Got Passion For God And Country

John 11, verse 35, long reading.

John 11:35

Two words, Bubba.

Jesus what?

Jesus wept.

I grew up saying to my dad, who was a pastor, Papa, I learned a verse today.

Jesus wept.

And I thought it was kind of funny.

Recently I was reading through the scriptures again and I came across that verse as I have so many times.

Where in the past I kind of just read it.

But this time it read me.

This time it changed me whenever it dawned on me the humanity of Christ.

And the fact that we are so quick to attribute his God being from his human being.

The God-being of Jesus is so easy to look at, to call upon, because we are not in a position to call ourselves gods, and it's a little more difficult and maybe to call ourselves humans when we consider Jesus as a human, too, because he did in fact live his life without sin.

And as the song said, he died as though he had sinned.

And you and I know he died for us.

So what's my point?

My point is this the man Christ, that that God being with us that was born of a woman, had all the natural inclinations and all of the humanity you and I have.

Emotionally, he was no different.

And the fact that he wept, and it's recorded for us, shows that he did not want to hide that attribute.

Because there's something about tears that tells me something about the individual.

You know what it is?

That there is passion in that person.

I believe in passion.

I cannot imagine a life without passion.

My wife gets a little put out with me because I am very passionate about almost everything in my life.

I'm passionate about our relationship.

I remember on our 25th anniversary, we were celebrating.

We're on a boat, we're out on a beautiful lake, and I'm holding her on this romantic evening in my arm and I'm talking.

Yak, yak, yak, yak.

And she looked at me and she said, baby, I said, what, darling?

Do you ever shut up?

I said, I'm offended.

I'm not speaking for 30 seconds.

She counted.

I made it to 17.

The point is, I talk about what I believe in, I talk about what I love.

What is your passion?

Have you got passion?

Have you got passion about something that intervenes in your sleep with dreams, intervenes in your day with daydreams of slipping away and passionately living a life that the mundane job doesn't permit you to enjoy?

Don't lose your passion.

Jesus wept at the tomb of Lazarus.

I hardly believe, and I may stand corrected by somebody a lot smarter than me, but it doesn't make sense to me that Jesus was crying over dead Lazarus when Jesus knew he was going to raise that boy in a few minutes.

Why cry over spilt milk when you put the milk back in the carton?

Something like that.

I just thought of that too.

I should take notes on my messages.

I can't wait to preach and see what I'm going to say.

What is this about Jesus weeping?

He's weeping over dead faith, not dead Lazarus, because nobody in that crowd could really believe he was who he said he was.

I'll tell you how many believed.

As many as showed up at the tomb on the resurrection morning.

He told them he was going to be raised on the third day, and not one of them showed up to see it.

I'm not picking on the disciples.

Maybe I'm picking on us.

Do we believe what we talk about?

Do we have passion?

Let me tell you, you will have passion for something that has cost you plenty.

If it hasn't cost you anything, you're not going to have much passion for it.

When it comes to serving God, I serve Him passionately because it has cost me a lifetime.

I'm not here to remunerate those things that I feel like have been of great expense because the joy and the glory of eternity is greater than any sacrifice I've ever made in my life.

But for those sacrifices, that glory is worth it.

And make no mistake, for my country I have paid a price.

I don't stand here with my face blown off, half my skin removed and taken off my legs and put on where I was burned.

That's painful.

I put my face in the pillow one day just to scream in pain.

And I didn't want anybody to hear me scream, so I buried my face deep in the pillow and I let out a scream and pain.

And no one in that hospital knew until I lifted my head and my face remained stuck to the pillowcase.

And that scream I could not contain.

I can tell you about pain.

I know what it's like to look down and see my own heart beating in my chest.

I can tell you stories of hurt and pain that are beyond measure.

I'm not here to tell you the sad side.

I'm here to tell you the good side.

You see, on July the 26th, 1969, and for every teenager in the house, I know that that sounds like somewhere right after the War of 1812.

But July 26, 1969, while serving with the United States Navy Special Forces, I was a brownwater black beret attached to, but not part of, SEAL Team 1, and we were symbiotically cooperating in an effort to beat the Viet Cong on their own territory.

That day I lost my battle.

That is to say, that battle for the war's sake.

The grenade that blew blew six inches from my right ear.

It ripped my chest open, left me standing exposed on the bow of a little fiberglass riverboat.

And within seconds, I knew I would be dead.

I leaped in the water, but phosphorus says any vet in this room that stood a while ago will tell you water will not extinguish phosphorus.

I burned in that water unabated.

My skin was all around me.

I guess you could say I was beside myself.

I waited all night to share that and you didn't get it.

I needed to pull myself together.

How's that?

And while all of this chaos is taking place, a strange sense of peace is around me.

And I swam to the bank of the river and on my knees I looked at the damage.

It overwhelmed me and I fell over backwards, at which point all my team thought I was dead.

The word went back to my commanding officer, I was KIA.

That's why I don't buy that little car either, the Kia.

I don't want to drive around in a car killed in action.

And it took eight months in the hospital for them to find out I was still alive.

And so then they started paying me again.

That was really nice.

And my wife finally had enough gasoline to come see me.

And it was 34 years later when the senator of this great state decided to find out who this guy is that goes to Iraq all the time.

And behold, they came up with my medical records that apparently had said I was KIA and found out that I'd never been given my medals.

And I got a purple heart 34 years after my injury in Vietnam.

Now, some people may throw their medals over the wall.

I would have chased mine over the wall.

I didn't like the fact that it had taken that long, but I was, I hope, modest enough not to ask for them.

But when they decide to give them to me, I was honorable enough to take them.

When someone says, Thank you, you're supposed to say, you're welcome.

And when they gave me these medals of one which I wear tonight, it wasn't so I could brag about it, that a lot of people get medals in battle, but somebody said thank you.

And for a passionate person, it means something to be given thanks for what you've done.

So for every one of you veterans who stood a moment ago, from one vet to another, well done.

And I worry about that because when I get to heaven and you're burned really bad, well done, couldn't they say you did good or medium rare?

Some of you just got it.

That's all right.

That's all right, I'm the same way.

That grenade blew on it, blinded my eye, deaf my ear, blew my face off, blew my hair off, blew my ear off.

We got all these spare parts.

Spare parts, mind you.

I put them all on the bed the other day.

My wife said goodnight, and I was in the other room.

Man, I don't mind the hair piece.

I hate chasing across church parking lots on windy Sundays.

My ear fell off when I was preaching in Jamaica.

What do you do then?

Everybody's sucking air like a hoover, covering their mouth and pointing at me.

I checked my fly.

I didn't know what's wrong.

That's a problem with these kind of pulpits, man.

Can't check anything.

Except your water, which is there.

I almost turned it over.

No, what do you do?

They're not breathing.

This is another Jonestown in the making without the grape Kool-Aid.

I reached over, picked up my artificial ear, dried the sweat, stuck it back on.

I thought, okay, that's enough.

Not at all.

They thought it was a miracle and they all got saved.

Now what do I do?

The next dilemma.

Do I tell them, no, no, no?

It's a phony ear.

Then they would have said, Well, you're a phony preacher.

They would have stoned me.

And I didn't want to come here tonight.

And Pastor Robert called me next week and say, What are you doing?

Telling those people you went to Jamaica and got stoned.

Now, what you've just heard is a silly little monologue about being burned, shot up, blown up, mutilated, dismembered, blew my thumb off, blew my fingers off, which they got back on.

Just don't work, but God left my preaching finger.

It works fine, thank you.

And I got a good mic stand out of the deal.

What have I done?

I've told you a sad story of being hurt, and we've laughed.

And the reason we have laughed is because you're laughing with me, not at me, because I can't help but laugh when I consider the fact that on July the 26th, 1969, the devil himself took his very best shot at me, lit the fuse, lowered the boom, and fired, knocked me halfway into eternity, and I'm still here because no weapon formed against me can prosper.

And greater is he that's enemy than he that's in the world.

I guess what I want to say to you is do you have passion that when something goes quote unquote wrong, you recognize who your enemy is and you don't say, Why me, God?

What if he answered you?

Well, I don't know, George.

There's something about you I don't like.

Sorry, George, I was trying to hit your wife.

You moved.

You know, orbit, rotation, windage, all that stuff.

Jesus wept because he was passionate.

He was a man of love because he was the epitome of love, agape, the love of God.

And so I'm saying to you tonight that when 9-11 took place, I couldn't sit down and say, Well, isn't that a sad day?

I remember staring into that television screen, and I bellered out, God Almighty, don't you leave me out of this war.

You let me do something for my country.

I spun around, I looked at Brenda, and I said, Baby, I need an M16.

She said, You need to sit down before you have a stroke.

A lot of patriotism there.

Well, I sat down, of course, she's always right.

God tells women stuff men have no idea God's even considering talking about.

And I didn't want to be on the floor and her saying, see, I told you so.

I remember two weeks later when my phone started ringing.

Generals, colonels were calling me saying, Mr.

Reaver, would you come?

Would you speak to our troops?

We're going to war and they need to know there's life after injury, there's life after war.

I said, General, I'm coming, but I got to know, sir, do you have an M16?

I did.

I asked that one of them, he stuttered and hem hawed around there.

Finally, I said, It's all right, sir.

You just bring the M16 and I'll bring a John 3.16 and we'll go fight this war together and bring these boys back home.

And I believe, I believe today that they call me because God had a plan for my life.

Now look at me.

Do you think they call me for military exemplary perfection of the body?

Do you think they call me for my intellect?

I was in the top 10% of the lower one-third of my class.

I'll tell you why they call me.

Because I'm a man of passion and I love our troops, and I'm not about to sit back and wish them well.

I'm willing to go to the last man standing on the farthest corner of this earth to tell him of the love of Jesus Christ.

And make no mistake, make no mistake, if any of you in this room say, well, he's just a war monger, you haven't pulled your head up from a pillow and left your face in it.

I hate war, but I love freedom more than I hate war, and I'm proud of my scars and stripes, and I'm proud of the men I served with, and I'm proud of the troops that are serving us today.

Can you give me an amen on that?

So no one walk out of this room misunderstanding what Dave Reaver said.

I wish to God there would never be another war.

But I thank God that somebody's willing to stand on that wall, let my grandbaby sleep good at night, and not be afraid of what's coming down the pike tomorrow.

And she's a beautiful one, too.

Five and a half year old, sat in my lap, blonde haired, blue-eyed, squeezed my face and sang to me, holding this mutilated face in her tiny little fingers.

She sang to me, You are so beautiful.

And then she bounces to get vibrato too.

Mee he.

Can't you see?

I couldn't see.

I was crying and blowing snot bubbles by then.

I'm the happiest man ever stood in this pulpit.

Let me tell you something, ladies and gentlemen.

This what I look like doesn't matter.

Yes, I'd love to have my face back.

Yes, it'd be nice to be able to extend my fingers and shake a hand with somebody and them not jump backwards and wonder what happened.

I'd love to be able to live just one day of a normal life, but I'm afraid I'd get so bored with it, I'd say, bring back the scars.

I'd rather be the way I'm supposed to be than the way I wish I was, because I believe God had a plan in all this.

I was sitting on Trinity Broadcasting one night when Jan Crouch looked at me and broke her promise.

She said she would ask me easy questions.

Sound like Hillary, don't I?

She said she'd ask me easy questions, and the questions she asked baffled me.

She said, Davey, do you know why God let you be scarred, maimed, and burned?

And I'm thinking, no, but this blue-haired wonder is gonna explain it all to me.

I was so mad at her, I could have pinched her little head off.

But it wasn't the Jerry Springer show.

This is Christian TV.

And you gotta fake it for Jesus.

And I faked it, Bubba.

I was a gentleman when I didn't want to be a gentleman.

I spoke nice when I didn't want to speak nice.

I said, I don't know why.

God let me be scarred, maimed, and burned.

And she flipped her hair over her shoulder.

Well, I'll tell you, she said, Jesus didn't do that to you.

He didn't shoot you, he didn't burn your body, but he didn't stop it from happening because Davy, he knew he could trust you with those scars.

What's he trusted you with?

Because I'm gonna tell you, whatever he's trusted you with is where your passion lies.

And if you don't have passion, don't waste my time, please.

Because in the days that lie ahead of this nation, you're gonna need all the passion you can find to get through.

And as I race to my conclusion, I'll tell you just recently, I was in Baghdad.

And I pulled up in a little private jet that was supplied to me by a general.

And it's really kind of funny, I'm an E5 for all you military.

That's that's fifth grade enlisted.

And the fifth grade association is not far off from where I was.

But when I was asked by the military to travel with them, the Department of Defense gave me a new ranking.

Civilian-wise, it's called GS-15 in the military, it's called 07, which happens to be a one-star general.

I even get a car with a star and a driver.

I sit in the back where the wind is up so nobody can see the idiot they're saluting.

But I flew in this beautiful little airplane, settled into Baghdad that night, rolled up beside this big C-130.

The tailgate was down, and there were two rows of soldiers.

I knew immediately what was happening.

It's a Patriot service, they're loading on a fallen soldier.

I got out of that plane as fast as I could, and I ran over to the C-130, and I stood at the wake of that giant aircraft as they were unloading a fallen hero.

Enough of the light was splashed on my face that the chaplain who was Air Force, because it's an Air Force vehicle, who was conducting the Patriot service, recognized me.

He was the chaplain at the Air Force Academy a few months earlier when I did the baccalaureates at the chapel.

And he said, Dave Reaver, please come in.

I felt like an intruder to pass between those young soldiers, and I looked in their faces as I walked up that ramp.

They had not had a break from the early morning killing to that midnight in Baghdad with tears streaming down their dirty faces and mud balls dripping from their chin.

I stood behind the casket and the chaplain said, Would you pray?

And I prayed for this young fallen hero's mom and dad.

That God would somehow comfort their broken, shattered heart and all the dreams that had once been.

I prayed for those young soldiers standing on those ramps.

And I felt my emotions begin to slip away.

Because now on my fifth tour to Iraq, I'm standing there seeing the price again being paid for freedom.

And out of the blue, it came to me to pray for his very best friend, wherever he might be.

And I did.

I prayed that God would somehow send someone to find that young man.

I heard the big whipping blades of a black hawk begin to turn.

And I looked out, and my two-star was saying, it's the time to come.

We have to get on this aircraft.

And I did.

I finished the prayer, jumped on the Black Hawk, and away we went, and I did a 70 mission tour.

I have never been any tired in my life than when I left.

And I got back to Atlanta.

And it was again midnight, and I'm sitting there, and they tell me the aircraft is broken.

And I didn't want to hear the aircraft was broken.

All I can think about is getting in my bed and sleeping for a year.

Just get me laid down.

I was so tired.

And I sat with a seat next to me open so nobody could be up against this fat boy.

We gotta spread our wings.

And there were seats everywhere.

And this kid sat down right beside me.

And I pointed at the empty seats and looked at him and I said, dude, dude.

He said, I know, sir, but I noticed your backpack and your desert boots.

He said, Are you coming home from the war?

I said, Yes, I am.

Where are you coming home from?

He said, Well, last month, my very best friend was killed in Iraq.

I said, Was he a second lieutenant?

Was he with Stryker Brigade?

He looked at me and his eyes got huge, and he said, Mister, who are you?

I said, Bubba, I am the answer to my own prayer.

And I have been sent by the Holy Spirit himself to minister to you and tell you there's another very best friend waiting on you.

His name is Jesus, and you ought to get to know him.

I'm happy to tell you that boy's already been to our ranch out in Colorado where we train wounded warriors coming home from the war.

They've lost legs, they've lost arms, lost arms.

In fact, on Monday night, if you watch TBN, you'll see the special we shot this week, and you'll see two of those young warriors.

One sitting there with no legs.

Go ahead, let your heart get broken.

Let your heart be broken for these kids.

And then listen to their words because I have the incredible joy of training them in how to be pulpit, pounding, prosthetic preachers.

We bring them to the ranch and we teach them how to get up and talk.

My goal is 10,000 wounded warriors, pardon me, 3,000 wounded warriors in the next 10 years.

I can do that.

That's one for every victim on September 11th.

That's the way I fight this war with a John 3.16.

We can do this.

There's a very best friend that's waiting on you.

Just recently, when there I came upon a place where they wash out the helicopters and the gurneys after they pick up our wounded and dead.

And as I walked over to it, the colonel that was leading me didn't explain what that stain in the Iraqi dirt was, in that sand.

I said, What happened here?

Oh, he said, Mr.

Ever, this is where we wash out the helicopters.

Before you could snap your finger, I was on my knees taking my boots off.

He said, Sir, what's wrong?

I said, Don't tell me, Colonel, that you're about to walk through this holy place.

You're not walking through here with your boots on, sir.

Would you?

Oh no, he said.

He sat down beside me and started taking off his boots.

He said, My goodness, you're awful passionate about it.

I said, You would be too, sir, if at one time in your life there was a place you came upon where the blood was shed for your freedom.

I said, I want a fence around this place when I come back in a few months, and I want a stone with an engraving on it that said, here's where the blood was shed.

This is holy ground.

And I said, then in a year or two, and I'll pay for it if I have to, I want a standing monument for every little Iraqi boy and every little Iraqi girl that comes along to stand here with her shoes off and say, This is holy ground.

This is where our freedom was purchased.

Why am I passionate?

I guess you could say I've been there done that.

And I take my shoes off on holy ground because I believe where Jesus shed the blood for Dave Reaver, there's a monument.

It stands on the hill in my heart.

I still call it Golgotha, but I've got another monument.

It's an empty tomb where my very best friend was raised from the dead.

In sign language, that means I love you, but my thumb got blown off.

I guess you could say I speak sign language with a lisp.

I love you.

I'm Dave Reaver, and I approved of this message.