The Greatest Story of All-Guest Blog: Grant Norsworthy

This post is used by permission. To read more from Grant, visit his blog and webpage.

http://grantnorsworthy.com/blog/ & http://grantnorsworthy.com/

The Greatest Story Of All

J.R.R. Tolkien is best known as the author of two GREAT stories: The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. Both stories are incredibly powerful and wildly popular. I wish I could say that I’ve read both numerous times, but I can’t. Like most people (I guess), I had to settle for the Peter Jackson directed screen adaptations.

I’m a fan of both stories, but I do find The Lord of the Rings to be far more engaging. What about you? If you’re like me and prefer The Lord of the Rings, we are not alone! The Hobbit has sold about 100 million copies, while The Lord of the Rings has sold in excess of 150 million. The Lord of the Rings movies grossed over $10 billion at the box office, while The Hobbit trilogy gathered less than $3 billion. All impressive numbers, but the difference is huge.

Both of these incredible stories – like any good story – describe a conflict and its resolution: An obstacle that must be, and is overcome. But while The Hobbit is about some greedy dwarves and how they get their treasure back from a dragon, The Lord of the Rings depicts the incarnation of absolute evil in Dark Lord Sauron and the war fought by the good beings whom he would seek to destroy and rule over. It’s the supreme struggle between good and evil! What could be more compelling than that?

Generally speaking with stories, the bigger and more overwhelming the obstacle, the sweeter triumph over that obstacle tastes. The more difficult the conflict, the more satisfying the resolution. Stories with BIG conflict and a correspondingly BIG resolution will make a BIG impact. They engage us like nothing else can.

The story of a person from an uneducated, deprived background earning a Ph.D. is more compelling than a 5th grader moving from a B to an A in mathematics. The story of escape from a Nazi concentration camp is more compelling than escape from a large, wet, brown paper bag.

The conflict that is resolved is bigger in The Lord of the Rings than in The Hobbit. That’s why it connects more deeply and more widely. But, to me, there’s a story far more important and powerful than even The Lord of the Rings!

I believe the greatest and most important story of all is of God and his created human beings – you and me – all of us. It’s the story described in The Bible. It’s the ultimate struggle of God’s goodness versus the evil of Satan – the devil. And it’s not just some made up story! You and I are characters in this epic, real-life, unfinished story.

In perhaps its simplest “elevator pitch” version, this great story’s central theme is worship. The plot? Having been rejected by His own creation in the Garden, God summons his beloved people to return to Him – to worship Him above anything else. He knows this is the only way that people will be able to truly live as we were created to live.

As God spoke through the first of His Ten Commandments:

“You shall have no other gods before me.”

Exodus 20:3

But forces of evil stand in defiance against God and use all manner of sinister deception, power and influence to entice people to worship anything but God.

The story has always been about worship: The worship of God or the worship of something – anything – else. From the dawn of time to this very moment, there has always been a monumental conflict for humankind between the worship of God or Satan’s counterfeit, idol-gods.

But where’s the conflict and resolution in the Christian “worship” of today? Where’s the irrepressible attraction of the greatest story if “worship” becomes something that happens only once a week inside a church building designated by very specific, semi-passive activities?

With the imperative attraction of conflict and resolution removed from what we call “worship”, is it any wonder that many people turn away – leave The Church – or perhaps sit inactive and passive in a pew – unengaged, unmoved and uninspired?

And so, let’s expand our view of worship. Let’s move more deeply into the overwhelming, monumental conflict that is raging over our worship.

As we should have learned in school, the elements of story are:

Setting

Characters

Plot

Conflict

Resolution

The setting of worship is not just inside a church building. The war rages anywhere and everywhere we find ourselves.

We are all characters in this great story – not just the people with microphones on the platform, or in the stories we hear from The Bible.

The plot of worship is so much more than what happens during that hour or two on a Sunday morning. The plot is deep and wide and rich and woven through every facet of our lives.

And there is conflict. And there will be resolution to this epic, life and death – eternal life and eternal death – struggle of worship.

Therefore brothers, in view of God’s great mercy, offer yourselves as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, and let that be your spiritual act of worship.

Romans 12:1

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To read more from Grant, visit his blog and webpage.

http://grantnorsworthy.com/blog/

http://grantnorsworthy.com/

Grant Norsworthy is an Australian speaker and musician, based in Nashville, Tennessee, USA since 2002. With a message birthed from an intriguing personal journey profoundly impacted by the Word of God, Grant is uniquely qualified as a compelling voice on a number of important topics to all sincere followers of Jesus.

Grant has encouraged, challenged and entertained audiences of all ages, sizes and flavors in almost all of the fifty United States and in many countries around the world. With his engaging blend of storytelling, illustrations, humor, solid Bible teaching and music, Grant’s involvement elevates any event or Church service.

As a former member of top CCM and “worship bands” Grant passionately speaks to the meaning of worship: To refine and elevate the imperative role of music in the Church, but also to clarify what it means to offer ourselves as a “living sacrifice” (Romans 12:1).

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When It Counts--Fiction

     It had to be seconds but it seemed hours since my wheels disengaged from the track, slammed home to dig in and flip me into an airborne spin. A small hunk of debris causing a blown tire and my career as a Driver floated away with the wind streaming by at a hundred and sixty miles per hour. The Owners weren’t going to want to keep my contract; I couldn’t even win a 250 that didn’t count anyway.

     I shouldn’t have been in this race to begin with. I had taken this detour from the regular schedule to enter a short track race. It wasn’t in the points race and for all purposes I had no business to risk it. After begging LaDrews Racing for this opportunity, I’d blown it again. Maybe I hadn't fully convinced them of the great advertising opportunity, but they let me enter anyway. After-all, I'd begun on tracks like this. This was Kindergarten stuff for a Driver who's scored two-time second place at Daytona.

As the car went around for another spin, I saw any possible win at next year's Daytona fly away with the left front wheel. What good was the dream of Daytona when I'd wrecked LaDrews Dodge car two days before qualifying for Talladega. They were probably already exchanging my name on the roster for my teammate’s name.

     Kelsey was a good driver, yet he wasn’t a risk taker, never scratching the paint. The LaDrews brothers hired me for my nerve but I’d been a disappointment, even to myself.

     The car came down on its roof with a bone-jarring bang and immediately lifted for another round of flips. Metal and fiberglass flew in every direction. When would this crazy ride quit? I wasn’t enjoying it. Race car driving was about precision, deliberation, courage and most of all control.

     Right now, I had no control.

   We have no control.  That’s what that preacher said in church last Sunday; that little church my wife, Viv, insisted we attend. He’d said something about God being in control of everything.

     “God, if you’re in control, why don’t you stop this kaleidoscoping automobile?” I was screaming but the roaring of tearing metal screamed louder so I couldn't even hear myself.

     The stop seemed as frightening as the flying. My thrashed body felt stunned, even surrounded by the safety gear. Trapped in the demolished car, I watched the rescue vehicles arrive. I was still saying something but my head was still spinning to rapidly to register my own thoughts. Like the tire that was still rolling down the track to the infield my mind was running away with a jumble of thoughts. Maybe my life was flashing before my eyes, but it didn't look very familiar at the moment.

     “Gary, you all right?”

     I heard that and looked out at the anxious face of the attendant. I calmly replied, “Yeah, I’m okay.”

     While someone blew fire-retardant all over what was left of what had been a championship racecar, the rescue crew peeled the mangled metal apart and helped me out. The attendants took my arms as I stumbled.

     I grinned. “Went around too many times, dizzy.” My legs gave out and they caught me before I face-planted the asphalt.

     “Ambulance, Gary,” one said. “Get you checked out.” I was in no condition to complain as they lifted me and laid me on a gurney, strapping me down to restrict movement. "Just a short trip, relax." The attendant smiled. "The doctor'll fix you up"

     Whatever he might have said next was lost when the world suddenly became a humongous soft black pillow that swallowed me whole.

    Vivian, my wife, was in the room when I woke up, an open bible in her lap, her IPad in her hand, with the earbuds tucked in her dainty little ears. Seeing my open eyes, she smiled and pulled the earphones from her ears, brushing her long dark soft hair back.

     “Hey, Viv, been waiting long?”

     She stood by the bedside, taking my hand gently so not to disturb the tubes sticking out of my arms. That's when I noticed I was strapped down. “What’s all this?” I asked, staring around at the life monitors.

     “How do you feel?”

     Feeling foolish, lightheaded and wanting to giggle at the silliness of it all, I wondered what sort of drugs I was on, because giggling hadn't been in my repertoire for years. I grinned at her. “I'm hungry.” That was my standard line for her usual question of 'How are you?' but it didn't seem to have the same effect this time.

the conversation paused as a nurse came in and did a thorough check of everything, making sure I was in fact conscious. her only words apart from the usual commands of follow the light she shown in my eyes, 'squeeze my fingers as heard as you can', 'Are you in pain', and 'Don't hesitate to call the nurses station for anything you need', she left with the obvious statement, "The Doctor will be in shortly."

    Alone again, I made a smart crack about sponge baths just to tease Vivian. I was getting annoyed that Vivian seemed to be in a downer mood.

     "What's with you? I know you are afraid of my racing, but I'm fine. I'm alive. You should be happy now I won't be able to drive at Talladega." I lay back on the pillow. "Probably be sitting out the rest of the season if LaDrew really gets steamed over the mess I made."

     Vivian laid her hand on the blanket over my leg. “Do you know you were screaming into your mike?”

     I blushed easily. “Yeah, I know.”

     “Do you remember what you were saying?”

     “Why?” I asked. “Does it matter?”

     "Harmen LaDrew was in and gave me a copy of your mike recording." With a light touch, she placed one of the IPad's earbuds in my ear, and I found myself listening to the playback of my voice recording during the wreck. My eyes met hers, amazed at what I was hearing. I didn't remember any of it.

     Her eyes were loving, concerned. “Did you really ask Jesus to save you?”

     “I must have, it’s right there.” Flippantly, I added, “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

     “Gary, how do you feel?”

     “I’m fine. What’s with you?”

      “Can you feel my hand?”

     I looked down at the sheet laying along my entire length. For a moment I was worried but then relieved to see I had two feet poking the sheet at the end of my legs. I watched Vivian's hand squeeze my right knee. She has long nails and she was squeezing hard, those nails pressing into my flesh through the sheet. Suddenly I was scared. My eyes lifted to hers, “What’s wrong?”

    “Your back is broken.” Her big brown eyes spilled tears. “Gary, did you mean it? Did you cry out to Jesus?”

    I lowered my head to the pillow and  stared at the ceiling. I whispered, “Lord Jesus, I mean it now.”

The End

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