I'm only 13, maybe 14, and our church is not that big. Just a simple Christian and Missionary Alliance Church of less than 100 in what is back then a still simple Scarborough that barely reaches north to the 401. Early 1970's.
We have a guest speaker this morning. A brand new graduate from Ontario Bible college. A young man with a funny name and a musical voice. Ravi Zacharias. He is introduced and I say his name over a few times in my mind, just because I like the rhythm of it. I will remember nothing of what he preached on, I'm afraid. I'm sorry. As a preacher now myself, I know that would make for a better story. But I will remember his jet black hair. And I will remember his presence. What a remarkable presence this man has. A substance and blending of strength and humility. It emanates from him, even then. This is what I remember.
After that, that young man became famous. Almost a household name, if you were in the right households. His incredible intellect and that substance of strength and humility turned out to be exactly what God needed in an apologist. And he spoke everywhere, and was invited to university debates, and wrote books, and made a whole lot of people realize that they didn't have to give up on their brains to believe the story of Jesus.
And whenever I heard his name I remembered him, because I liked the rhythm of his name and the music of his voice and the substance of his presence.
Fast forward twenty-five years, give or take. 1999.
Scarborough now reaches far beyond the 401, but my parents still live in the house of my childhood. Except Dad's had a stroke and he's not yet come home from the hospital, and Mom is uncharacteristically
Dad is not so sure. But Mom's determined, and I'm thinking that if we could go for a little tour with the property manager, it would at least give us an idea of some of our options. I suggest we make an appointment for next week. But Dad's out on a day pass, and Mom really, really wants to see if we might find someone around anyways, like today, like right now.
I'm reluctant. It's a big deal getting Dad in and out of the car. We're new at all this transferring to a wheelchair business at this point in the game. And to be frank, Dad has his 'favourite' shirt on, and he spilled his breakfast that morning, and we really need to get him a haircut.
But Mom is insistent, and Dad is at least willing, and the drive won't hurt, I guess. So we get him out the door and into the car, which takes the better part of an hour in itself. And we do the drive up to Shepherd Avenue, and we stop by the entrance of the condos in question, wrangle Dad out of the car and into the wheelchair, and roll up to the entrance. Mom pushes the call button for the 'office', while I make a mental note again about getting Dad's hair cut.
We are told, politely and not surprisingly, that we'd need to make an appointment and, sorry but no one is available at the moment. I'm relieved. Okay, no harm, no foul. We can make the appointment for next week when everyone, mostly me, feels more ready for it. And we'll get that haircut and change the shirt.
I tell Mom that it's okay, we'll make the appointment and come back. But Mom isn't leaving. She's looking at the directory on the wall. Our friends live here, she says, and perhaps they wouldn't mind if we looked at their unit. Um. Mom? It's a Saturday. It's still kind of early. They're not expecting us. Feels rather intrusive to me.
But Mom has already found the name, Reynolds, and has pushed the button. I wait, praying no one is home. Mark this as one prayer where the answer was 'no'.
A cheery voice greets us from inside the mesh of the speaker. I groan. Mom does the talking. And wouldn't you know it, these dear people are all fine and yes come on up and pushing the buzzer to release the door.
On their floor the elevator opens and there they are, two of the most welcoming folks you'd ever want to meet on a spontaneous, we-want-to-look-all-through-your-home kind of Saturday. They are so glad to see my Dad, the first they've seen him since the stroke. And yes, please come in, and would you like something to eat. And I'm just dying! The whole time it's awkward and I'm apologizing and trying not to bump Dad's wheelchair on any of their furniture. And they show us all around, even into their bedrooms and even the bathroom, because, don't you know you have to figure out if the doors are wide enough.
And while they are down the hall in the master bedroom, I am cringing by myself in the living room, wishing I had insisted Dad change his shirt. And I glance up and see a family photo. There they are, our gracious Saturday morning hosts, in the center on the chairs, with their entire family, all of them, standing around them. It's a large group. Lovely family.
And then I notice something that brings these two stories together in the most surprising of ways. Standing on the one end of this large family portrait is Ravi Zacharias. No question. That's him.
Just as I notice this, the tour ends and everyone comes into the living room.
"Lovely family," I say, pointing to the picture. "Can I, um ask, is Ravi Zacharias part of your family?"
"Why yes!" Mrs. Reynold's face brightens in an even more welcoming smile. "He's our son-in-law." And then she pauses, and asks me as if this was a real question. "Do you know him?"
Yes I know him!!! Most of the Christian world knows him!
And now I am realizing that we've just crashed in on the in-laws of Ravi Zacharias.
So here's why I'm telling these two stories. A few notable points.
- We're all so much more connected that we'll ever realize.
- Preachers, you're making more of an impression on youth than you know.
- Everyone is just as important as anyone else in the home of welcome.
- Never underestimate the power of simple hospitality, even on an unplanned Saturday morning.
The world lost an amazing human being this week, Tuesday, May 19, 2020, when Ravi Zacharias was released to glory.
May we all pursue our life's mission with such passion and integrity.
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