The Retroactive Power of Invisibility

“Now to the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory for ever and ever. Amen,” (1 Timothy 1:17, emphasis mine).

I was surprised to realize this morning that I’ve never written about invisibility—not God’s invisibility, mine.  I remember seeing The Invisible Man when I was a kid.  And all the cartoon characters had to do was put on vanishing cream and *poof* they were invisible.  So as a kid, I was fascinated with the idea of invisibility.  I even had a strange belief (for a little while anyway) that if I couldn’t (or didn’t) see the other person, they couldn’t see me.  Obviously, I gave that up the first time that someone came up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder.  But invisibility was an idea that continued to fascinate me.

When I was about 35 years old, we lived in Durham, North Carolina, our house was in a good neighborhood that was just a few blocks away from the projects, with a major street that served as a boundary between the 2 neighborhoods.  Halloween saw lots of kids from the projects coming into our neighborhood to trick-or-treat, but there was never any trouble.  However, the businesses just a few blocks past our neighborhood were robbed constantly.  One morning I woke up very early, and just couldn’t get back to sleep.  So I went for a walk.  When I got to the road leading to the projects, I turned left—away from the projects and toward the businesses.

About a block away I saw 2 young men walking toward the projects—toward me, but on the other side of the street.  They looked like they were out looking for trouble, and I don’t say that just because they were black.  You can tell when someone’s up to no good, and although I don’t remember what they said as I got closer, I could hear that they were talking about robbery.  I quickly prayed, “Lord, if these 2 are looking to hurt me, please make me invisible,” and I continued walking.

When I got close to them, they suddenly stopped talking, stopped walking, and one of them looked in my direction.  I stopped walking, too.  Something said, “Be cool, say hi to them like nothing’s wrong.”  But I fought that urge and remained silent.  It wasn’t until later that I realized what had happened.  The devil hadn’t heard my prayer, prayed silently inside my mind.  But he could see the fruit of that prayer, so he had tried to get me to come out from God’s protection.

It was clear that they had heard my footsteps on the gravely road.   His eyes scanned right where I was, but he obviously did not see me.  We were near enough to street lights that he should have easily been able to see me, but he didn’t.  Soon they started walking again, and so did I.  A couple of times I saw the guy turn and look back, but he never saw me.

It wasn’t until months later that I realized that God had taken that prayer for invisibility, prayed when I was about 35, and had applied it at other times when I was in danger of someone wanting to hurt or kill me.  He answered that prayer retroactively—how cool is that?  And that’s easy for God, since He exists outside of the confines of our 4 dimensions (3 spatial plus time).  (For those who like science, and especially the science of God, here’s a great sermon by Chuck Missler, explaining the extra-dimensionality of God: An Extraterrestrial Message.)

The first time that God made me invisible was when I was 9 years old.  This is the stupidest thing I ever did, and it’s embarrassing to admit that I was ever this stupid, even as a child.  I grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area, in the sleepy little town of Burlingame.  During that time (the mid- to late-60’s) the Hells Angels were active and headquartered in northern California not far from Burlingame.  But they weren’t the do-good bike club that they are now.  At that time they really lived up to the name.  They were bloodthirsty men who killed for sport.  They would surround a car on a remote highway, force it off the road and kill the driver—often not even bothering to take his money.

Behind my elementary school there was a hill with lots of trails and one dirt road big enough for a car.  One summer day I was on the dirt road, intending to explore the trails—one of my favorite activities as a kid.  I was at the bend in the road when I heard a motorcycle coming up the road behind me.  I hid in a bush just past the bend and waited.  When the motorcycle rounded the bend, I jumped out of the bush and yelled, “Boo!”  The driver was so startled that he almost wrecked his bike, and going fast enough that he went on another 50 yards or so, fishtailing and cursing loudly.  I saw the Hells Angels jacket, and I knew that if he got his hands on me, he would kill me.

I ran to the other side of the road and climbed a tree.  But I didn’t climb a big tree.  This tree was no bigger around than your arm, with nowhere near enough greenery to hide me.  So there I was in a small tree, wearing a pink and yellow outfit.  I hung on tightly, hoping that the tree wasn’t shaking—I’m sure that I must have looked like a giant pink and yellow gooney bird.  He came back down the road, still cursing and muttering threats.  He looked into the bush that I had jumped out of, then came over to the side of the road where I was up the tree.  I squeezed my eyes shut, sure that if I continued to look at him, he would feel my eyes on him and look up.

Before long, I heard him go back to his bike, turn the motor on, and continue up the road, still cursing.  I got down out of the tree, ran down the road, and all the way home.  When I got home, I locked myself in my room until the terror had finished running through my system.  The question in my mind that ran over and over and over was: “How did he not see me?”  It was inexplicable.  But the answer is that God had made me invisible.  In fact, it really is the only answer that makes sense.

Another time, I was in my late twenties, and we lived in Marietta, Georgia at the time.  Again I had woken up very early and couldn’t sleep.  So I had gone out for a walk.  We lived in a quiet neighborhood at the edge of town.  I saw a van drive past me and the driver slammed on his brakes.  He turned the van around, and I knew that he was coming to get me.  So I ran to a tree and stood very still by it.  I was still in plain sight because it was a pine tree with no low branches.  The van drove past me very slowly, then turned around and drove past me again.  The driver turned around to make another pass and I ran to some juniper bushes nearby and hid.  The van turned at the end of the block and stopped.  It was between me and the house.  It sat there for a long time, just waiting.  I saw cigarettes flicked from both front windows, and knew that I was outnumbered.  My leg muscles began to cramp from the cool morning air, and to be honest, I had gotten bored.  So I slipped out of my hiding place and walked in the opposite direction, intending just to continue my walk.  I walked to my son’s school a few blocks away, and that’s when the van drove up to the school.  Again I stood still, this time among a small grove of pine trees.  I wasn’t by a tree, but I stood still, hoping that I looked more like a tree than a human.  It was a pretty ridiculous hope, because pine trees don’t usually have arms and long hair.  But they didn’t see me because God had made me invisible.

God had answered my prayer for invisibility retroactively as well as in the present.  How is this possible?  Nothing is impossible for God.  The Bible says that God knows the end from the beginning (Isaiah 46:10).  God’s foreknowledge (really all-knowledge, omniscience) makes answering prayer retroactively not only possible, but even likely by a loving God who intends to protect a stupid little girl up a tree about to be killed by an angry Hells Angel.  The Bible also says, “I will answer them before they even call to Me,” (Isaiah 65:24, NLT).

By far, the most amazing retroactively answered prayer is the one that every believer has prayed: the prayer of salvation.  Jesus died for our sins before we were even born!

God doesn’t make me invisible when I’m in no physical danger.  But He is faithful to answer prayers prayed in faith—retroactively, too!  God is good!

The Panic in Their Eyes

I don’t think of myself as a scary or intimidating person.  But with one word I can strike terror into the hearts of people in many countries throughout Europe.  And it doesn’t matter what that word is or what language it’s in.

Last evening was a perfect example: I was having dinner in the hotel restaurant here in Budapest.  Like most hotels and hotel restaurants in cities throughout Europe, the staff speak English—at least enough to do their jobs.  The restaurant was empty for a while, so it was just me and the two waiters.  One waiter, let’s call him Neo, had served me coffee earlier in the afternoon.  He spoke excellent English.

The other waiter had seated me then skittered off and busied himself with the task of removing one fork from each place setting on each table.  When Neo emerged from the kitchen the frightened waiter whispered something to him.  Neo came to give me a menu, then joined the other man in the task of fork removal.  I quickly made my choice and then watched as both men worked their way closer and closer to me.  The frightened waiter worked his way to me, skipping my table and moving on without once looking directly at me.  Neo, seeing that my menu was closed, came and took my order.

The thing I had done to so frighten the other waiter was this: I spoke English.  The poor man was terrified that I might speak to him in English.  I have seen this reaction many times in Italy.  I am fluent in Italian.  But even if I speak Italian, many times people will panic when they hear my English-accented Italian, fearing that I will switch to English.

And guess who is the most frightened of all: my own English students.  Some students who stopped coming to me for English lessons years ago will get that look of terror in their eyes when they see me enter a room.  When (if) they speak to me, they will speak only Italian.  Some won’t risk speaking to me at all.  In non-classroom settings, I have never insisted that my students speak English with me.  I prefer my social interactions to be relaxed and stress-free.  But most of them have never given me the chance to tell them that—in any language.

That’s not to say that all my English students are afraid of speaking English.  Many brave souls will speak English with me.  A few will actually seek me out for English conversation.  But those lazy ones who didn’t want to study, instead wishing that I would just open their skulls and pour the language inside.  Or maybe they want me to find the USB port in their brains and download the English language file.  Sorry to say, it simply doesn’t work that way.

One time I saw that terror reaction from one word to an American boy in his early 20’s.  He was sitting beside me in an airport restaurant in the US.  He asked where I was going, and I said, “Milan.”  He asked what I do there.  At the word “missionary” I thought he was going to throw up.  He quickly finished, paid, and left.  I’m not going to speculate on why he had that extreme reaction, but I do pray for him from time to time.

Then today at lunch the tables were turned on me.  I had ordered in English, and so enjoyed my lunch (chanterelle mushroom soup—yum!) that when the waiter took my plate and asked how I liked it, I answered one of the dozen or so Hungarian words I know: finom (delicious).  He answered something in Hungarian.  And every time he came back, he spoke to me in Hungarian.

When the frightened waiter from last night came to start his shift, my lunch waiter whispered something to him.  Now I was the one with the terrified look.  Here’s how my imagination translated that whispered sentence: “You’re wrong, Laszlo, she does speak Hungarian!  She’s been holding out on us!”