These articles were reprinted with permission from Christiangoth.com.

 

"Young man, you're not welcome here!" Those words echoed in Jeremy's head as he ran down the street. "I hate those stupid Christians. Anti-Christ Rules!"

Jeremy's life had become a living hell. It seemed as if God were to ruin everything that he loved. At the ripe old age of 14, he felt defeated and hopeless. Everybody made fun of his black clothes, dark eyeliner and lipstick, and gothic music. He was an only child living with his mom since his parents split up 6 years before. But she was too busy with her own messed-up life!

Everywhere Jeremy went, people stared and laughed at him. His dreary life had become a sad, hopeless existence. Nobody took the chance to even talk to him. Mr. Bailey, one of his teachers, pulled him aside and said, "You would probably have some friends if you didn't dress so weird." Mr. Bailey always had a way of pushing his buttons.

He wanted to run home and tell his mom, but he knew she wouldn't be there anyway. As he began searching through his back pack, he pulled out a Bible that he always liked to read when his feelings got hurt. He turned to the book of John and began to read about Jesus and his disciples. As he cried softly he thought, "I bet Jesus would have been my friend."

Jeremy woke up early that morning and walked into a church a couple blocks away from his home. He was excited about going to church for the first time. "Finally, someone will understand me!". As he took his first step into the church, he smiled at the usher and said "Hi". The usher looked at him coldly and then ignored him.

Jeremy walked with his head down as he slid into the center of the back row. As the Pastor walked around greeting old and new members of the congregation, he stopped when he reached the last row. As he glanced at Jeremy, he turned his head and walked back toward the pulpit. As the place filled with people, Jeremy sat all alone in the last pew. He turned and saw four people standing in the back looking at him coldly as the Pastor delivered his fiery sermon on proper Christian appearance.

Jeremy stood up and left the church. He swore he would never be back.

"Why can't I just be liked for who I am?" Jeremy ran faster. As he remembered those self righteous bible bigots, he began sobbing uncontrollably. "I hate them! I hate them!"

He stopped and crawled underneath a bridge where he had spent a lot of time thinking. It was dark and gloomy, but strangely comfortable. It reflected what he felt inside. It was, in some strange way, a place to hide from those "loving christians".

Jeremy was crying out in the same way we have cried out when nobody listened. Have you felt judged? Have you felt misunderstood? Have you felt alone? I think we all have. We need to stop acting like Christians and start acting like Christ!! Christ not only accepted these kinds of people, but he looked for them. He was excited that he had the directions to life as they went down the road to death. What was it that Jesus had? Love and acceptance. He was God and knew what it felt like to be rejected.

You know, I find myself in the middle of another counterculture. I realize that the same things I wrote about the "Metalheads" of yesterday are still true today. But one very sobering detail pierces my heart. Many of the same people that were crying for someone to understand them just 10 years ago, are turning their backs on the "Jeremy's" of the world today.

Many of you who were preaching unconditional love without condemnation and judgement, are guilty of hypocrisy today! You forget what it is like to reach out to someone on the edge that feel alone and confused. Don't forget that you use to be one of them!

Jeremy will continue to blame God instead of the people who are mistreating him. He will continue to follow Marilyn Manson and things like that who have the same venom. He will hate, and be hated. He will die in that pit - without a life line.

If you *are* Jeremy, I can assure you there is hope. Please let us know if there is anything we can do to help you. I am not offering you religion. It has a lot of people messed up today. I'd like to tell you about a relationship with God - who loves you just where you are! Call us toll free 1-800-548-5222. Or look us up on the web  Sanctuary  Join us in one of our chat rooms! We'd love to give you some honest answers                                  

~ this was written by Pastor Bob,  at Sanctuary Int.~ (not by christiangoth.com)

This was found in the Heaven's Metal Magazine...                             

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His name is Bill. He has wild hair, wears a T-shirt with holes in it, jeans and no shoes. This was literally his wardrobe for his entire four years ofcollege. He is brilliant. Kind of esoteric and very, very bright. He became a Christian while attending college. Across the street from the campus is a well-dressed, very conservative church. They want to develop a ministry to the students, but are not sure how to go about it. One day Bill decides to go there. He walks in with no shoes, jeans, his T-shirt, and wild hair. The service has already started and so Bill starts down the aisle looking for a seat. The church is completely packed and he can't find a seat. By now people are really looking a bit uncomfortable, but no one says anything. Bill gets closer and closer and closer to the pulpit and when he realizes there are no seats, he just squats down right on the carpet. (Although perfectly acceptable behavior at a college fellowship, trust me, this had never happened in this church before!) By now the people are really uptight, and the tension in the air is thick. About this time, the minister realizes that from way at the back of the church, a deacon is slowly making his way toward Bill. Now the deacon is in his eighties, has silver-gray hair, and a three-piece suit. A godly man, very elegant, very dignified, very courtly. He walks with a cane and as he starts walking toward this boy, everyone is saying to themselves, You can't blame him for what he's going to do. How can you expect a man of his age and of his background to understand some college kid on the floor? It takes a long time for the man to reach the boy. The church is utterly silent except for the clicking of the man's cane. All eyes are focused on him. You can't even hear anyone breathing. The people are thinking. The minister can't even preach the sermon until the deacon does what he has to do. And now they see this elderly man drop his cane on the floor. With great difficulty he lowers himself and sits down next to Bill and worships with him so he won't be alone. Everyone chokes up with emotion. When the minister gains control he says, "What I'm about to preach, you will never remember. What you have just seen, you will never forget.Be careful how you live. You may be the only Bible some people will ever read." --author unknown

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It was a beautiful Sunday morning. People were filling the church to its fullest capacity! As they entered, each were given a bulletin filled with announcements, topic of today's sermon, what songs they would sing and who to pray for. At the end of the line stood an older man. His clothes were filthy and you could tell that he had not bathed in days.  His face was covered in whiskers where he had not shaved for a very long time.   When he reached the usher, he removed his tattered old brown hat in
respect. His hair was a long, dirty, tangled mess. He had no shoes on his feet, and wore only soiled, black socks.
The usher put his fingers to his nose and glared at the old man and said, "Uh, I'm sorry sir, but I'm afraid we can't let you in. You will distract the congregation and we don't allow anyone to disrupt our service. I'm afraid you'll have to leave."
The old man looked down at himself and with a puzzled look on his face, he placed his old brown hat back upon his head and turned to leave. He was sad as he loved to hear the choir sing praises to the Lord. He loved to watch the little children get up in front of the church to sing their little songs. He carried in his pocket a small worn out Bible and loved to see if the minister preached a passage from the Bible that the old man had underlined. He was respectful enough and didn't want to cause
any commotion, so he hung down his head and walked back down the steps of the big brick church.  He sat down on the brick wall near the edge of the church yard and strained to listen through closed doors and windows to the singing going
on in the church. Oh how he wished he could be inside with all the others. A few minutes had passed by when all of a sudden a younger man came up behind him and sat down near him. He asked the old man what he was doing.  He answered, "I was going to go to church today, but they thought I was filthy and my clothes are old and worn, and they were afraid I would
disrupt their service. Sorry, I didn't introduce myself. My name is George."   The two gentlemen shook hands and George couldn't help but notice that this man had long hair like his. He wore a piece of cloth draped over his body tied with a royal purple sash. He had sandals upon his feet, now covered with dust and dirt.  The stranger reached out to touch George's shoulder and said, "Hello, George, don't feel bad because they won't let you in. My name is Jesus, and I've been trying to get into this same church for years, and they won't let me in either."    --author unknown

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The Boy Under the Tree
In the summer recess between freshman and sophomore years in college, I was invited to be an instructor at a high school leadership camp hosted
by a college in Michigan. I was already highly involved in most campus activities, and I jumped at the opportunity.
About an hour into the first day of camp, amid the frenzy of icebreakers and forced interactions, I first noticed the boy under the tree. He was
small and skinny, and his obvious discomfort and shyness made him appear frail and fragile. Only 50 feet away, 200 eager campers were bumping
bodies, playing, joking and meeting each other, but the boy under the tree seemed to want to be anywhere other than where he was. The
desperate loneliness he radiated almost stopped me from approaching him, but I remembered the instructions from the senior staff to stay alert
for campers who might feel left out.  As I walked toward him I said, "Hi, my name is Kevin and I'm one of the
counselors. It's nice to meet you. How are you?" In a shaky, sheepish voice he reluctantly answered, "Okay, I guess." I calmly asked him if he
wanted to join the activities and meet some new people. He quietly replied, "No, this is not really my thing."
I could sense that he was in a new world, that this whole experience was foreign to him. But I somehow knew it wouldn't be right to push him,
either. He didn't need a pep talk, he needed a friend. After several silent moments, my first interaction with the boy under the tree was over.
At lunch the next day, I found myself leading camp songs at the top of my lungs for 200 of my new friends. The campers were eagerly
participating. My gaze wandered over the mass of noise and movement and was caught by the image of the boy from under the tree, sitting alone,
staring out the window. I nearly forgot the words to the song I was supposed to be leading.
At my first opportunity, I tried again, with the same questions as before: "How are you doing? Are you okay?" To which he again replied,
"Yeah, I'm alright. I just don't really get into this stuff". As I left the cafeteria, I too realized this was going to take more time and
effort than I had thought - if it was even possible to get through to him at all.   That evening at our nightly staff meeting, I made my concerns about him
known. I explained to my fellow staff members my impression of him and asked them to pay special attention and spend time with him when they could.
The days I spend at camp each year fly by faster than any others I have known. Thus, before I knew it, mid-week had dissolved into the final
night of camp and I was chaperoning the "last dance". The students were doing all they could to savor every last moment with their new "best
friends" - friends they would probably never see again.  In October of my sophomore year, a late-night phone call pulled me away
from my chemistry book. A soft-spoken, unfamiliar voice asked politely, "Is Kevin there?"
"You're talking to him. Who's this?"  "This is Tom Johnson's mom. Do you remember Tommy from leadership camp?
The boy under the tree. How could I not remember?  "Yes, I do", I said. "He's a very nice young man. How is he?"
An abnormally long pause followed, then Mrs. Johnson said, "My Tommy was
walking home from school this week when he was hit by a car and killed."
Shocked, I offered my condolences.  "I just wanted to call you", she said, "because Tommy mentioned you so
many times. I wanted you to know that he went back to school this fall with confidence. He made new friends. His grades went up. And he even
went out on a few dates. I just wanted to thank you for making a difference for Tom. The last few months were the best few months of his life."
In that instant, I realized how easy it is to give a bit of yourself
every day. You may never know how much each gesture may mean to someone
else. I tell this story as often as I can, and when I do, I urge others
to look out for their own "boy under the tree."
- author unknown