The Longest Fourth of July

I've always had a little backwoods in me. Truth be known, there's probably more than a little. Most days I can keep my inner hillbilly under control, but every now and then he grabs the steering wheel and reminds me where I came from. One Fourth of July many years ago, he was running the whole show.

It all started with what sounded like a simple idea. A few friends and I decided we'd have a pig roast for Independence Day. I was living in Damascus so we decided to have at my parents trailer they had at South Holston Lake. Now, if you've lived very long, you already know simple ideas have a way of growing legs. Before long we were hunting down an old oil-barrel grill that had been abandoned in that trailer park. That thing had been sitting there so many years it looked more like a museum exhibit than a barbecue pit, but after getting stung by about a dozen waspers and a good cleaning and a hot fire we figured it was ready for one more tour of duty.

One of my buddies said he knew a fellow nearby who sold pigs. He made the phone call, and me, him, and his father-in-law loaded up expecting to pick up a pig that had already been dressed and was ready for seasoning. Instead, we pulled into the parking lot of an old, abandoned schoolhouse. We asked the gentleman where the pig was, and he casually pointed toward the building and said, "Just go in there and catch whichever one you want." I thought surely he was kidding. He wasn't. Then he added one more little detail that would've been nice to know ahead of time. "Oh...and you can't kill it here. You'll have to take it somewhere else."

About that time the three of us just looked at each other. We had a crowd coming for a pig roast, no pig, and no backup plan. So my buddy and I headed inside that old schoolhouse. The smell hit us before we ever got fully through the door. I don't know if you've ever been around old pig pens that haven't been cleaned in a while, but let me assure you, your nose never forgets it. Pig slop covered the floor, and we slipped and slid around trying to catch one that had absolutely no interest in becoming anybody's Fourth of July dinner. Looking back now it's hilarious. If smartphones had existed back then, we'd probably still be making the rounds on social media. At the time, though, there wasn't anything funny about it.

Somehow we finally cornered one. I tore an old T-shirt into strips to tie his legs together, and we staggered back outside covered from head to toe in things I'd rather not describe while my buddy's father-in-law laughed so hard he could barely stand up. He wasn't about to let us ride inside the truck smelling like that, so he climbed behind the wheel while my buddy and I climbed into the bed of my little Ford Ranger with a live pig between us. To make matters even better, our route home took us straight through downtown Abingdon,VA. We rolled right past the Barter Theatre where folks were standing outside dressed in their Sunday best waiting for the show to start. Meanwhile, two boys covered in pig slop were bouncing down Main Street in the back of a Ford Ranger holding onto a squealing pig. If there had been an award for representing my family with class, we probably weren't bringing it home that day.

When we finally got back, our work was just beginning. We had to heat water, scrape that pig, get everything prepared, and somehow have it on the grill to slow cook a long time before everyone showed up. It seemed like every step took twice as long as we expected, but eventually everything came together. The pig turned out mighty fine, the fellowship was even better, and everyone enjoyed a wonderful Fourth of July meal. The only casualties were one schooled pig and our clothes and shoes. They never made it into the washing machine. They went straight into the trash because there wasn't enough detergent in the world to rescue them.

Every time I think about that day, my mind wanders to Peter in the book of Acts. The Bible tells us Peter was staying at the house of Simon the tanner in Joppa. Now a tannery wasn't exactly known for smelling like fresh-cut clover. It was a place of hides, blood, and strong odors. Yet it was there, in a place most people would've avoided, that God gave Peter a vision that forever changed history. The Lord showed him that what God cleanses should never again be called unclean, and shortly afterward Peter walked into the home of Cornelius, a Gentile, and watched the Gospel cross cultural barriers for the first time. Peter later proclaimed, "Truly I understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears Him and does what is right is acceptable to Him" (Acts 10:34-35, ESV).

Standing in that old schoolhouse years ago, covered in filth, all I wanted was a good bath and a clean set of clothes. But the truth is, every one of us entered this world carrying something far worse than pig slop. We carry the stain of sin, and no amount of good behavior, religion, or hard work can wash it away. Soap can clean your hands, detergent can clean your clothes, but only Jesus Christ can cleanse your soul.

John reminds us of that wonderful promise: "The blood of Jesus His Son cleanses us from all sin" (1 John 1:7, ESV). What no washing machine could do for my old overalls, the cross did for my heart. The blood of Christ removes what no amount of scrubbing ever could.

So as we celebrate another Fourth of July, I'm thankful for the freedom we enjoy as Americans. I'm grateful for those who sacrificed so we can gather with family, cook out, wave the flag, and enjoy fireworks lighting up the summer sky. I am also grateful I ain't fixing a pig. But I'm even more thankful for another freedom that wasn't purchased on a battlefield. It was purchased on a hill called Calvary. Political freedom is a wonderful gift, but freedom from sin is an eternal one. If you've experienced both, you've got two mighty good reasons to celebrate this Fourth of July.