Almost forty years ago, my mother had a bad fall after one of the surgeries that took her leg. As a result, she had several weeks of PSW care. The PSW on her case was a woman just a little older than she was, the mother of a troubled family, with an alcoholic husband. My Mom came to know and love these people – she had a singular ability to be able not only to love people, but even enjoy them in spite of deep dysfunction and sin.
Alcoholism and substance abuse, failed relationships, mental illness, and a marked lack of good parenting can be traced down the generations. In fact, I just recently went to what may have been that family's first wedding in decades.
The individual being married followed the family pattern through much of his young life. He and I are about the same age, I've known him all my life, and we were friends growing up. He never finished high school, he was constantly angry, vengeful, and trouble-making. Shortly after high school, he moved in with a girl and had two kids. They don't live terribly close, and I've not been in touch much, but the kinds of things I saw from him on Facebook were about what I expected.
Honestly, I didn't really want to go to the wedding. I felt I had to go to this wedding for the sake of my mother. She would have wanted to be there; she would have wanted me to be there. And I knew that being there would mean a lot to this family, to whom my mother meant so much. But it was not at all what I expected.
This friend of mine and his little family have been attending a local church. Interestingly, it's not the kind of church that young unchurched people attend. It's not part of a terribly evangelical denomination. The people there were upper-middle class people, who looked like nice, comfortable church people. And yet they have clearly made this family their project, in all the best ways. They made sure there was food for the reception, they helped make sure that clothes were together, they spoke well and fondly of this family who doesn't quite look or act like them. They helped them celebrate, and they celebrated with them.
But most of all I couldn't believe the change in him. He's always going to be...himself. He's not the kind person who just fits in. But in this church community, they are making him a place. He was so gentle. I can't put my finger on any one thing; it was his demeanor. He was gentle with his mother and grandmother. He was gentle and sweet to his kids. And his little son, whom I have never met, but who is every bit his father at the same age is unlike his father in only one thing: that when he calls “Daddy!” there is someone who answers.
After the reception, I spoke to my friend. It went something like this:
Me: “So this Jesus thing you have happening—”
Him: “Yeah, it's been a year now.”
Me: “Keep going after it; there's something real here.”
Him: “Yeah—it's really peaceful.”
Me: “You told me once that God could never love you—”
Him: “That was a really dark time.”
Me: “I hope that this is a place where you're learning that isn't true.”
Based on the title of this post, and what I've written so far, you may be wondering what atheism has to do with it. Here it is: I never believed that I would have a conversation like this with him. Our family has been involved with his for roughly forty years. Surely, if there were to be anyone brought to faith, would it not have happened in that time?
I have devoted my life to the study of scripture. I have told people that I believe that God has spoken to his people. I have told people that I believe that the least of what God has to offer is worth more than the most that the world has to offer. I have told people that two thousand years ago God himself died, but came back three days later, and is alive today.
Don't get me wrong: when I told people that I believed these things, I believed that I believed them. But if I believe these things, why do I not believe that God can take a dead friend of mine and make him alive? Of course, I would have said that God can do it; it's just that these days, God doesn't. I think I have skirted the issue by allowing for the possibility while denying the reality. God's work among his people has changed through history. But perhaps it has changed less than I realize, less than I have thought.
I don't think we can compartmentalize. Either we believe all of it; or we believe none of it. I can't believe that God created the world, decimated Egypt, and raised Jesus from the dead if I will not also believe that dead men still breathe when they hear God's voice. Either I believe in all of God's work, or I am an atheist.
And please pray for my friend. I'm not sure that he is out of the woods yet. Recovery from death is sometimes a very slow process. But when I spoke with him recently, for the first time in the thirty years that I have known him, I saw him breathe.
No comments:
Post a Comment