Good morning, God!
Saturday morning at eight O’clock. That’s
when the Hans are all gathered around the table and enjoy homemade pancakes.
Oftentimes my children ask Friday evening, “Are we going to eat pancakes
tomorrow?” We just love Saturday morning pancake breakfast, not just because we
particularly like pancakes, but because we love the atmosphere of our time together. As we make pancakes and prepare
the table, Abe and I enjoy fellowship together. When Abe gets up late, I enjoy
the time alone with God, flipping pancakes with God. When we are all gathered around
the table, we talk about this past week. After the meal, my children enjoy a
‘face-time’ with their grandparents. For me personally, Saturday morning is my
highlight of the week because I feel connected most to God and to my family.
There is something about eating together, breaking bread together. In today’s scripture we meet two disciples who were going to a village called Emmaus. It’s interesting to see that they have already heard the news of Christ’s resurrection (vv. 22-24), but they are still “looking sad” (v. 17). The resurrection by itself is not enough to wipe away their sadness. Jesus joins them in their journey, but all along the way in the conversation they don’t recognize Jesus. When they finally arrive in Emmaus, they invite Jesus to come and dine with them, saying, “Abide with us!” (v. 29) So Jesus sits down at the table with them. He takes bread, blesses, and breaks it, and gives it to them. Then, their eyes are open, and they see the risen Christ among them. Then, they understand why their hearts were burning on the way. Then, they understand how Jesus was with them all along the way.
Where do you see God? Where do you see the risen Christ in your daily life?
First Room
This past week I personally
encountered the risen Christ at an expected time and place. It was Thursday
afternoon at our local nursing home. The first person I visited was John (not
his real name). He is a skeptic. He has a lot of questions to God. His memory
is failing. His health is declining. The last time when I visited him, I told him
about the story of Nicodemus and also my conversion story. At the end of the
conversation, he said, “I want to read the Bible.” So I brought him an audio
Bible, because it was hard for him to read books. Since then, he was listening
to the Bible. But the device was not working well, and he asked me to bring
another one. So this time brought him a new one. He was glad to have it and
promised that he would continue to listen to the Bible. He is forgetting more
things each day, but I see him now more intentionally holding on to the Word
than before.
In her book From Dry Bones to Living Hope, Missy Buchanan shares her prayer journal this way[1]:
Memory is a
peculiar thing. Most days, I can’t recall what I had for lunch. Or I stare
blankly into the face of someone familiar because their name has escaped me. O
Lord, forgetting things is both embarrassing and terrifying. When my memory
falters, I am inclined to panic. I begin to think that dementia has crept in
like a deadly vulture waiting to devour me in this wilderness of aging. I start
to wonder who I would be without my memories.
On most afternoons
I try to stimulate my mind with word puzzles stacked beside my easy chair… O
God, I confess that I have tried harder to remember names and faces and facts
from my past than I have to remember you. You have never forgotten me, Lord.
You still call me by name… I convince myself that I have no purpose and forget
how mightily you used Moses and Abraham in their late years… Here in the Valley
of Dry Bones, awaken my memories of you, O God. Stir up my recollections of
your strength and power. Help me remember . . . help me to remember you.
After the visit, as I was walking out of the room, I heard him saying to me from behind, “Victor, come again. Visit me anytime.” To me, it sounded like a prayer: “Look at me and answer me, O God. Give ear and come to me. Remember me, O God.” I felt the presence and power of the risen Christ in that room.
Second Room
The next person I visited was Pat (not
her real name). She is suffering from dementia. When I entered the room,
she was non-responsive. Every time I visit her, I feel so powerless. There is
nothing I can do for her. I pray with
her, but she doesn’t even know what I’m doing when I pray. When I was there
with Pat in the room, I really didn’t feel that it was a productive use of my
time. I didn’t feel that I can contribute anything to her.
Perhaps our powerlessness is a channel of God’s grace. “My power is made perfect in weakness” (cf. 2 Cor 12:9). Perhaps we are called to simply be with people with dementia in their world rather than to try to do something for them. With, not for. Although he is writing about presence with homeless persons, Sam Well’s words are equally relevant for those with dementia[2]:
You don’t sit and have a coffee
with a homeless person because you’re trying to solve their problem—you do so
because you want to receive the
wealth of wisdom, humanity, and grace that God
has to give you through them. You aren’t the source of their salvation: they are the source of yours. . . . Your
every effort is to enjoy their being,
and share your own, rather than change their reality assuming a script you’ve
imposed from elsewhere.
During my visit, I prayed for God’s help and guidance. Then I felt how much Pat is loved by God. I realized Pat’s identity, dignity, and worth do not lie in her mental cognition and capacity. Whether she has memories or not, Pat is made in the image of God. She is a beloved child of God no matter what. After a brief prayer, I played a song, “Because He Lives” on YouTube. Then, I read Psalm 23 to her.
Yea, though I walk
through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil:
for thou art with me;
thy rod and thy staff
they comfort me…
Yea, though I walk
through the valley of forgetfulness,
When memory fades and
recognition falters,
When eyes grow dim,
and minds are confused,
I will not be afraid,
for you are with me;
your presence and
your power they comfort me.
Third Room
The third person I visited was Amy
(not her real name), a 91-year-old lady. Her mind is still sharp. But she
struggles to find the meaning of life. When there were COVID cases in her
section, she had to stay in the room for a week. At other times, her routine is
to walk from one end to the other twice or three times a day. Her roommate
normally looks outside through the window for hours a day.
Where is God in this lonely, mundane life? “God, where are you?” When I sat down, she began to talk about her life story… her husband, her children, her siblings, and so forth. Then, she shared her painful experiences in her journey… how her husband suddenly died of rare disease some thirty years ago, how she felt as if her heart was being broken when she heard the news about her son’s divorce, etc. Then she realized God was there when she was going through the valley. It was God who sustained her and kept her going.
After listening to her story, I invited her to the communion table. I also invited her roommate. Then I briefly shared why we receive communion – to celebrate the risen Christ among us, to experience his presence and power, as well as to remember his death. Three of us were gathered around the table and ate the body of Christ and drank the blood of Christ by faith. Then, we held our hands together and prayed together. I saw their faces brighten up with new joy. Surely the presence of the risen Christ was there.
Lift Up Your Heart to God
Amy is you, John is me,
and Pat is us. Wherever we are in our journey, the risen Christ is
always very near to us.
In his book The Practice of the Presence of God, Brother Lawrence shares his wisdom this way:
God does not ask much of us, a little
remembrance of Him from time to time, a little love, sometimes to ask for His
grace, sometimes to offer Him your sufferings, at other times to thank Him for
the graces, past and present, He has bestowed on you, in the midst of your
troubles to take solace in Him as often as you can. Lift up your heart to Him
during your meals and in company. The slightest little remembrance of God will
always be the most pleasing to Him. We don’t need to shout out to do this. God is
closer to us than we may think.
The risen Christ is near. Some of us may have stronger faith, others weaker faith. But we need to remember that it is not the strength of our faith that saves us, it is the object of faith, as Pastor Tim Keller said. We may have doubting, questioning, weak faith – a little faith just like a mustard seed, but if we have our faith in Christ, that is sufficient. All we need is to open up and lift up our heart to the risen Christ. It is to invite him to come and abide with us in our daily life.
Abide with me,
fast falls the eventide
The darkness deepens Lord, with me abide
When other helpers fail and comforts flee
Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me
I fear no foe,
with Thee at hand to bless
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness
Where is death's sting?
Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me
[1]
Missy Buchanan, From Dry Bones to Living
Hope: Embracing God’s Faithfulness in Late Life (Upper Room: TN, 2021), 36-7.
[2]
Sam Wells, “The Power of Being With: Jesus’ Model for Ministry,” The Christian
Century, June 19, 2015. quoted in Kenneth L Carder, Ministry with the Forgotten (p. 142). Abingdon Press. Kindle
Edition.
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