The Invisible Man
by TJ Nickel 12/21/2007 / Christian Living
My wife says I have the gift of tongues. It's called karaoke. She's very thankful for the screen providing the interpretation. I suppose Paul was right, without it I'd sound like a gong.
So, that gift being what it is, and my wonderful wife neglecting to inform me about the quality of this gift prior to choir team tryouts, our little startup church elected to not fill that fourth singing position. I guess the big plans for the quartet weren't so big after all.
I showed a bit of promise as a theologian. The elders asked me to step in and lead four others in a men's study each week. Within three weeks, Pastor Davis called me into his office to help him answer the emails from this manly quartet. Apparently, informing them that God isn't both omniscient and omnipotent because knowing everything prevents the power to learn wasn't wise counsel.
So, that gift being what it is, Pastor Davis asked me to make the quartet into a quintet. By this time, two of the men decided (for some unfathomable reason) that a men's study group wasn't for them. So, I became a third wheel. God must be teaching us about his triune nature, because he doesn't seem to like foursomes in our church.
The gift I received from the Spirit was the gift of invisibility. I looked all over for it in the Bible and for some ironic reason I couldn't find it. It's hidden in their somewhere. I'm sure, because I get this haunting feeling like there's some Ghostly part of God's revelation of Himself to be comprehended. Can't seem to find it specifically, but I really think that's my gift: invisibility.
Invisibility works hand in hand with omnipresence. Being one enables the other. Yeah, I said that one to the five men at study too. But, I'm pretty sure that's how God does it.
See, I was brought up the seventh of thirteen children. You'd think lucky number seven would be a good place to be, and poor number thirteen would be the cursed one. God does like twelve's. As it turns out, the middle guy becomes invisible and the double sixes fold on top of one another perfectly. This leaves number seven as the book's binding. There's no page for me in there, but I'm glued to every one of them somehow and someway. When we're looked at as a group, I'm the one people see staring them in the face as a label or representative of our family; however, when you open up the story I can't be found anywhere. It's as though I've been erased, or turned into some ghost.
I tried finding a way to serve the church, and the world for that matter, where you don't have to sing, can play theologian, and where the gifts of invisibility and omnipresence are core components of the service. Turns out there's only one such thing for such a person. That's why I write.