...protesters...

Just a couple of weeks ago, on Saturday February 03, 2008, Matthew and I witness something that was so humbling and awe inspiring just outside of our apartment.

I'm sure you have all seen it on the news. Maria Lauterbach. A fallen Marine at the hands of another. Her life taken by someone who didn't value her life like it should of been valued.

That Saturday morning, we watched out of our window, in the early morning in our pjs, the procession of Maria. It was dreary, gray skies. Quite fitting for a funeral.

The previous days leading up to her funeral, we head many rumors of individuals coming from Kansas to protest. We saw police cars much more frequently, which is quite shocking because we live next to the police station. We were rerouted to our apt by several other roads to avoid congestion. There were barracades at the end of our street.

I was particularly disturbed on our way to shopping the Thursday of her viewing. St.Christophers Church is at the end of our road, and joins on the other side to Interstate 75. We were approaching 75 that night, and there at the church were many tv stations, new reporters, and sky high attenta towers capturing every moment. Matt and I took some time to talk about what we had just saw. I thought of her family, her friends, those that knew her in some form or another. I thought of what they might be thinking seeing their dear friend Maria, being broadcast all over the country, her life, her mistakes, her families grief, and the way that she died. All I could do was stare in disbelief. Why is the media so interested in the grief of others, and what is wrong with me that I actually listen? The more I thought of this, the more I looked back over the funerals that I have attented of those that were so close to me. I didn't see cameras. Nothing was broadcasted. I was able to grieve and remember in peace. Why didn't we give that to them?

But back to that Saturday morning. It was a sombering sight. A trail of motorcyclists, aptly named the Patriot Guard, followed the hearse, guarding her body with everything they had. They proudly waved the American flag, showing their support for the American Military. Following were the family and friends that loved her so dearly. It took me back to my grandfathers funeral. He served in the military, he fought for America, was wounded, and received a purple heart for his efforts. I was six when he passed away and I remember so clearly, like it was yesterday, hearing the 21 gun salute. At first it scared me, because at the time I didn't know what it meant, or why they were doing it. I saw the armed men fully dressed in uniform carrying their guns. But I didn't know what they were doing. While the shots were being set off, all I could do was cry. Every funeral after this, when I hear those shots, I cry. Even if I didn't know the person very well. ... It's a final salute, a final goodbye full of honor and respect.

But later, I read in the newpaper of the protesters across the street from the church. Matt and I hadn't went out that morning, so we didn't see them. But the things that I read and saw on the news infuriated me.

Members of a fundamentalist Kansas church, standing out in the freezing cold with horrific signs stood looking at the attenders, screaming insults and hate across the street. They believe that it is their duty to protest military funerals out of the belief that the war in Iraq is punishment for the nation’s tolerance of homosexuality. It just doesn't make sense to me.

It reminds me of a book that I read a couple of years ago. In the book Velvet Elvis by Rob Bell, he talks about his church in Michigan. He started to hear from others and notice himself that in their parking lot, cars were having difficulty leaving in an orderly manner. Some in his congregation were swearing and giving each other the finger in the parking lot right after the sermon. A couple of Sundays later, Rob got up in front of his church and said (paraphrasing). "If you can't act like Jesus in your own church's parking lot, we'd rather you not attend here. If you aren't going to try to live out the call of Jesus right outside of your church, please do not come back. You're ruining it for the rest of us."

Those protesters were exercising their right to free speech, even though it was disregarding the people who made it possible for everyone to have that free speech. But I wonder what Jesus thought of their actions. We all make mistakes, we all do things that grieve Jesus. But I wonder how Jesus feels when people like those protesters feel that it is their right to tell others that Jesus hates them for who they are. How does He feel when people attach his Holy name to things like this?

I thought of all the people that drove by these protesters getting on the highway. Did they see them and know that they were from a church, and catagorize other Christians as being like this too? Do I ruin the reputation of Jesus as well by my actions?

Stop ruining it for the rest of us....live the call of Jesus, love as Jesus loves.