I associate a second "attack" with the first for, in the absence of any other uniting evidence, its coming upon the heels of a sermon I preached on the same theme of servant-leadership.
On the Monday after this sermon, our family left for a two-day vacation to celebrate Anna's birthday on our favorite spot on the Wild Coast. We had a great time. Then we packed up to return to Mthatha.
On the way home, as we pulled back into the city limits, we stopped at Steers to pick up lunch. I left the family in the car as I went inside. While I was waiting at the counter having placed my order, I removed my ball cap, rubbed my disheveled hair and eyes tired from the drive, and probably let out a deep sigh or two. From the left I heard a voice say once, and then a second time to get my attention, "you need to relax, man."
"Where are you from?" the man behind the voice continued.
I knew what he was looking for. Having been identified as a foreigner, I chose to cut to the chase and just say "America". "But I live in Mthatha now," I added.
He proceeded to educate me on a number of subjects: "We don't cut people's hearts out and eat them like they do in Rwanda. This is South Africa. You've got to draw the line somewhere."
He proceeded to berate the young woman working behind the counter.
"Where's my friend's order? If you want to get anything here, you have to ask for it," he said, coming back at me. He badgered the woman still more.
He raises his eyebrows at me. He throws some glances at the woman, who, thankfully, at this point is paying him no attention. "The dark meat, that's where it's at. Every one who smiles at you, take her."
"I don't operate that way," I insisted. "I'm married."
"So am I," he said incredulously. "It doesn't matter. Can't you give this man some ice cream," he returned to the young woman, "for his wife."
I could not wait to get out of there. Now my order really was taking its precious time.
I had not been in the mood from the start, when this drunk had approached me with what felt very much like an accusation: "You need to relax, man."
I pride myself on being relaxed. And I take other people's criticisms seriously. But I was not going to take too seriously this particular guy's "counsel". I finally got our food. I wished him well, we shook hands. I was relieved to leave. I was also disturbed by the encounter.
As I relayed it to Anna, it dawned on me that this was another attack: a demon of sorts who had met me upon my return from the wilderness in order to gain some kind of upper hand over me.
"You need to relax, man."
"I know who you are."
I would never pretend to be in the place of Jesus; yet I had been perceiving, as I preached his words from the gospels, that his Spirit was leading me. Whatever possessing spirit--not the man himself--recognized that.
I do need to relax: this I know. It is in fact why I have been preaching about leadership in the first place; pastors must not feel that they have to do everything, that they bear the burden of saving the world. A prior responsibility to ministry is to relax with one's wife and children, to delight in one's primary relationships. As a result, "you need to relax" on the lips of this man was not a word of prophecy for me; it was a (vain) attempt to derail me in the priorities I had set for myself: God first, family second, ministry third. These are not commitments to relax.
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