Spiritual Antiseptic: The Good Burn

One fateful day when I was a teenager, my camp director friend asked me if I would consider being the camp nurse for the week, as their regular nurse couldn't be there over that time. It made me laugh; my nursing capabilities extended to knowing how to open a Band-Aid box. I also knew that Neosporin was a good idea, and that a tiny dab of rubbing alcohol on a mosquito bite sometimes took away the intense itching.

Armed with this extensive knowledge, it seemed that I was certified to don my nursing credentials and accept the position, and so I set up my domain in the camp nursing office. I don't remember every injury or scrape from that week, but I do remember a plethora of mosquito bites and bee stings (a hike and a stumble into a nest brought those about). I wielded baking soda paste with energy, and I dabbed rubbing alcohol on mosquito bites without holding back.

Until I got to the boy (the poor thing) who had scratched open a couple of those bites, and in my enthusiasm, I didn't realize it. As I dabbed the alcohol-soaked Q-tip against those bites, he hollered. It got really loud really quickly, and my nursing career was over before it had barely begun. 

A much-chastened me produced a box of hydrogen peroxide wipes and finished the job, to the relief of the boy and the whole staff who couldn't help but bear witness to the results of my nursing expertise. 

By nature an empath, I lived in that boy's cries. They sent me straight back to the iodine bottle in my parent's medicine cabinet, where the red liquid seeped into my open wounds and radiated pain for a time... until the germs were burned away. When I saw my mom approaching with the bottle, the intensity of my tears increased exponentially. I knew that pain was coming.

Once the pain disappeared, though, the healing began.

Have you ever let a wound try to heal without cleansing it first? I have. It was a minor thing; I fell on a cactus once. I was hiking just outside of Phoenix, AZ when I tripped and caught myself on a small, spiny bush. I picked myself up and was dismayed to see cactus spines impaling the heel of my hand and all the way up through my index and middle fingers. As I came to discover, cactus spines are notoriously difficult to pick out; they anchor in skin almost like fishhooks, and simply pulling them out as you would a splinter doesn't always work. I got the worst of them, but several broke off and remained in my skin.

Rather than sensibly going to a professional to have them removed, I decided to ride it out. My hand quickly grew sore and red. The inflammation swelled my hand and fingers up to puffy proportions, and the whole thing burned. Thankfully, the infection fought its fight, eventually worked itself out, and nothing worse happened as the tiny wounds finally healed. I carried those spines in my skin for most of the rest of that year, though.  

But infection that remains turns into gangrene. I've read enough Civil War hospital stories to understand some of what that looks like, and it's not a pleasant picture.

John 10:22-42 tells us about a type of infection that confronts Jesus at every turn, and still remains with us today: Unbelief. It roots deeply, and is nearly impossible to get out. It clings to our souls like fishhooks, and the only way to dissolve it is the spiritual antiseptic offered in the truth of Jesus' words, the repentance that comes through salvation, and the stronghold of faith in our lives.

Here's John's account: Jesus is walking through Solomon's Colonnade again, and the Jews approach Him, asking: "How long will you keep us in suspense? If You are the Christ, tell us plainly."

Tell you plainly? Y'all, have you not been listening?!

Jesus says: "I did tell you, but you do not believe. The miracles I do in my Father's Name speak for Me, but you do not believe, because you are not My sheep. My sheep listen to My voice; I know them, and they follow Me. I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one can snatch them out of My hand. My Father, Who has given them to Me, is greater than all; no one can snatch them out of My Father's hand. I and the Father are one" (John 10:25-30).

The unbelief of the Jews in this scenario is a festering wound. It swells up in their thoughts and worldviews, and they can't see the Source of the miracles happening right in front of them. Rather, they are enraged that this man would claim to be God ("I and the Father are one."). They don't stop long enough to consider that what He says is, well... the truth.

So they pick up their stones to stone Him. 

Jesus brings up the miracles He's done, which have consistently held their attention from Day One. "I have shown you many great miracles from the Father. For which of these do you stone me?" He asks.

The Jews blow right by the evidence and cling to their unbelief. "We are not stoning You for any of these," they say, "but for blasphemy, because You, a mere Man, claim to be God."

What do you do when you lay out the facts, but people won't see or acknowledge them?

Jesus tries once again to reason with them, appealing to the Law that they hold as of supreme importance. He reminds them of the miracles He's done, and tells them that it is the Father Who is doing those miracles through Him. Jesus says: "I am God's Son."

Which makes them rage to the skies. They try to seize Him, but He escapes.

Their disbelief has penetrated their hearts so deeply, hooked into their soul so absolutely, that an infection has begun, and the oozing, festering stronghold of hatred and anger comes pouring out the moment Jesus opens His mouth.

The only way to dispel the infection is through repentance, performing a U-turn from the direction they've been heading, and a doing a complete 180 degree about-face to follow God's Son. That is spiritual antiseptic. And it's going to sting. It's going to bubble up as the truth tears through the layers of unbelief and sin and deception and soul-infection. But it's the only true peace that will come.

There's been a lot of talk about peace lately, have you noticed? Or maybe it's better put: There's been a lot of talk about lack of peace lately. After Wednesday's debacle in the Capitol building, the fallout has been wide and varied. People have offered one solution or another as a "step in the right direction," and maybe those steps are necessary. But I would argue that they are a Band-Aid at best, a simple adhesive slapped over a festering wound. They acknowledge that there is a problem, but they doesn't address the problem. They don't dig to the root of the infection.

Because there is an infection, and it's not localized to your favorite political party or your chosen social justice cause or even your country-of-choice. The problem is global and it interweaves every part of humanity -- spiritually, mentally, physically. It is not the result of only a few weeks or months or Facebook and Twitter sparring. It's not the result of the strain of a deadly pandemic.

It is a long-term problem that has festered and oozed and gangrened, and the stench is appalling.

Tossing a bandage at it to cover it up will do nothing at all toward cleansing the wound.

We need Jesus in our nation again. We need Jesus in our world. And all the "co-exist-let's-all-just-get-along" speech in the world does nothing to kill the infestation. Jesus preached love, yes. He also said to leave our lives of sin and to follow Him. He never, not once, preached tolerance of evil. His path leads to the Father, to salvation, but it's a difficult path, because it doesn't allow for side trails. It doesn't allow a buffet menu of this religion and that religion. All roads may lead to Rome (I hope I'm not the only one who has heard that expression), but only one road leads to eternal life.

"I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life. No one comes to the Father except through Me" (John 14:6). That stings a little, doesn't it? 

But what about...

The way.

But that religion says...

The truth.

Surely not everyone...

The life.

If I'm good enough...

No one comes to the Father except through Me.

It doesn't get much plainer than that. It hurts, sometimes. 

I don't want to live in any other way that takes my vision off of Him. I want to be completely and absolutely sold out to Jesus. Anything that is not from Him, I want to get rid of. So when the pain, the stinging of cleansing comes, I get excited, because I know that He is doing a good work in me. He's opening that bottle of spiritual antiseptic and pouring it into my soul. It burns; sometimes it's almost unbearable. But it's killing the infection that has its hooks buried in my heart.

"No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it" (Hebrews 12:11).

Can you imagine what would happen if we as a nation, as a collective global society said, and truly meant: "Have mercy on me, oh God, according to Your unfailing love; according to Your great compassion blot out my transgressions. Wash away all my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin" (Psalm 51:1-2).

That's what I picture heaven to be like: humility, absolute stripping of pride, so that we can be on our knees before the throne, in complete and total surrender to the Ancient of Days. Hallelujah!