpected way -
don't miss him.
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