Have you heard of the Church of the Exceptional? (A non-denominational, interracial ministry devoted to ministering to the physically and mentally handicapped in the area around Rutherford County, NC.) In 1974, then Governor Jimmy Carter and Dr. Norman Vincent Peale were invited to present a Guideposts award to the Congregation, where thousands had assembled in a municipal center in Georgia. Before the speeches were delivered, the liturgy called for the lighting of the main altar candle.
A middle-aged woman with Down syndrome, walked slowly but proudly down the center aisle carrying a lighted taper. The pastor followed closely, to offer assistance. They reached the altar, but despite repeated efforts, the candle would not light. The crowd held their breath, and Carter recalls a sense of embarrassment that welled up inside. The pastor moved forward to help, but she shook her head, and continued to try. Finally, the candle is lit, and the crowd erupts into applause. But the brightest thing in the huge auditorium was the woman's face, which glowed with happiness.
Jimmy Carter writes that he doubts whether anyone that night remembers his words. But every life was affected and touched by this woman's faith and determination.
In my mind I am still in that municipal center, watching as she lights one candle--undaunted and steadfast--this heartwarming glow spilling person to person throughout the gathering. And now into my study here on Vashon Island. Yes.
I need stories to remind me that grace and hope and courage are alive and well. The catch, of course, is that these fountains of grace are not necessarily where we expect to find them.
Here's what I think: the woman is not just lighting a candle, but inviting all of us to a paradigm shift. A different way of seeing. A different way of being. A different way of loving.
The majority of us seem wedded to the notion of "fixing," and have an aversion to anything "broken" (especially our own brokenness). Which means that we make premature judgments, naming whatever is wounded or shattered or broken, as wrecked or ruined; and we miss, we do not see, the flame and the glow of the Glory of God that is within each and every one of us.
There is no doubt that fixing people, or fitting life (and people) into boxes is easier.
We are certain we know.
We are certain we are correct.
And it does tidy things up a bit.
But here's the deal: it's too easy to fuel the fire of misunderstanding and intolerance and small-mindedness when I witness all of this through the lens of my own labels. I can literally imagine myself sitting on that platform, thinking, "Why in heaven's name are we letting this woman light the candle? Is there not an easier way? Is there not someone more qualified?"
I do know that when we label, we tend to exclude, rather than include.
You Believe WHAT?
What are THEY doing here?
What can I receive from THEM?
Why should I help THEM?
More often than not, Tion Medon's counsel to Obi wan kanobi on Utapau (for Star Wars aficionados) is right on. "There is no war here unless you brought it with you."
For starters, Lord knows the world could use a little more tenderness.
I read this quote, from a pastor, speaking from the floor at a Southern Baptist convention, "I believe the Bible. Jesus believed the Bible. Southern Baptists believe the Bible. It's been said that we've got room for the most conservative and the most liberal in the southern Baptist convention. But brother, I say that's too much room."
I can tell you that we were very skilled at that kind of intolerance in the church of my youth. We knew exactly whom God didn't care for. And we made no bones about naming names. (We never called it gossip, of course. We called it "Prayer Concerns.") You know the ones I'm talking about, the ones who would burn for eternity. What I don't get is how it made us feel so, well, superior. Maybe, we were afraid that we weren't necessarily on God's good side either.
What I am learning is this: Perhaps the very people I exclude, are the ones who carry the light--the candle--that will allow me to see. That will allow me to see the Grace of God. And the expansive reach of God's acceptance. To every single one of us.
Whether I like it or not, it seems that the kingdom of God will be radically and scandalously inclusive. Think of that. God loves broken people and people who don't fit into boxes. And God loves infidels, idiots and heathens. Now that, that is one radical hospitality. That is truly a Church of the Exceptional.
The good news? This Grace cannot be confined or contained or constrained.
We don't dole it out to the deserving.
We spill it... to anyone and everyone.
And one lit candle makes a difference.
(One note: It wouldn't hurt to apply this medicine to ourselves. We can be our own worst enemies. I'm learning that spilling grace can begin with me.
But in honesty, I'm not so good at that. It seems that when it comes to passing judgment, I keep myself in one of those same boxes. So, here's my wish and prayer for today, "Today, be gentle with yourself.")
I'm on my way to Oklahoma tomorrow, but back here to give a lecture to a Rotary Club about Success. I think I'll just tell story of the Church of the Exceptional. Because...
The plain fact is that the planet does not need
more successful people.
But it does desperately needs
more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers,
and lovers of every kind.
David Orr
It is sunny today, on time-change Sunday. Making up, no doubt, for the early warning winterish storm on Saturday, wind gusts up to 50mph. Trees down, branches splintered, and hemlock needles litter the roadways, giving the appearance of a caramel colored sisal carpet. Small boughs of fir are haphazardly scattered about. In my garden, I putter and futz and clean up, glad that the house escaped a wayward tree. The wind snatched most of the remaining leaves from the Red Twig Dogwood--its leaves of gold and scarlet, like pieces of a Spanish-flag-jigsaw-puzzle. And the Bloodgood Japanese maple near our patio has lost most all of its foliage, and is now encircled by a blanket of wine red leaves, as if readying for it's winter sleep. As a reminder of the bounty of grace, I tell myself to enjoy the mess. This untidiness may have been intended to feed my soul.
(1) The Church of the Exceptional story adapted from Jimmy Carter, Our Endangered Values
"Why did you do all this for me?" Wilbur asked.
"I don't deserve it. I've never done anything for you."
"You have been my friend," replied Charlotte. "That in itself is a tremendous thing. I wove my webs for you because I liked you. After all, what's a life, anyway? We're born, we live a little while, we die. A spider's life can't help being something of a mess, with all this trapping and eating flies. By helping you, perhaps I was trying to lift up my life a trifle. Heaven knows anyone's life can stand a little of that." EB White, Charlotte's Web
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