If I was a doctor, I would be scandalous.
I have an idea. It's a little scandalous, because it goes against everything that hospitals, nursing homes, and quarantine protocols stand for.
But it is in line with what Jesus did, so at least I've got that going for me.
There's a story about a little boy that I love to think on from time to time. He was about 11 years old when his family came down with the flu. Each family member became sick till only he remained well enough to care for them. It didn't matter that he was so young, he felt a tremendous amount of responsibility to be there to help them, and so he did. He would spend time with his mother ensuring that she was as comfortable as he could make her. He woke up one morning to hear his little sister asking for water. He ran to grab her cup and fill it up. The little boy would pray that he would stay well enough to continue caring for everyone. But eventually, the little boy fell to the illness as well. It was a few weeks till he was back to normal, but he grew up living out the principle that was formed in that time: love the sick and the messy around you and never push them away.
Though this boy certainly couldn't get away from his family, he didn't just sit in a bubble-wrapped corner with a bottle of hand sanitizer and leave the sick to themselves, hoping that he wouldn't get sick. No, he loved them and cared for them till he was sick as well.
How often is that exhibited in today's culture? It's not. Look at the way we reacted to the Ebola epidemic and the measles outbreak. As soon as someone is diagnosed, they become labeled and set apart. As soon as we realize that a relationship is going to take work, we walk away. As soon as family life gets messy, we drown ourselves in alcohol or block ourselves off from others who can see the truth. There is no commitment. No determination to stick with the situation even though it takes time, effort, and energy and only gives us neuralgia, migraines, and heartaches.
The theme here is easy to identify: push away, push away, push away.
The reason Jesus was so scandelous to the Jews was because He touched the unholy, the untouchable. Bleeding women, leprous men, demon-possessed children, He touched them and, according to the Old Testament, He should have become unclean.
But that's not how it is with Jesus. No, His holiness is of a different kind.
In touching Him, my pastor pointed out one Sunday, the unclean become clean, not the other way around. His holiness becomes their holiness, His health becomes their healing, His wholeness makes them well. It doesn't matter how unholy or unclean we are, we cannot make Him unholy.
It might just be my own preference, but when I am feeling unwell or upset, what I need more than medicine or reasoning is a hug. My idea is that we all walk around with a lack of oxytocin and what we need is less diagnosing and more devotion. We don't love, because as soon as we realize that someone's sick, our fight or flight response kicks in and instead of fighting for this person, for this relationship, for this family, we choose flight. "Flee," we say, "don't stay, don't pour yourself into someone who'll break you."
You may be dying from cancer, Addison's disease, or an empty life--it doesn't matter what it might be, if I was your doctor, I would prescribe the same scandalous treatment: love. Run straight into the battle, not away, even though you might get sick yourself, even though you might die (spoiler alert, we all do anyway), you must not give up on love. We must love or we must die. Fight for the sick, press into the unclean, and get involved because as we do, Christ in us makes the sick well, the unclean clean, and the unholy messes pure. Oh, it is so hard. Oh, it is so difficult. But it is so worth it.
If you want to know what is easier, then I can tell you that it is easier to not meet the haunting gaze of a child who you know is wasting away. It is easier to not look into the eyes of disease, of pain, and acknowledge the truth: that we are terminal, we are all dying.
We've been raised to pretend that death doesn't exist. The elderly are placed in nursing homes and visited once a year around Christmastime because of course they'd appreciate some carols. But why is it that the nursing homes we so enthusiastically visit during Christmastime are long forgotten by January 1st? We need a generation of year-long carol singers, people willing to stick with the uncomfortable acknowledgment of our terminal tendency and willing to sing love, hope, and peace on earth for all mankind every single day. Please don't pretend everything's okay, but let's not be debbie-downers either.
There is hope.
That is the very reason why we can and do press into and love the messy and sick, because it is not over, this is not the end of the story. Be completely honest with the situation, but that means being honest with the bad just as we are with the good. Say to the little girl who got a call from the cardiologist, "This is hard and I realize that your aorta is enlarged and could burst with any amount of exertion, but I know of a Hope more steadfast than any heartbeat and so I'm going to love you in the light of that hope."
In various books I've read that more babies in the NICU die from a lack of physical interaction than anything else, and I've read that people with chronic diseases report greater quality of life when surrounded with love, and I've read that love is strong enough to keep you alive even when the odds are stacked against you and you should be dead.
You may be in the valley and things look dark around you, but if we're together and if we love, then we can live in hope and that hope dawns a new and impossible morning in the darkest places. Emphasis on the impossible, because hope does the impossible and the hard. I know you might be dire and desperate, and there is no denying the way this life is so incredibly unfair sometimes, but be honest about it and live in hope. Because hope is all we have. To give up hope, to give up on love, to stop pressing into the unclean as Jesus did, is to self-destruct. Stop protecting yourself and go ahead, be a year-long carol singer and sing hope in those dark, sordid places and love. Always, always love.
But it is in line with what Jesus did, so at least I've got that going for me.
There's a story about a little boy that I love to think on from time to time. He was about 11 years old when his family came down with the flu. Each family member became sick till only he remained well enough to care for them. It didn't matter that he was so young, he felt a tremendous amount of responsibility to be there to help them, and so he did. He would spend time with his mother ensuring that she was as comfortable as he could make her. He woke up one morning to hear his little sister asking for water. He ran to grab her cup and fill it up. The little boy would pray that he would stay well enough to continue caring for everyone. But eventually, the little boy fell to the illness as well. It was a few weeks till he was back to normal, but he grew up living out the principle that was formed in that time: love the sick and the messy around you and never push them away.
Though this boy certainly couldn't get away from his family, he didn't just sit in a bubble-wrapped corner with a bottle of hand sanitizer and leave the sick to themselves, hoping that he wouldn't get sick. No, he loved them and cared for them till he was sick as well.
How often is that exhibited in today's culture? It's not. Look at the way we reacted to the Ebola epidemic and the measles outbreak. As soon as someone is diagnosed, they become labeled and set apart. As soon as we realize that a relationship is going to take work, we walk away. As soon as family life gets messy, we drown ourselves in alcohol or block ourselves off from others who can see the truth. There is no commitment. No determination to stick with the situation even though it takes time, effort, and energy and only gives us neuralgia, migraines, and heartaches.
The theme here is easy to identify: push away, push away, push away.
The reason Jesus was so scandelous to the Jews was because He touched the unholy, the untouchable. Bleeding women, leprous men, demon-possessed children, He touched them and, according to the Old Testament, He should have become unclean.
But that's not how it is with Jesus. No, His holiness is of a different kind.
In touching Him, my pastor pointed out one Sunday, the unclean become clean, not the other way around. His holiness becomes their holiness, His health becomes their healing, His wholeness makes them well. It doesn't matter how unholy or unclean we are, we cannot make Him unholy.
It might just be my own preference, but when I am feeling unwell or upset, what I need more than medicine or reasoning is a hug. My idea is that we all walk around with a lack of oxytocin and what we need is less diagnosing and more devotion. We don't love, because as soon as we realize that someone's sick, our fight or flight response kicks in and instead of fighting for this person, for this relationship, for this family, we choose flight. "Flee," we say, "don't stay, don't pour yourself into someone who'll break you."
You may be dying from cancer, Addison's disease, or an empty life--it doesn't matter what it might be, if I was your doctor, I would prescribe the same scandalous treatment: love. Run straight into the battle, not away, even though you might get sick yourself, even though you might die (spoiler alert, we all do anyway), you must not give up on love. We must love or we must die. Fight for the sick, press into the unclean, and get involved because as we do, Christ in us makes the sick well, the unclean clean, and the unholy messes pure. Oh, it is so hard. Oh, it is so difficult. But it is so worth it.
If you want to know what is easier, then I can tell you that it is easier to not meet the haunting gaze of a child who you know is wasting away. It is easier to not look into the eyes of disease, of pain, and acknowledge the truth: that we are terminal, we are all dying.
We've been raised to pretend that death doesn't exist. The elderly are placed in nursing homes and visited once a year around Christmastime because of course they'd appreciate some carols. But why is it that the nursing homes we so enthusiastically visit during Christmastime are long forgotten by January 1st? We need a generation of year-long carol singers, people willing to stick with the uncomfortable acknowledgment of our terminal tendency and willing to sing love, hope, and peace on earth for all mankind every single day. Please don't pretend everything's okay, but let's not be debbie-downers either.
There is hope.
That is the very reason why we can and do press into and love the messy and sick, because it is not over, this is not the end of the story. Be completely honest with the situation, but that means being honest with the bad just as we are with the good. Say to the little girl who got a call from the cardiologist, "This is hard and I realize that your aorta is enlarged and could burst with any amount of exertion, but I know of a Hope more steadfast than any heartbeat and so I'm going to love you in the light of that hope."
In various books I've read that more babies in the NICU die from a lack of physical interaction than anything else, and I've read that people with chronic diseases report greater quality of life when surrounded with love, and I've read that love is strong enough to keep you alive even when the odds are stacked against you and you should be dead.
You may be in the valley and things look dark around you, but if we're together and if we love, then we can live in hope and that hope dawns a new and impossible morning in the darkest places. Emphasis on the impossible, because hope does the impossible and the hard. I know you might be dire and desperate, and there is no denying the way this life is so incredibly unfair sometimes, but be honest about it and live in hope. Because hope is all we have. To give up hope, to give up on love, to stop pressing into the unclean as Jesus did, is to self-destruct. Stop protecting yourself and go ahead, be a year-long carol singer and sing hope in those dark, sordid places and love. Always, always love.
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