Happy Sunday Everyone! I was musing on the content of my last blog and it reminded me of a story. As you read it I ask this: "Please don't hate me".
For those of you who don’t know, when I was younger I worked a short stint at an elementary school as a playground supervisor and boys P.E. teacher. We had one guy working with us that was in an electric wheelchair. (and for those of you questioning his usefulness, I will say this: he has a black-belt) Once, I made a bet with this man. I am not sure of the particulars of this bet, only that I won. The wager was a wheelchair ride. Yes, folks I removed him from his wheelchair, set him on the ground, and proceeded to take a 10 minute joyride throughout the campus. Many were not amused.
For those of you who don’t know, when I was younger I worked a short stint at an elementary school as a playground supervisor and boys P.E. teacher. We had one guy working with us that was in an electric wheelchair. (and for those of you questioning his usefulness, I will say this: he has a black-belt) Once, I made a bet with this man. I am not sure of the particulars of this bet, only that I won. The wager was a wheelchair ride. Yes, folks I removed him from his wheelchair, set him on the ground, and proceeded to take a 10 minute joyride throughout the campus. Many were not amused.
So what’s the point of this story? I said yesterday that I had a brother with cerebral palsy. I used to beat him up. Before you all start cursing my name, please read on: He was my brother, and it never crossed my mind to treat him any different than my other siblings. If he fell I picked him up. It was in the same spirit that my sister would always pour the milk into my cup because I spilled so often. I made fun of him, because that’s what a good brother does. I would throw him in the pool, and he would grab my shirt and take me in with him. Any difficulty he had I would help him with, as I would come to him for help as well. We shared a room, and he would roll over in the middle of the night and smack me in the groin, because that’s what brothers do. I acted in love and compassion for him, as I should have; but never once did I pity him. Never once did I treat him as something different or less.
This is something I see in Ukraine, and something that irks me about much of the church world. We preach a gospel of pity. “Poor unfortunate soul,” we cry! We give money to ease our conscience. We help the poor for penance. Somehow I don’t think that accurately represents the gospel of a certain Galilean carpenter. One of the most profound books I have ever read was “The Great Physician” by G. Campbell Morgan. It is a study of Christ’s interactions with all the various peoples presented in the gospels. He states that Jesus always met each individual where they were, on the level they were, meeting the particular needs they had. He touched their individual humanness. But, He approached all men with the same heart. He was moved to all by that of a broader thought… that of their universal humanity. I say again: He moved to meet their needs in light of their humanness, but he was moved to bring life in response to their humanity. He operated on the belief that while their sufferings of their human existence were indeed at times terrible, the worse tragedy was the horror of the human condition. And, in that, he leveled the playing field.
We are all fallen beings, destined for our own destruction. The temporal woes pale in light of eternal truth. So if we pity, we pit humanity and its fallen state. We do not pity the individual, for their condition is no worse than anybody else no matter their plight. We move to action; to bring life because of this. And this is what motivates the further compassion of humanness. Jesus came first to bring life, and second to heal corporeal woes. We must do the same. We come to bring truth and life to all man. Therefore we must love all men… and it is that universal love which will stir that singular compassion to individuals. We are all brothers and sisters. We are not different races, or nationalities, or handicapped, we are all simply the brotherhood of fallen man. We as those who are bearers of truth must act us such. You act because he or she is in the family of man and has need, not because you pity their lower state, because you are in the mire with them, and that’s what family does.
As for my wheelchair bound friend, his name is Jeff. He is one of the most intelligent men I have ever met. He beats me at chess in always under 10 moves, and he can dish it out as well as he can take… believe me his punches hurt… black-belt and all… I would never count him as charity, for like my saviour, I call him friend!