Little Old Church Ladies More Powerful Than A Locomotive and Faster Than A Speeding Bullet

I was twelve years old, standing in the church foyer after the Sunday evening service, when it happened.  In those days, we attended church both morning and evening.  It is just what we did on Sundays.  My dad, man of few words, was talking to ancient Miss Edith, a woman of many words.  I just wanted to go home where my procrastinated weekend homework was still waiting.  

"Well, Bob," she said to my dad before he walked away.  "What can I be praying for you?"

He looked at her, confused for a moment. In his mind, prayer requests were limited largely to monumental cases of cancer or to those who couldn't really make it on their own.  "No need," replied this self-sufficient, strong-willed man, nothing he couldn't muscle his way through on his own, thank you very much.

"Surely there is SOMETHING I can be praying for you."  Something was in all capital letters in that old woman's voice.

I could see my dad searching for a small dilemma that might loosely qualify as a "prayer request," when that something came to the surface of his thoughts. We had moved to Chicago several months prior. "Well, our house in New Jersey still hasn't sold, but that's not anything to bother God about." 

She didn't respond with words.  But I saw her eyes twinkle.  I had no doubt, even then, that she would not just be wrapping the situation in prayer, but my dad with her cape.

Before the next Sunday, actually within days, the house was unexpectedly sold.  There was no one more surprised than my dad.  And not surprised at all was Miss Edith.  Because she knew that the variable of prayer does not just change the situation, but totally changes the equation.  Not anything she did in her power, but only what God can do through His, far below the surface and far beyond our imagination.

It was not that God suddenly showed up, but to show us.  The answer was no coincidence at all but strategically timed. God already had it all worked out.  He just didn't want my dad to miss the supernatural.  How did this happen?  God is not restricted by natural explanations, no matter how much people try to explain Him away.

Your way was through the sea, Your path through the great waters yet Your footprints were unseen.    Psalm 77. 19 

When we pray, nothing can ever be the same, most particularly us. We have not invited God into our circumstances.  God invites us to join Him in His wonders.  The result may be as outrageous as the parting of the Red Sea.  Or an unforeseen solution that suddenly comes to the surface of our thoughts.  Do we take credit for it? Or just wonder where it came from?

Ascribe to the LORD the glory due His name.  Psalm 29. 2 

She didn't wear a cape, but little old Miss Edith would be the first to tell you she didn't have any special powers. She just knew what to do. She knew to pray about anything and everything. She wasn't afraid to show others that God is real. And give Him the glory.

Pray like a little old church lady with a shield of steel and a heart of gold.   

To Love and Be Loved

Henri Nouwen was a man with an impressive resume.  He was a Dutch Catholic priest, professor, theologian, and author of 39 books and hundreds of articles.  As a professor, he taught for two decades at schools such as the University of Notre Dame, Yale, and Harvard.  His classrooms were distinguished by standing room-only crowds of students and waiting lists to register for his classes, sometimes for years..

But at the height of his career, he left Harvard and chose to work with people who had intellectual and developmental disabilities at the L'Arche Daybreak residential community in Canada.  And it was there--in that unexpected venue-- that he discovered something even more profound about himself.   

In his book In the Name of Jesus: Reflections on Christian Leadership, compiled three years after his death in 1996, Nouwen details the radical change he experienced his last ten years of life:

"The first thing that struck me when I came to live in a house with mentally handicapped people was that their liking and disliking me had absolutely nothing to do with the many useful things I had done until then. Since nobody could read my books, the books could not impress anyone, and since most of them never went to school, my twenty years at Notre Dame, Yale, and Harvard did not provide a significant introduction. . . . Not being able to use any of the skills that had proved so practical in the past was a real source of anxiety. I was suddenly faced with my naked self, open for affirmations and rejections, hugs and punches, smiles and tears, all dependent simply on how I was perceived at the moment. In a way, it seemed as though I was starting my life all over again. Relationships, connections, reputations could no longer be counted on."

He lived among vulnerable people who had no idea they were labeled as "disabled," some of whom could not speak, get dressed by themselves, or able to wipe their own faces.  He learned how to serve even when unnoticed or pushed away, or without needing any greater accolade than an occasional hug.  Despite being highly applauded in the past, Henri finally realized love is not earned. He was seen, heard, and immeasurably loved just for himself. Henri discovered in their midst something much deeper going on.  He learned the truth of Luke 14.14:  ...and you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you.

"The experience was and, in many ways, is still the most important experience of my new life, because it forced me to rediscover my true identity. These broken, wounded, and completely unpretentious people forced me to let go of my relevant self — the self that can do things, show things, prove things, build things — and forced me to reclaim that unadorned self in which I am completely vulnerable, open to receive and give love regardless of any accomplishments."

 

He had nothing more to offer than to love those around him in practical ways, learn to love, and be loved.  His friends there didn't love him for what he had done, or what he could do for them, but simply because he was, as themselves, a child of God, bearing the same dignity as all those around him there.

 

Our hearts may desire to "do great things for God."  And sometimes our circumstances look far from that.  But as Henri discovered, we can always love others --not just for God--but to Him. And there is no greater calling than that. 

But I do not account my life of any value nor as precious to myself, if only I may finish my course and the ministry that I received from the Lord Jesus to testify to the gospel of the grace of God.  Acts 20. 24

 

Find us faithful, O Lord.