If you visit our church on any given Sunday, you will find sitting in the dead center of the front pew two college students. One, a boy, has been attending church there with his family for years and years. The other – a quiet, unique girl with short, dark hair – has only been a part of our family for nearly two years now. She’s been coming since the month she accepted Christ at a Young Life camp two summers ago – the same camp where I happened to be spending my last days on staff. It was a special summer for both of us, I guess.
There’s something else you might notice about this quiet girl if you watch her long enough: she’s legally blind in both eyes. Sure, she can see enough to get around without assistance most of the time, but most everything she wants to study in detail has to be held just inches from her face.
This past Sunday our congregation celebrated Communion together. As is common in our church, a table was set up in front of the altar to hold some of the Communion supplies. It happened to be right in front of the center of that first pew, but despite the crowded conditions, our two college friends didn’t give up their regular seats.
Besides holding the bread and the wine (well, juice…we’re Baptist…), the table also held a beautiful display of decorative items. Thought-provoking pieces such as a crown of thorns, a cross and several cups and plates were carefully arranged on flowing piece of black satin, which had been artistically bunched, curled and gathered at all the right places. It was a beautiful setup, and one I’m sure wasn’t “thrown together” at the last moment.
Towards the end of the service – during a song, I think – curiosity must have gotten the better of our friend in the front row. Without hesitation or concern for anyone else, she stood up and walked the few steps to the table in front of her. At first, she bent down close to look at a couple of things, then she picked up the flat, decorative plaster cross propped up near the crown of thorns.
I watched the faces of a few people near her as she held the cross, turned it over in her hands again and again, and even struck it on her palm a couple of times as if to test it’s sturdiness. I could tell that most people were as apprehensive as I was. Not only was she disturbing the display and distracting others, she was running the risk of breaking our cross!
Then something in me in changed. I looked at that sweet, blind sister in Christ and realized that there was an analogy to be found in her exploration of the table that day. She wasn’t afraid to step up and examine the Cross of Christ. She had no problem picking it up and running her fingers over it, or holding it close so she could see its details. Then I watched as she got down on her hands and knees to get a good look at the huge altar Bible displayed on a stand on the lower shelf of the table. It didn’t matter to her that hundreds of people were watching – she wanted to see the Bible for herself, and so she did what she needed to do.
I thought about it later and wondered how many people reacted just as I had at first. I wondered how many thought about going up there and asking her to sit down, or how many talked over lunch that afternoon about how “inappropriate” her behavior was during the last moments of the service. And then my mind wandered back to that analogy.
How much must it delight our Father’s heart when the truly blind in the world are bold enough to step up and examine His cross? How often does He long for all of us to throw down our pride and ask to see Him up close? And just how often, I wonder, do the rest of us stand back in judgment and disgust, worried about things that ultimately don’t matter? Oh, how many times we must get in each other’s way trying to protect the place settings on our Lord’s table. Shouldn’t we all be allowed to touch and feel His thorns? Shouldn’t we all be allowed to approach His table and hold our face against the elements to see what they’re all about?
I, for one, think I would have fallen into good company with the disciple Thomas. I love the Lord – please don’t get me wrong on that one – but I certainly tend to over-think things. I rather need tangible evidence sometimes to ground realities in my heart and mind. I definitely would have wanted to touch Christ’s wounds, I just probably wouldn’t have been bold enough to say so.
I’m glad, though, that when Jesus invited Thomas to see His wounds He didn’t say, “Come here, Thomas – look at my wounds. There they are encased in environmentally controlled bullet proof plexiglass. Aren’t they beautiful? Please don’t come any closer than the yellow line, though, if you don’t mind – your breath and the oils from your skin could contaminate the viewing area. Just look from there – you can get the general idea of what they look like.”
Much to the contrary, Jesus invited Thomas to come and touch His wounds – to feel the holes made by the nails and to slide his fingers in the path made by the soldier’s spear. This leads me to believe that our God says more than just “come and see” – He wants us to come and experience up close and personally everything we possibly can about Him. Ours is a “hands-on” Christ, and all are invited to come to Him, unashamed and full of questions He can’t wait to answer.
I wish this past Sunday I had encouraged my sister in Christ to keep looking and keep touching. I even wish I had possessed the inner strength to go and touch those thorns for myself – just as a reminder of all our Lord did for me. Our sister may be blind, but the Lord shows me time and time again that in some ways she has a much clearer view of Him than many of us with perfect vision do. I hope I can learn to approach the cross with her kind of unashamed curiosity.
There’s something else you might notice about this quiet girl if you watch her long enough: she’s legally blind in both eyes. Sure, she can see enough to get around without assistance most of the time, but most everything she wants to study in detail has to be held just inches from her face.
This past Sunday our congregation celebrated Communion together. As is common in our church, a table was set up in front of the altar to hold some of the Communion supplies. It happened to be right in front of the center of that first pew, but despite the crowded conditions, our two college friends didn’t give up their regular seats.
Besides holding the bread and the wine (well, juice…we’re Baptist…), the table also held a beautiful display of decorative items. Thought-provoking pieces such as a crown of thorns, a cross and several cups and plates were carefully arranged on flowing piece of black satin, which had been artistically bunched, curled and gathered at all the right places. It was a beautiful setup, and one I’m sure wasn’t “thrown together” at the last moment.
Towards the end of the service – during a song, I think – curiosity must have gotten the better of our friend in the front row. Without hesitation or concern for anyone else, she stood up and walked the few steps to the table in front of her. At first, she bent down close to look at a couple of things, then she picked up the flat, decorative plaster cross propped up near the crown of thorns.
I watched the faces of a few people near her as she held the cross, turned it over in her hands again and again, and even struck it on her palm a couple of times as if to test it’s sturdiness. I could tell that most people were as apprehensive as I was. Not only was she disturbing the display and distracting others, she was running the risk of breaking our cross!
Then something in me in changed. I looked at that sweet, blind sister in Christ and realized that there was an analogy to be found in her exploration of the table that day. She wasn’t afraid to step up and examine the Cross of Christ. She had no problem picking it up and running her fingers over it, or holding it close so she could see its details. Then I watched as she got down on her hands and knees to get a good look at the huge altar Bible displayed on a stand on the lower shelf of the table. It didn’t matter to her that hundreds of people were watching – she wanted to see the Bible for herself, and so she did what she needed to do.
I thought about it later and wondered how many people reacted just as I had at first. I wondered how many thought about going up there and asking her to sit down, or how many talked over lunch that afternoon about how “inappropriate” her behavior was during the last moments of the service. And then my mind wandered back to that analogy.
How much must it delight our Father’s heart when the truly blind in the world are bold enough to step up and examine His cross? How often does He long for all of us to throw down our pride and ask to see Him up close? And just how often, I wonder, do the rest of us stand back in judgment and disgust, worried about things that ultimately don’t matter? Oh, how many times we must get in each other’s way trying to protect the place settings on our Lord’s table. Shouldn’t we all be allowed to touch and feel His thorns? Shouldn’t we all be allowed to approach His table and hold our face against the elements to see what they’re all about?
I, for one, think I would have fallen into good company with the disciple Thomas. I love the Lord – please don’t get me wrong on that one – but I certainly tend to over-think things. I rather need tangible evidence sometimes to ground realities in my heart and mind. I definitely would have wanted to touch Christ’s wounds, I just probably wouldn’t have been bold enough to say so.
I’m glad, though, that when Jesus invited Thomas to see His wounds He didn’t say, “Come here, Thomas – look at my wounds. There they are encased in environmentally controlled bullet proof plexiglass. Aren’t they beautiful? Please don’t come any closer than the yellow line, though, if you don’t mind – your breath and the oils from your skin could contaminate the viewing area. Just look from there – you can get the general idea of what they look like.”
Much to the contrary, Jesus invited Thomas to come and touch His wounds – to feel the holes made by the nails and to slide his fingers in the path made by the soldier’s spear. This leads me to believe that our God says more than just “come and see” – He wants us to come and experience up close and personally everything we possibly can about Him. Ours is a “hands-on” Christ, and all are invited to come to Him, unashamed and full of questions He can’t wait to answer.
I wish this past Sunday I had encouraged my sister in Christ to keep looking and keep touching. I even wish I had possessed the inner strength to go and touch those thorns for myself – just as a reminder of all our Lord did for me. Our sister may be blind, but the Lord shows me time and time again that in some ways she has a much clearer view of Him than many of us with perfect vision do. I hope I can learn to approach the cross with her kind of unashamed curiosity.
No comments:
Post a Comment