Finding Christ in Caring
- Posted by Julee Huy
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THE THIRTEEN YEAR OLD PRAYER
It happened well over a decade ago, in the dining room of St. Anthony’s, one of the largest soup kitchen ministries in San Francisco’s Tenderloin District. My friends and I, we had just finished singing “Come just as you are/ Come receive/ Come and live forever.” Or maybe we were singing, “Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling/Calling, O sinner, Come home.” I honestly can’t remember; we performed several gigs that day. The second portion of our ministry had just begun: go into the crowd, share a meal, listen and minister the Gospel. I took my tray of food that I really didn’t want to eat and climbed into a seat across from him at a long, picnic-style table. I offered the wide smile I usually gave to secure welcome and open up dialogue. He glanced at me and stared back down at his food, trying to keep to himself. Somehow, in spite of the obvious discomfort my presence caused him, we fell into conversation. He was a Vietnam veteran. He liked to spend time outdoors, in the open air, on steps, curbs, stoops. The system had failed him; he believed that no one truly cared. He was tortured, by post-traumatic memories, by depression. Sometimes, to dull the ache, substance abuse was involved. It was a story with which I had become quite familiar by then. I listened, asked questions, tried to “keep it real” (as much as a 19-year-old Ivy Leaguer who grew up in the suburbs knew what “real” and “it” were). I came around to Jesus. He had personal issues with Jesus. We passed the lunch hour in a spirited but cordial theological discussion. As I got ready to leave, he suddenly looked wistfully into my bright-eyed, eager face and said, “You are so innocent and so hopeful. I would give anything for the things you’ve been saying to be true.” I remember feeling a little awkward then. Who was I to tell a man who had participated in the horrors of war what he needed to do? Nevertheless, thankful that the Gospel wasn’t about me, I persisted to tell him that he could experience that truth for himself by reconciling with God. He said he would do me the favor of thinking on it. I told him that I would pray for him. And I have, in spite of myself, for thirteen years. Somehow, my thoughts drift in his direction almost every day. It must have been the look in his eyes. That flash of fearful hope momentarily eclipsing despair, flickering and then disappearing, had burrowed deep into my memory.
FROM LEVITATING TO LOVING
Some time in my late teens and early twenties, my concept of caring changed. At my first regular soup kitchen gig, serving food in the basement of a Catholic church across the street from my dorm, I envisioned my 17-year-old self gliding through masses, if not literally glowing, then at least emanating heavenly benevolence –untouched and untouchable. That didn’t go anywhere. No one thanked me. There were complaints about the temperature and quality of the food. The homeless ministry I joined in the evenings at a local shelter: I talked theology and many of them spoke the language of delusions and mental illness. As I traveled with my Christian a cappella group, there were prisoners with dubious motives to hug, putrid-smelling homeless people with insects emerging from their buttonholes with whom to eat on the curb, hardened teens filled with unyielding hatred, hopeless addicts, embittered seniors, ministry conflicts, elitist persecution and on and on. As I got older, those I mentored sometimes refused wisdom, cycling through foolish behavior. I can organize, champion and fund-raise; a few may show up, and those who show up can have expectations of how caring should look. It wouldn’t be a problem if I didn’t really care about these people at all, but their pain becomes painful to me! The serene, levitating little girl disappeared. But to God be the glory that she wasn’t replaced by someone who gave up, someone who mutters, “Whatever. He said the poor would always be with us anyway. Been there; done that.” Along the way, God has been whispering to my soul.
- The weight of the fallen world leads us to Christ. The world is in a state of intractable sin. How do we “get real” without being crushed by the sheer weight of pain and need in humanity? Where do we find the courage and strength to fix a steady, unfiltered gaze at suffering so as to be able to administer hope? We find it in Christ. He gives strength to the weary and upholds the weak, but more critically, He answers sin once and for all (1 Peter 3:18, 1 Corinthians 15:55-57). How can we stop healing just so our neighbors may await another death? When all worldly signs of hope have been exhausted, on what can we stand? Christ Himself.We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. Hebrews 6:29.
- The unpleasantness leads us to Christ. It’s not breaking news that people can be difficult to love. Marginalized populations aside, it would be a miracle if we could get along with our own families. Add in lack of resources, lack of upbringing, opportunities and education, and temptations galore, and others’ choices can be frustrating, repeatedly. Mix in a little exposure and inadequate facilities, and our flesh begins to respond with repulsion. How do we get over this? We realize that, as Martin Luther and Dietrich Bonhoeffer put it, we have an “alien righteousness” from Jesus Christ. We ourselves were also the very picture of wretchedness, nakedness, blindness, and we stand justified by grace alone though faith (Ephesians 2:8). We realize that Christ asked us to focus on Himself when we are caring for the “least of these” (Matthew 25). We realize, like Bonhoeffer, that to be able to express Christian love to another human being takes a miracle, and Christ has secured this gift for us by making a way for us to know both God and one another (1 John 3:16). Caring must be worship in order to be caring at all, and worship must include caring to be worship at all (James 2). That is how we emulate His ministry – touchable and touched.Therefore, accept one another, just as Christ also accepted us to the glory of God. Romans 15:7.
- The unknown leads us to Christ. There have been hundreds like my friend at St. Anthony’s in my life. What has become of them? Some, I comforted and some, I encouraged. For some, I harvested, but my work is always that — a part. For peace regarding all who are in my heart, I must trust in the character of God. I must remember that He is not willing for any to perish (2 Peter 3:9). I must remember and recount His faithfulness in my own life, ever pruning, ever teaching, ever waiting and ever saving. I must trust that caring is like sanctification. Only God knows the truth; the weak among us may be great in the sight of God. It is simply a reality created by God in which we are invited to participate. The foundation is Jesus Christ alone, Who gives us both the strength to persevere and the blessed promise for which to hope.All that the Father gives me will come to me, and whoever comes to me I will never cast out. John 6:37.
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