Dan was a mountain of a man. He could drink anyone else under the table on the university campus where he attended. He was not afraid to take anybody on. He usually won–until he decided to challenge the group of Christians who had an outreach in one of the dorms each Tuesday night.
The Christians at first seemed to be a pushover to Dan. They didn’t fight back. They didn’t argue. They loved him, of all things. Hardly playing fair, was it?
Dan stopped arguing, but continued to come. He would sit silently and observe the believers. Near the end of the academic year, Dan was challenged to put his trust in the Lord.
“Dan, you know everything you need to know to become a Christian. You go to your room (it was a wisp of a girl saying this) and start reading John’s Gospel. We’ll stay here and pray.”
One a.m. One-thirty. Two. He’s not coming down. Two-thirty. He’s gone to bed. At about two forty-five, Dan appeared. No one needed to tell us. Dan was a child of God.
The Lord burdened Dan with the need of our inner city. Who would reach the hundreds of vagrants and migrants in the summertime? Many of them drifted through, did a little fruit picking for pocket money, and moved on. Couldn’t we pick some fruit for God?
With the simple faith of a child, Dan encouraged us to rent a house affronting the park in the heart of the city. It had previously been inhabited by someone with a penchant for black walls with Pepto-Bismol pink trim. It took some effort to make the place presentable. We even planted a few flowers outside. It ought to look inviting. After all, our Father made “all things bright and beautiful.” And besides, good works.
The believers had donated some derelict furniture for the place. The period? Early matrimonial, I think. Anyway, we thought it looked terrific as we wiped our brows, turned the key in the lock, and headed home for a well-deserved rest before our first day of ministry.
As we stepped through the doorway the next morning, it didn’t take us long to notice something was missing. Everything was missing! Chairs, table, sofa, lamp–all gone! Should we call the police? If we did, we might as well close down the ministry too. The people we were trying to reach would make themselves scarce if they thought 911 was our favorite number.
“Did they leave anything?” Dan asked.
“Just an old iron in this closet,” came a voice from the back.
“Jabe, would you come with me?”
“Where are we going, Dan?”
“To visit our neighbors around the corner.” Our neighbors happened to be a notorious motorcycle gang. We assumed they were also the movers who had been working the night shift.
With the iron under his arm, and with me in tow, Dan approached the door. There was no need to knock. The door opened to reveal a suitable caricature of all that you might imagine. Leather. Chains. Hair. Earing. Tatoo. And not the hint of a smile.
“Whadayawant.” It was hardly a question.
“We understand you came for a visit the other night when we were out,” Dan began.
“So?”
“You left this,” and he handed him the iron.
I don’t remember if there was a response. My brain had shifted into neutral when the door had opened. Whatever the case, the door closed on the biker–and the iron. So that was that. If a man asks for your coat, give him your cloak as well. If he takes your table, give him your iron. Does good really work?
The next morning, everything was back in its place. Including the iron. So good really does work! The gang became the best of neighbors. I do not know that any trusted the Lord, but they showed respect to the Word given to them.
Good works because God works. Man does his worst; God does good. And good works. Its the story of creation; of the cross; of the consummation. “Now the God of peace, that brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great shepherd of the sheep, through the blood of the everlasting covenant, make you perfect in every good work to do His will, working in you that which is wellpleasing in His sight, through Jesus Christ; to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen” (Heb. 13:20-21).