Dead Man Walking

I’ve never been one to really “attach” myself to my possessions. We live pretty simply. I was lucky enough to have both parents, while not the perfect example in every area, as very fervent servants. My mom was the first to sign up to make someone a meal, and she’ll be the first to offer you anything she has (chances are she has two or three of them anyway). My Dad was a mechanic and all-around handy-man. He’s worked in warehouses, mechanic shops, and farms of all kinds—he knows the value of a good set of hands and a hard-worker. He was always willing to stop in the middle of the country to help someone with their car, or go join another farmer for a day to finish the crop, or help any random stranger with whatever tools he had. I have always admired that about them both. They have such giving hearts. They pour out themselves for whoever they encounter that has a need.

This Sunday, we took advantage of our “celebration” time from our television fast with ECC in the Lenten season and watched a movie. Having no luck finding “Lord of the Rings” from some of our apartment neighbors, we took the suggestion of an older (1995) Southern drama dealing with the death-penalty. (A far cry from Lord of the Rings, to say the least.) Never having an opinion on the death-penalty, mostly from lack of want or effort in research, I was hesitant. Come to find out, the movie was not so much about the political death-penalty discussion as it was about the consideration for salvation, life, and the love of God. A nun, under plenty persecution, counsels an inmate on death-row, showing him the love of God as no other person has. I found this movie tackling some serious prejudices. We want to help the people who are most appeasing to help, to love. It makes us feel good about ourselves when it is easy, when the people we love are grateful. This opened my eyes to the ways in which love can overcome the power of hatred. Love can break down walls of people who do awful things, who are sick in ways that we don’t want to heal, but block out of our minds. This movie deals with the poor of a different sort. All in all—great movie! I’d highly recommend it.

However, God spoke even more to me through this movie. One of the things I am trying to get a grip on this lent is an understanding of the poor, oppressed, and broken. Some days I have felt as if I were a part of those people, and some days I know I’m the furthest thing from it. I was listening to a sermon online about Jesus’ trip to Jerusalem. A trip that could take 3 weeks, but that he made into 3 months. He went purposely through a land that was known for a despised people group. (It sort of reminded me of this Nun that purposely went to visit this man on death row.) To be their light. To preach. To serve. He talks about Mary and Martha and the scolding of Martha in the kitchen (whom I have always felt myself akin to…I’m pretty sure I would be Martha in this story. In fact, I’m sure I have been Martha at some point.) He talks about the Good Samaritan. And then he gets to this passage: “Your life does not consist in the abundance of your possessions” –(Luke 12:15)
He’s relating the things that should be in our focus rather than the things that are in our focus, some of which is his congregation’s concern as we head into and are submersed in this downturned economy. And this pastor fully addresses the concerns of the apparent 230 (of the expected 90) people who showed up to a “job-transition” group the previous week. All looking for help. All with no jobs. He says --(to the entire congregation, not just the 230) --“some of you will have to give up your homes. Some of you will have to give up your cars. Some of you have already had them taken. And maybe you’ll have to move in with your brother, or in your friend’s basement. And is that really so bad?”

I just found that God was speaking directly to me in those moments. That all this talk about “living with other people” was a brick work laid for the way I can learn this Lenten season. And while I have always loved to give freely of what I have, there are some things that I keep tucked away. There are some things that, if asked, I would say “No, I’m sorry, I cannot share. This is mine.”
And I realized today that even those are not mine. My possessions do not define me. My associations do not define me. My job is does not define me. My interests or the things that I excel at do not define me. Christ defines me. And he defines me as a child of God, first and foremost.

I’ve been mulling over this story from Henri Nouwen for a couple months, so excuse me if you’ve heard it before. It’s just been caught in my head and will come up at random moments throughout my day. I think of it weekly, but it culminated today. Henri Nouwen tells of when he first walked in to the Dayspring Community (a community of people with physical and mental challenges). They did not know him, could not respect him for all he had accomplished. They did not know him as the professor of an Ivy League School, nor as a published author of great proportions. They knew him only as a man. A man who had come to join their community and serve in the ways in which they needed his aid. Just as a man. And it all depended on him just giving, just serving in the ways he was needed. In laying aside the pride of being defined as a certain person and just being the hands and feet. Selfless.
I can often hear the echoes of pastors who have said that God can see past our sins. But sometimes, I need to know that God can see past our accomplishments. (And maybe sometimes they are one and the same.)

And I’ve never thought of myself as extremely selfish, hoarding possessions, or finding my identity in them. And I’ve never thought of myself as the person who is “works-driven”. Those words have always thrown articulate photos in my mind of people inundated with stuff, wealth, and overcome with the need to rise to the top of the ladder. Those Pharisees. And yet, I find that I have those tendencies of my own-- that I don’t have to be the epitome of that particular sin, to be caught in its web. I should insert a little picture of me every time I think of those things.

And I think that’s what scares me when I think about giving it all. Possibly living with other people and putting everything, EVERYTHING, aside to serve. These people know me, will be in my space, in my things (which for some reason I call my own), and I cannot hide. I have to love always, not just pick and choose the people, or at the times I want to. These people will know me. The real me, selfish moments and all. And I think that is my biggest hurdle. Am I willing to serve with all that I have and purposely practice and hone this discipline of unconditional love?

But wait, aren't I supposed to be doing that with everyone anyway? I feel like this is a great "baby-step" to really, fully putting this into practice.

So, I’m a little scared,

but I’m willing.


It seems like Bill Engvall walked into my life today and said,
“Here is your sign.”
Today was mine.

I’m in.