Dynamite!

"Hey! Good morning!" I called through my rolled down window as I passed the third driveway on my block on the way to work on Tuesday morning. It wasn't my neighbor, but my neighbor's friend who was walking out to his truck to get something. The two (my neighbor and his friend) are inseparable. They're always in the back yard hanging out, drinking, gardening, pushing kids on the swing, and lighting dynamite (more on this later).

"You got the wrong guy," he muttered. For a cheery guy, he seemed pretty upset.
"Huh?" I knew this person. We threw the frisbee together at the block party.
"You got the wrong guy. You can't come over here all buddy-buddy after calling the cops on us," he grimaced.

::

Back to the dynamite. Three weeks ago, I was sitting calmly at my desk when a cannon fired. At least that's what it sounded like. My house shook from the force of some powerful explosion. And then... nothing. No laughter, no fire, no screams. Just one earthshaking blast. I called a friend who lives nearby who (obviously) heard it and said his friends two miles away heard it too. With nothing to report, I went back to enjoying the evening.

A few nights later it happened again. I swear one of my neighbors just blew somebody's brains out. I asked them. Nothing.

The next night. Again. Is this a war-zone? This time I'm going outside and I will find out what's happening around here. The kids who were playing on the street said it was cool but they didn't know what it was. Then I saw that my neighbors (see first paragraph) were chilling in their backyard.

"Hey guys, did you hear that?"
"Yeah, I think it came from over that fence or something," he replied. Just then his friend came out of the house.
"Dude that was awesome!" he blurted.
"Yeah ... it was us," confessed my neighbor. "Wanna see?"

Behind me was a trashcan-sized hole in the lawn, the result of a quarter stick of dynamite.

"O... that's ... cool," I enthused. I figured it was enough for them to know I knew. When I walked home, my other neighbor asked what had happened and I told her. She had been pretty scared and had dialed nine-one-one already, unbeknownst to me.

::

"Actually I didn't call the cops," I tried to explain, the smile fading from my face.
"Yeah well the cops gave us the same description we gave you!" He was angry now, and hurt. I guess he thought I had gone home and called the cops on them.

What would you say to somebody in that situation? I sensed myself fighting to defend my reputation, to defend the relationship I'd built with them. I felt angry too - angry to be caught up in the fear and hate that plagues our block. Angry because I'm supposed to be a Christian and point people to Jesus. Now the people I was trying to love hate me*! Two days later (today) I would write a note explaining the situation and asking for reconciliation. But in that moment I was upset. And for the rest of the day and the day after. Maybe that's why Jesus teaches us to leave our worship at the altar, to press pause, and to make the wrong a right. Because a strained relationship tears up my heart like dynamite.

I drove away, shaking.



*I wonder how Jesus felt when the whole world hated him, wanted to kill him. How did Jesus respond?