Yes, I’m an author of fiction, but today I write a true story.  I kid you not.  This really happened.  And I could take you there.  I traveled the road in my own pickup truck last week.  And what a journey it was!  Epic.  But don’t we all love a good journey?  It’s deep and rooted within us to enjoy the journey experience.  Perhaps because we are all on one.  Perhaps because we all can relate. 

 

Letting my mind drift through the book and movie list I know of, some of the best stories are that of journeys.  Journeys have etched their tale into our minds as classics: Lord of the Rings, the Chronicles of Narnia, the Pilgrim’s Progress, and the Wizard of Oz are just a few.  In essence, almost every story we read, or watch, is a journey.  As humans, we long for it: the journey of transformation.  The hero’s journey.  Intrinsic, this human drive to reach a sought destination calls to the deepest place inside our heart.  Journeys are inspiring.  Motivational.  Challenging.  Moving.  Heart-warming.

 

On my way to watch two of our sons compete in the Vurb Shredtour Rd8: West Virginia/ Tomahawk Motocross race, my life felt like that of Frodo attempting to cross Middle-earth.  I’ve never seen such intense, hair-pin, and insane road weaving.  The journey through West Virginia’s rural landscape was an adventure to say the least.  Often, I felt the consequence of blinking would send me off the road and into a ditch, a road bank, or the forest.

 

And alas, it struck my attention.  Much like a magnet, it drew my eyes to it, and my thoughts, heart, and ability to focus on anything else.  It sat abandoned.  Without attention.  Deserted.  Almost destroyed.  And though I was late for the race and pressed for time, it stole my thoughts.  Broken steeples, I thought. 

Aren’t we all broken steeples?

 

I kept driving.  But etched in my mind was the charred remnants of where a steeple once stood.  I only saw it for a few seconds (didn’t want to shoot off the road), but those few seconds were enough to take me to a place in my own life journey—one I feel an open and transparent window can share.

 

Am I the only one?  In a world where we are all supposed to stand straight and tall—and display our purpose and glory to the world and to God at all times—do we ever have those moments when our steeple seems busted off?  Do we fail?  Do we fall?  Some claim this never happens.  They are too righteous to struggle or fall.  But I know better.  It’s called being honest.  And Romans 3:23 says we all fall short.  Humanity—the vestige we are clothed with—cannot be anything except this fallen-short nature.  It’s ok to admit it.  After all, Jesus came, died, and raised again to rescue you whether you are honest with yourself or not.

 

Burnt.  Scarred.  The image of what used to be gripped me firmly.  It was sad to see a church in such condition.  And it is sad to see the lives of men, women, and children in such a state.  Broken steeples.  My mind wondered deep.  And I thought to myself: what would it take for this church to heal?  What does it take for any of us to heal?

So, I journeyed on. 

 

I know this sounds too good to be true, but you can drive the route yourself.  Only a short distance from the broken steeple lies another church.  And wouldn’t Frodo find the same?  Planted on a corner, right where every eye can see, this church seemed altogether, sound, and sure.  My first glance told me it was healthy: its steeple was intact.  I saw it from afar.  But in the time that I came near it, I discovered a story much different.  Yes, this church appeared whole.  A steeple seemingly unbroken, I was attracted to take its picture.  Yet foundationally, this church had nothing together.  It wasn’t even a church anymore.  It was apparently something else.  Perhaps a storage building or a place for one to fix cars?

 

What a journey I was on!  First, a broken steeple.  Then a church who appeared intact but lied foundationally ineffective. Thoughts continued forming: Was there hope? 

 

This church’s steeple pointed to the sky.  A cross stood on top.  White paint protected the woodwork where everyone could notice.  A thought in my mind: you are not far, my friend.  You are close.  Keep healing.  Keep striving.  It was sad, I admit.  I felt broke for this church.  Though I wished for healing, functionality, and vitality, this church was broken too.  A close look revealed it.  Maybe not crippled, maybe not in utter defeat, but still . . . it was not achieving the purpose intended.  This heart needed healing too.

 

Don’t we all?

 

And then—in perhaps the span of time that one could hold a long breath or two—there was a third church.  Its steeple was not broken.  I pulled in its parking lot.  Nearing its foundation, it looked sure.  There was a church sign out front!  The church posted words for others to see.  An invitation.  A greeting.  Windows clean and transparent.  Paint fresh.  Brick secure.  Parking lot smooth.  This church was in use.  It functioned.  And I noted: what a journey of transformation!

 

It was obvious I needed to write about this. 

 

God gets our attention in different ways.  He sure got mine.  Sometimes—as this wild-ride-of-a-journey to the furthest expanse of the West Virginian countryside showed me—God can lay it out plain for our eyes to see and learn from.  What was the chances that a total transformation from broken to functional was all on the same path?  Seriously?

 

But isn’t it always?

 

Makes me wonder.

 

The journey from broken to whole is always on the same path: the path God wants you to take.  From superhero movies to great classical tales, we watch the hero’s journey complete the arc right before our eyes.  We love it.  We want it.  And that is the beauty of it.  This transformation can be done with anybody. 

Broken humans who become living heroes and heroines. 

 

Throughout history, God has taken the most broken, the most defeated, the least expected, the most unwanted, the most undeserving, the biggest underdog, the furthest outcast, the least prepared, and the most inexperienced to do exactly what He purposes.  He is the greatest author of all, scripting real life stories through the ages that prove his transformational power.

 

And I’m just one who’s living His script.

 

And you are another.

 

Friend, we are all broken people.  But that should never stop us from the goal and prize of what God intends for us.  Yes, we have all fallen short.  We are all broken to one degree or another.  Just like the burnt and scarred church, some of us might have broken steeples.  But where does that put us? 

 

Philippians 1:6

And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.

 

Frodo never quit.  His journey was hard, long, and exhaustive.  But doesn’t that make the story even better?  You and I travel through similar challenges, though not through Middle-earth.  We might be hurt, bleeding, broken, and bruised.  But just like Frodo in a good story of a journey, never, never, ever stop.  Hear this, friend: your story is to be completed.

 

My challenge today is this: Take steps to move forward.  If your steeple is broken, ask God to repair it.  Ask for forgiveness.  He will.  I know this because He promised to finish the work He started.  If your foundation is shaken, ask God to secure it.  He wants nothing more than to lavish his love upon you, painting your woodwork and staining your trim back to beauty.  He loves you.  And what would bring God a greater joy than nurturing you back to health in such intimate and caring ways?

 

You are not too far gone. Get up. Reach out to Him. Watch what He does.

 

And God will carry you to completion.  He wants the story to end His way.

 

A beautiful, precious, and functioning church.  Full of invitation and greeting to others.

 

If you feel broken today, there is hope.

Even, for the church with broken steeples.

 

By Chuck Carr