Did you hear the sigh of relief that echoed through at least two counties, and at least four states? The journey that began when my father fell at his church in Paris Tennessee on March 10th of this year, and then took a turn when mom fell in my house here in Fort Wayne Indiana has now turned into the cul-de-sac at Heritage Pointe, a United Methodist Community in Warren, Indiana, just less than thirty miles south of us. Maybe not a cul-de-sac as much as a lay-by. Is that an American term? I've been reading a book about England that David Carter loaned me and I’m having language problems again.
A lay-by, a rest stop, a way station. On the one hand, I understand that. We aren't done. First of all my brother and I have to go to Tennessee to get some furniture for the assisted living apartment that they will hopefully move into after a period of assessment and recuperation from Dad’s surgery (after he fell a second time and they found blood on his brain (both new blood and old blood) and his doctors decided he needed to have that drained). I know there will be settling in and changes to come. We aren't done with this journey of care-giving, I understand that. But forgive me for thinking that we've reached a goal, climbed a summit of sorts, topped a hill to give us a new perspective, a new horizon to strive toward.
Because there was a moment when I was sure it wasn’t going to happen. Sure? No, that doesn’t sound right. The moment was anything but sure. It was a moment of uncertainty, a moment of despair and doubt and fear. Things weren’t coming together the way I thought they should and deadlines were approaching and solutions weren’t forthcoming and I was afraid I had messed up. No, that’s not it exactly. I had that sinking feeling in the core of my being that every single decision I had made in my life was the wrong one, that because of me others would suffer and no one would come out of this morass complete or content or even resigned to what was now to be. And there was no one to blame but me. I had been named power of attorney, I was the one they all turned to, I was the one making the decisions - with advice from every corner to be sure, sometimes conflicting, sometimes unreasonable, sometimes impossible, but advice was given, and I no longer knew how to hold it all together.
I broke down this week, staggered by the weight of responsibility and uncertainty, of circumstance and institutional lack of communication. And oddly enough, the straw that pushed me over was my mom. I was sitting in her room while she told me about an incident that had happened earlier that day, interwoven with the jumbled plot of the movie she had been watching on television, and she seemed to not be sure which was more real or what they had to do with each other. But then, as I sat there listening with the weight of responsibility pressing down on me, feeling nothing less than a total failure in this new role that had been so rudely thrust upon me, she suddenly stopped her story and looked at me. And what an incredible look of pride and love she said, “Thank you for taking such good care of me.”
John 1:14-18 And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father's only son, full of grace and truth. 15 (John testified to him and cried out, "This was he of whom I said, 'He who comes after me ranks ahead of me because he was before me.'") 16 From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. 17 The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. 18 No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father's heart, who has made him known.
Our Follower series began last month with the first of three phases of following. Guided by Jesus saying “I Am the Way and the Truth and the Life,” we started with the Way. For the past month we’ve been asking ourselves if we were on the Way, if we were people of the Way, if following was a way of life. Leonard Sweet calls this “missional living.” Once you choose to follow Jesus you have chosen more than a path to walk, you have chosen a way to live. Our question has been are we following Jesus’ way?
But now we shift to phase two of followership: the truth. When Jesus says “I Am the Truth” we are inclined to think he was talking about being right. About truth verses falsehood, right verses wrong. To follow Jesus is to be right. But in fact, Sweet tells us, this Truth is not a proposition, not an idea, it is a person. When we choose to follow Jesus as the truth, we are claiming a relationship. But not just a relationship, but a relationship that defines and shapes all our relationships.
When we live by the truth we live in right relationship. We live, to use a biblical term, righteously. Righteousness has to do with being faithful, being obedient to the covenants, to the relationships we make. It means giving yourself away in those relationships. Losing yourself to those you love.
Which is what we saw in Jesus. I know it seems like a lot to get from a few profoundly theological verses in the prologue of the Gospel of John, but it is in there. At least, it is in there to be unfolded. “The Word became flesh and lived among us,” John writes. I liked the old word, “dwelt” among us. It carried a significance, a depth to it. A permanence in a way. But in fact the word carries a vulnerability with it. In Greek the word translates as “set up a tent” among us.
A tent? When I was a kid a tent was security from the out of doors terrors of a dark night. But when I got a little older, I realized that the flimsy canvas wouldn’t slow down a hungry bear out to make a meal of me. There is an exposure, a vulnerability to this idea. Jesus came a set up a tent. Not a unassailable mountaintop aerie, not a walled and moated castle, not a fortress defended, but a tent. It is almost as if he is begging us to be in relationship with him, inviting us at every turn to find our way to him and to allow his grace to fill us.
But to do that we have to be as vulnerable as he makes himself. We have to be open and inviting, we have to be willing, we have to be broken. That’s that bad news that is also the good news of this faith thing we proclaim. We have to be broken to receive it. We have to know that it is not our power that makes us good, it is his grace. We have to know that it is not our abilities that make us whole, it is his grace.
While that may be difficult to swallow, it also means that is it not our failures that define us, but his grace. It is not our inabilities and our inadequacies that determine our value, but his grace. It is not our emptiness that marks us but his fullness. “From His fullness we have all received grace upon grace.” Grace for every need, grace for every moment, grace to lift us up every time we fall.
It is only when we ware empty that we can be filled by his grace. I broke into pieces when my mom thanked me for giving her such good care, because I knew I hadn’t, I wasn’t giving her good care, it wasn’t working, I didn’t have answers, I didn’t know what was going to be next, I was backed into a corner and ready to give up in despair. Yet, she thanked me. Because she loved me and she knew - somehow she knew - that I loved her and wanted nothing less than the fullness of Christ for her, in safety and care, in help and guidance, in loving hands and hearts that would minister to her in her need, just as she ministered to me and so many others in her life.
The pieces that seemed so scattered and lost earlier in the week, fell into place at last and now they are both in a place than can provide for them at this stage of their lives. Was it a miracle? Well, no, it was people working together around detours and obstacles to get to where we needed to be. Which, come to think about it is nothing short of miraculous.
No one has ever seen God, true, except that I did, in my mother who refused to let impossible circumstances stand in the way of loving. You’ve seen it too in those who give love to you even when you don’t deserve it. You’ve seen it too, when you choose to follow the One who is the truth.
Shalom,
Derek
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