One of my good friends told me a funny story the other evening. She went to church with her son and his family on Christmas Eve. At their church, communion is a tradition of the holiday. When it came time to take communion, she leaned over to her son and whispered that she was going to take the four- year-old grandson down to the altar with her so he could partake. She assured him that she would explain everything ,so that the little boy would understand.
At the altar they knelt. When served, they both took a portion of wine and bread. My friend explained to the little boy that the bread represented the broken body of Jesus and the wine was just like the blood of Jesus. She instructed him to dip the bread into the wine and eat it. He protested, rather loudly, after cupping his hand over his mouth dramatically, “No, that’s gross. I don’t want to eat that Grammy!”
After returning discreetly to the pew, the whole family proceeded to participate in the candle lighting ceremony. Her son lit his wife’s candle. She lit her son’s. The little boy lit the candle held by his grandmother. As they sang a carol, he whispered, “The water is dripping.” His grandmother admonished him, “That’s not water. It is candle wax. Be careful. If it touches you, it might burn.”Immediately the boy handed his grandmother the dripping candle declaring, “I don’t like the candle or the blood.”
My friend said she became so tickled that she could hardly restrain herself. However, when she regained control, she realized that the young child just wasn’t ready for all of this church symbolism.The meaning was lost on him and probably would be for a couple of more years.
Her story made me think about the many times in my life when I have faced painful situations.Well meaning Christian friends have shared scripture, stories, and personal wisdom with me. Their intentions were honorable. They wanted to help me survive victoriously….to see God’s lesson for me in the experience. I think specifically about the death of my daughter three years ago. So many friends and family have tried to console me, inspire me, and raise me up. I know that they look at me now in my grief and think impatiently, “It should be over, she should be healed, it shouldn't take this long.”
I am not condemning them for their efforts. Truly, they are heroic. But human love involves some impatience because of our preoccupation with time limits. God has taught me much through this experience. But there are lessons yet to be learned, God has given me no deadlines. My friends and family don’t quite understand this. They just want to do whatever they can to stop the hurt and bring healing.
Isn’t this the way it always is with spiritual lessons and growth. We cannot understand why it is taking so long for ourselves or someone else to heal emotionally, to kick a bad habit, or to see the light. We must recognize that God cannot do the work in us until we are ready, and only He knows when that time arrives. His spirit bears witness with ours, and we sometimes inch forward and sometimes leap forward. My friend so wanted her grandson to experience the meaning and joy of communion, but she kindly recognized that he wasn’t there yet. St. Augustine said, “Patience is the companion of wisdom.” For that reason, let us be patient with one another. Let’s not worry over the quick fix. According to the scriptures, “Love is patient…” May we offer our love and compassion to others and ourselves over and over and over again with no limitations or set time table.
- P. Elzey
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Beautifully written. Having also lost a child, your words resonate with me. I remember wonderful, loving people saying things with great intentions...but things that I was not ready to hear and did not want to hear. I found comfort in Nouwen's books "Wounded Healer" and "Can You Drink the Cup?".
It's a strange thing to realize that God often displays His greatest strength when He does nothing at all. People said, "God will give you..." Strength, peace, comfort, the ability to move on, to heal. Insert your own cliche here.
But what I found amazing is that I saw God best when He simply WAS. He was big enough to not have to explain to me why it happened. He was big enough to not fix it all right away. He was big enough to simply BE with me in my silence, pain, and anger--when I was too angry or in too much pain to simply play the part of christian; when I was ready to throw my faith in the trash can.
There is a beauty in silence and stillness that most people never see. To be able to sit in quietness with the One who tells planets to orbit around like celestial track stars, and feel the freedom to say, "I'm really ticked off at You right now, God" and know that there is no condemnation in my raw pain...THAT is when I really felt God near.
In the movie "Shadowlands" there is a quote that says something to this effect: We read to know we are not alone. Thanks for your writing. It reaffirmed, once again, that we share much more in common with each other than we want to admit.
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