Turtle Pens and The Power of The Imperishable Seed The Sanctuary Downtown / Relentless Love
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- Christianity
Twenty-six years ago, I said to my son Jon, "Let's build a pen for Myrtle, your box turtle." Jon was so excited. I thought, "This will be a great father/son project." We got to work, but at the age of nine, Jon wasn't the fastest of workers and seemed to prefer TV to hauling rock. Before long, I got grumpy. And before long, Jon began to shrivel. His eyes welled up with tears. He went inside... like a turtle. And I built the turtle pen alone.
Twenty-six years ago, I was also preparing to preach on the same text that we're preaching on this week. When I had asked the Lord what he wanted us to hear in 1 Peter 5, I realized that it was something like this: "Peter, I didn't ask you to build a turtle pen. But I'm building a son, and I'd like you to help."
How do you build a person as opposed to a bunch of turtles in a turtle pen?
There are advantages to boxes and turtles in turtle pens — they feel safe.
But turtles are unhuggable... and they bite.
About ten years earlier, I was building homes in Mexico along with my youth group from Los Angeles. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Billy had bent a nail, couldn't seem to straighten it, and was now hiding that fact from me. I said something like, "Hey bonehead, try this," straightened the nail, made a joke out of it, and we all kept working.
When I left Bel Air Presbyterian Church, Billy pulled me aside and said, "Peter, I want you to know how you changed my life." I hoped for a reference to some great message that I had given. But Billy said, "It was the nail." When I looked confused, he explained, "In Mexico, when I bent that nail, I fully expected you to curse me and ridicule me in front of my friends. That's what my dad would've done. But you acted like it was no big deal. It made me think, 'Maybe love is real, and God is Love.'"
So, was I building houses in Mexico... or Billy... or maybe my ego?
In my heart, Billy was like the poster child for "Peter Hiett Ministries." It wasn't long before I preached on 1 Peter 5, 26 years ago, that I received a phone call from the father of one of Billy's friends. He said, "Billy went for a walk at UCLA, pulled a gun out of a paper bag, and shot himself in the heart. He's dead." I don't know why Billy did that, but I know that I hadn't called him for a while, and I know that, just as I had felt pride, I now felt shame as if I had failed at building Billy. I had used Billy to build my own house, my ego, my turtle pen. But I'm pretty sure that I had helped him with the nail, not simply because I was trying to exalt myself but because — at least for a moment — I actually loved Billy, or Love loved Billy through me.
My hope is that when Billy sees God, he'll recognize him from that day in Mexico and surrender his life to the one who gave him life in the first place. My hope is that Billy will recognize the Jesus in me because I recognized the Jesus in him. Jesus said, "Whatever you do to the least of these, you do to me."
I suspect that one day, Jesus will look at Billy and me and say, "You are the house that I am building." I bet he'll say something like that to Peter and Judas. And I bet they'll say, "Thank you for letting us help." I'm not the only one to lose a disciple to suicide.
Jesus said to Peter, "You are Peter (Rock), and on this rock I will build my church." I bet Peter felt responsible for Judas.
When John saw the New Jerusalem coming down, it was a temple — a house — built on 12 foundation stones upon which were the names of the 12 Apostles of the Lamb. Judas is the "Son of Perdition (lostness)," but Jesus came "to seek and to save the lost." And so, as Peter told us, "He went and proclaimed to the spirits in prison... and this is why the gospel was preached even to the dead that, although judged in the flesh the way people are, they might live in the Spirit the way God does."
Jesus is building a house. And until you catch a glimpse of the house that He's building, you'll keep building turtle pens fo
Twenty-six years ago, I said to my son Jon, "Let's build a pen for Myrtle, your box turtle." Jon was so excited. I thought, "This will be a great father/son project." We got to work, but at the age of nine, Jon wasn't the fastest of workers and seemed to prefer TV to hauling rock. Before long, I got grumpy. And before long, Jon began to shrivel. His eyes welled up with tears. He went inside... like a turtle. And I built the turtle pen alone.
Twenty-six years ago, I was also preparing to preach on the same text that we're preaching on this week. When I had asked the Lord what he wanted us to hear in 1 Peter 5, I realized that it was something like this: "Peter, I didn't ask you to build a turtle pen. But I'm building a son, and I'd like you to help."
How do you build a person as opposed to a bunch of turtles in a turtle pen?
There are advantages to boxes and turtles in turtle pens — they feel safe.
But turtles are unhuggable... and they bite.
About ten years earlier, I was building homes in Mexico along with my youth group from Los Angeles. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Billy had bent a nail, couldn't seem to straighten it, and was now hiding that fact from me. I said something like, "Hey bonehead, try this," straightened the nail, made a joke out of it, and we all kept working.
When I left Bel Air Presbyterian Church, Billy pulled me aside and said, "Peter, I want you to know how you changed my life." I hoped for a reference to some great message that I had given. But Billy said, "It was the nail." When I looked confused, he explained, "In Mexico, when I bent that nail, I fully expected you to curse me and ridicule me in front of my friends. That's what my dad would've done. But you acted like it was no big deal. It made me think, 'Maybe love is real, and God is Love.'"
So, was I building houses in Mexico... or Billy... or maybe my ego?
In my heart, Billy was like the poster child for "Peter Hiett Ministries." It wasn't long before I preached on 1 Peter 5, 26 years ago, that I received a phone call from the father of one of Billy's friends. He said, "Billy went for a walk at UCLA, pulled a gun out of a paper bag, and shot himself in the heart. He's dead." I don't know why Billy did that, but I know that I hadn't called him for a while, and I know that, just as I had felt pride, I now felt shame as if I had failed at building Billy. I had used Billy to build my own house, my ego, my turtle pen. But I'm pretty sure that I had helped him with the nail, not simply because I was trying to exalt myself but because — at least for a moment — I actually loved Billy, or Love loved Billy through me.
My hope is that when Billy sees God, he'll recognize him from that day in Mexico and surrender his life to the one who gave him life in the first place. My hope is that Billy will recognize the Jesus in me because I recognized the Jesus in him. Jesus said, "Whatever you do to the least of these, you do to me."
I suspect that one day, Jesus will look at Billy and me and say, "You are the house that I am building." I bet he'll say something like that to Peter and Judas. And I bet they'll say, "Thank you for letting us help." I'm not the only one to lose a disciple to suicide.
Jesus said to Peter, "You are Peter (Rock), and on this rock I will build my church." I bet Peter felt responsible for Judas.
When John saw the New Jerusalem coming down, it was a temple — a house — built on 12 foundation stones upon which were the names of the 12 Apostles of the Lamb. Judas is the "Son of Perdition (lostness)," but Jesus came "to seek and to save the lost." And so, as Peter told us, "He went and proclaimed to the spirits in prison... and this is why the gospel was preached even to the dead that, although judged in the flesh the way people are, they might live in the Spirit the way God does."
Jesus is building a house. And until you catch a glimpse of the house that He's building, you'll keep building turtle pens fo