“Sometimes a change of perspective is all it takes to see the light.” – Dan Brown
Every once in a while, I cross paths with someone who I believe, in retrospect, must have been placed there by God. Someone who, perhaps unintentionally, refocuses my attention and stirs me to action. Someone who, through sheer force of their example, makes a difference in my life.
In the Fall of 2017, my wife and I were doing disaster relief in Beaumont, Texas, following the devastation of Harvey, a category 4 hurricane. One day, we were assigned to work with a team from the College Church of Christ in Searcy, Arkansas. Our task was to “gut” a home that, 30 days earlier, had been under eight feet of water. Mold covered the walls and possessions. Furniture was tossed about. Total destruction. The owners, a sweet couple in their mid-80s, had been evacuated in waist-deep water in the middle of the night as Harvey moved in.
Our quickly assembled team donned protective gear, gathered wheelbarrows and crowbars, and began tearing out moldy, water-soaked drywall. We carted and carried a lifetime’s worth of now ruined possessions to the mile-long debris pile along the street. On a return trip through the house, I walked by the dining room and glanced over at a curly-headed, perspiring, middle-aged man who resembled Mark Twain. As he struggled to lift a water-logged carpet, he looked up at me and said, “Hey…uh…Doofus…come over here and help me with this.”
I sat my wheelbarrow aside, walked over to him, and firmly gripped the carpet. As we dragged it through the front door and across the lawn, I couldn’t help but laugh at this man who didn’t know my name. I found it quite humorous that of all the possible substitute names this man, our team leader, could have chosen for me… “Brother,” “Friend,” “Dude,” or even, “Hey, You”… he had instead gone with “Doofus.” (BTW, “Doofus,” according to Webster is, quite simply, “a stupid person.”) Even funnier was that I had immediately responded to that name and answered his call for help. Which begs the question: If you answer to Doofus, does that make you a Doofus? Perhaps.
So, for the rest of the week, my new friend called me Doofus and I called him Mr. Twain. We quickly realized we shared two passions: (1) disaster relief work (more specifically, slicing up trees with chainsaws); and (2) coffee (at any hour of the day or night). By the fourth or fifth night, we were hanging out at the laundromat at 11 p.m., sipping caffeinated coffee, and watching our funky clothes agitate in the washing machines before us. This is how friendships are forged.
Over the past few years, our paths have crossed a handful of times. Each time, Mr. Twain (real name: Chris Adams) has found a way to encourage me or motivate me. On one occasion, at a Starbucks in Searcy, Arkansas, we discussed and shared insights on the challenges of caring for aging (and dying) parents. I don’t remember all that he said, but I walked away feeling encouraged that another soul “got” what I was going through and had gone through, having navigated similar waters.
More recently, my iPhone rang and I glanced at the caller I.D., which read, “Mark Twain.” I smiled and answered, anticipating the next word I would hear. “Doofus! It’s Chris.” (I’m glad he identified himself because, you know, with so many people calling me Doofus I wouldn’t know who I was talking to.) He continued, “I’m taking a team to Louisiana in a few days. I know it’s short notice, but are you in?” After quickly glancing at my calendar, I asked, “Will you buy me a cup of coffee?” “Of course,” he answered. “Well, then, I’m in.”
Before I could say, “Hurricane Laura,” I was in Pineville, Louisiana, knocking down trees and drinking coffee with Mr. Twain, his team (including our mutual friend, Keith Picker), and another of my long-time friends, Chuck Leasure. Twain introduced me, appropriately, as “Doofus,” and, in turn, I reflected on his rise to literary prominence in the river novels featuring Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn.
At night, we collaborated on the size and composition of teams to send out the following day and where they would go. During the day, our teams turned downed trees into firewood and sawdust. Then again at night, we snuck off just before the stores closed to buy cartons of ice cream for the assembled workers back at the building. By Sunday morning, Doofus and Twain were preaching and leading singing, respectively, for the Pineville Church of Christ, our hosts.
Fast forward to this past Friday. After finishing an afternoon run on the most perfect Fall day here in Maryville, I received a text from Chris with a bunch of photos. He and his team were in Lake Charles, doing disaster relief with the Church of Christ Disaster Response Team. Then he called me. “Doofus! It’s Chris. I’m here in Lake Charles. We’re feeding people today…hundreds of ‘em. Somebody donated a ton of pork butt and we’ve been prepping it. Do you know what’s involved in turning a ton of pork butt into sandwiches? (I did not.) Also, I just sent you some pictures that I just took. The photos are from the same spot, but I’m looking in different directions. It’s all about perspective. Write something about that.”
My first thought: You’re Mark Twain, a renowned author. Write your own story!
Instead, I looked at the photos, and realized he was on to something…
In the first photo, you’re in Lake Charles looking down a mostly desolate Enterprise Boulevard, lined with trash and lawn debris. The blue-tarped roofs are a reminder of the back-to-back storms which have trampled this community, city, and region. No children playing. No Fall flowers being planted. Mostly dirt and debris. It’s cleaned up, at least, but still conveys kind of a hopeless feeling. That’s one perspective.
In the second photo, you’ve rotated your position and changed your perspective. You’re now looking at the front of the Enterprise Boulevard Church of Christ. Out front, a sign reads, “Church of Christ Disaster Response Team.” In this picture… from this perspective… hopelessness has turned into hope. Where you find the church building, you may be near the actual church—the body of Christ, and that means there’s hope.
And where you find the DRT sign, you’ll find a group of volunteers who want to feed you, supply your needs, clean up your home and community and, in the name of Christ, help you get back on your feet. From this perspective, there’s still no activity… just a sign. But the sign gives hope.
In the third photo, you’ve rotated again and start to see evidence of activity. More signs, but perhaps some movement as well. An open car door. An open tool trailer. Cars beginning to queue. There appears to be some activity. Maybe what’s going on here is more than just a church building… more than just a sign. Something is happening at this place.
In the fourth and subsequent photos, cars are lined up. Cars full of hungry people. On that day, about 900 people were served. People whose lives and neighborhoods have been wrecked by back-to-back major storms. People who, for the time being at least, are among the “least of these” contemplated in Matthew 25. If they were hungry, they drove away full. If they needed clothes, they were clothed. If they needed supplies, they were supplied. If they needed a roof tarped, drywall hung, or debris hauled, those requests were taken and would be eventually honored, as well. And whether they requested it or not, they would be prayed for—daily—by people who believe in the power of prayer.
Four photos. Same spot. But four different perspectives, depending on which way you’re facing. Cycling through the photos, we move from hopelessness to hope, from hope to happenings, and from happenings to healing. That’s how God uses his people to change the world. And he gets all the glory!
I don’t know exactly what perspective Chris had in mind on the different perspectives in these photos, but two applications come to mind for me:
First, two people at the very same spot may have very different perspectives on their circumstances depending on which way they are facing—what they are focused on. For example, one person looks at 2020 as a wasted year, due to COVID-19, social unrest, political division, and other negative factors. They focus on the first photo—the desolate street.
Another person, standing in the same spot, views 2020 not as a waste, but an opportunity. An opportunity to sew masks for healthcare providers. An opportunity to buy groceries for an elderly neighbor with pre-existing health conditions. An opportunity to pay a few bills for a friend who is out of work. Both people are confronted with the lemon that is 2020, but only one has chosen to make lemonade. Same spot. Different attitudes and perspectives.
Second, as we reflect on these photos, I think individuals and churches should ask which photo best depicts how we are seen by others—by the outside world. What perspective do they see in you? When someone among “the least of these” encounters your life, do they see Christ? Do they move from a sense of hopelessness (photo 1) to a sense of hope (photos 2-4)? Or, is my “I’m a Christian!” sign merely a mirage?
Do our church buildings have impressive signs out front, but not much going on beyond that? Are we mostly in a comfortable, self-preservation, maintenance mode? Does our sign read, “Free Food Here! Come and Get It!” or merely, “We Wish You Well in Finding Food!” Are we the Good Samaritan who stopped and helped, or the priest who walked on by? Speaking for myself, too often I’ve walked on by.
But maybe… just maybe… our lives and our churches can be more than just signs. There can be activity beneath the surface and behind-the-scenes… something amazing going on beyond the signs. We can go where we need to go and do what we need to do to bring hope and relieve suffering. We can try, as difficult as the task may be, to be the eyes, ears, feet, and hands of Jesus. It doesn’t take driving to a disaster area or wielding a chainsaw to do this. There are hurting people all around us.
Friends, if I may speak from the heart for a moment. We don’t need more grandiose church buildings or fancy signs. We don’t need more cross necklaces or Christian fish bumper stickers. Instead, we need more people willing to roll up their sleeves and get to work, meeting the needs of a hurting world. A world far more likely to listen to our “saving gospel message” if they’ve already seen Jesus at work in our lives. That’s what the world needs. And it starts with me.
Chris Adams, my friend, aka Mark Twain, gets that. He’s one of those servant-hearted people. A guy all-in on disaster relief—one downed tree and pork butt sandwich at a time. A Photo #4 guy who is all-in on Jesus. A guy who appreciates a good cup of coffee and a well-oiled chainsaw.
A guy who calls me Doofus.
