What’s in a name?
Andrée Seu, won’t you please, won’t you please, please won’t you be my neighbor?
Though usually, somewhere within her essays, she states that because of what she’s written, folks will turn their backs on her left and right (and, maybe it’s because she’s experienced — unfortunately — the “left foot of fellowship” from other believers more often than she’d care to), every time I read something of hers, I have the opposite reaction: I have a wish that she lived next door, and she could walk right over, and I could make her a cuppa, and we could chat. Such graciousness, intelligence, maturity, a heart for Jesus, and humor are too rarely packaged in one person. (Kathy B., have you read much of her stuff? You’d like her, I think. Similar hearts, yours and hers, I believe.)
In the March 13, 2010 issue of World magazine, there was yet another commentary by Andrée that was spot on. Just right. I wanted to reproduce a few excerpts from her article here in my blog, but as I read and re-read it, I think, “What would I leave out?” So, I’m going to copy the whole thing here. (I’ve e-mailed her in the past, and she said I could do so!) World magazine must have altered their policy, because their web police asked me to not publish the full content of the essay on my blog… You’ll have to click at the end to read the full article — PLEASE do.
So, without further ado:
What’s in a name?
Let’s care more about Jesus than our brand’s market share | Andrée Seu
I knew a woman who was allergic to dust—and just about everything else. Elaine was a veritable canary in a coal mine: Put her in a house with any spore count that registers and you could skip the take-home test kits.
I have developed a hypersensitivity of a different kind. I sense when Jesus is slipping away from a place. I know that sounds prideful, but the only reason for my acuteness is that I slipped away for decades.
My condition manifested not long ago at a formal seminary dinner. Conversations around the table broached every subject under the sun but Jesus. The after-dinner speaker waxed of venerable “traditions.” Something wasn’t sharp somehow.
I don’t think I’m imagining this. At a banquet of truckers for Christ, I knew right off the bat that it was all about Jesus and not about the organization; the excitement for Him was palpable. You don’t know off-white until you see white next to it.
Meanwhile, back at the seminary affair…