A frail old man went to live with his son, daughter-in-law, and four-year old grandson. The old man's hands trembled, his eyesight was blurred, and his step faltered. The family ate together at the table. But the elderly grandfather's shaky hands and failing sight made eating an adventure. Food fell off his spoon onto the floor. When he grasped the glass, milk spilled onto the tablecloth.
It didn't take long for the son and daughter-in-law to become irritated with the mess. "We must do something," the son decided. "I've had enough of his spilled milk, noisy eating, and food on the floor." So the husband and wife set a small table in the corner. There, Grandfather ate alone while the rest of the family enjoyed their dinners together.
Since Grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was served in a wooden bowl. The only words the couple had for him were sharp admonitions when he dropped a piece of silverware, or spilled his food.
The four-year-old watched it all in silence. One evening before supper, the father noticed his son sitting on the floor, playing with a piece of wood. He asked his son sweetly, "What are you making?" Brightly, the boy responded, "Oh Daddy, I am making a bowl for you and Mama to eat your food in, when you get old." The four year old smiled and went back to work.
The next night, Grandfather joined them at the family table.
I once was blind, but now I see.
This is the text from the Gospel of John. (It is an avowal made famous by John Newton, former slave trader, and author of the world's most recognized song: Amazing Grace.)
Yes, the story in the Gospel of John is a moving story. When I preached the story this year during Lent, I told the congregation that this is not a case study or cerebral exercise or illustration. At some point, this is personal. I am the man in that gospel story.
I told the congregation, "We need to decide whether or not we are playing church.
Either we believe in real transformation or we do not.
Either we believe in grace or we do not.
Either we believe in hope or we do not.
This transformation cannot be orchestrated or coerced or predicated on shame. It can however, be embraced, celebrated and shared."
But here's the deal: I prefer to live with my blindness. Of course, it's always for a good reason. And it seems to serve me well.
Perhaps you can relate. Oddly, our "blind self" is a false but secure self. Perhaps our blindness is not complete darkness, but scotoma (selective blindness). Regardless, it is a way of not-seeing, and in the end, a way of not-living. And in our increasingly polarized world, this blindness prevents us from being present. Or aware. Or compassionate.
Whether it is to those close to me, or to injustice, or to joy, or to passion; when we are blind, we hide behind...
...self-righteousness
...narrow-mindedness
...an unfair life
...self-doubt
...fear
...victimization
What difference does it make?
If we give up our blindness, we accept and embrace responsibility.
Grace give us sight.
And sight connects us.
(I love the greeting in the movie Avatar, "I see you." I acknowledge you.)
One of the reasons we don't have peace in this world is that we have forgotten that we belong to one another. Mother Teresa
I wish I had great advice here. I don't have three steps to compassionate living. However (and I know this to be true); if we are open to it, grace changes our life. And that change spills to everyone around us.
Even if we can't explain it.
"All I know," said the man, "is that once I was blind and now I see."
Which means that maybe today...
...I will have the strength to persevere even when life isn't what I planned,
...I will have the guts to rebuild or take a chance or follow my heart,
...I may acknowledge that my preconceptions about you are dead wrong,
...I may celebrate the freedom to offer the gift of grace without expecting anything in return.
I just came in from watching the sunset. I'm in Englewood Beach (on Florida's west coast on Manasota Key), where I return every May to spend a few days with some old friends. It's a ritual. And yes, they are old, as in we've been friends a long time--over 30 years. And yes, they are old, as in they (like me) take an odd pleasure in getting their AARP discount at the movie theater.
We will spend the days on a friend's boat, swapping stories, talking about the way life is, and the way life should be if we were in charge. And how life is not easy for some of us--struggles and challenges with kids, or jobs, or health, or marriages, or expectations (selective blindness). Or all of the above.
We don't use our time making a Bucket List, but instead, enjoy the days with its endowment of gifts, taking great delight in the little things.
When the sun dissolves on the horizon, and the water turns the color of spewed lava, my friend Ed blows a conch shell. It is his variation on a Benedictine Compline, a prayer to end the day. We raise our glasses and toast life and these moments of grace.
