An Extended Invitation

The Parable of the Great Banquet

When one of those at the table with him heard this, he said to Jesus, "Blessed is the man who will eat at the feast in the kingdom of God."

Jesus replied: "A certain man was preparing a great banquet and invited many guests. At the time of the banquet he sent his servant to tell those who had been invited, 'Come, for everything is now ready.'

But they all alike began to make excuses. The first said, 'I have just bought a field, and I must go and see it. Please excuse me.'

Another said, 'I have just bought five yoke of oxen, and I'm on my way to try them out. Please excuse me.'

Still another said, 'I just got married, so I can't come.'

The servant came back and reported this to his master. Then the owner of the house became angry and ordered his servant, 'Go out quickly into the streets and alleys of the town and bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind and the lame.'

'Sir', the servant said, 'what you ordered has been done, but there is still room.'

Then the master told his servant, 'Go out to the roads and country lanes and make them come in, so that my house will be full. I tell you, not one of those men who were invited will get a taste of my banquet.'"

- Luke 14:15-24

Muttering under his breath; murmuring ever so discreetly; one might mistake my client's deep prayerfulness for the delusional symptoms of mental disorder. In fact, it took me a few months to recognize that he was talking to God, and not merely talking to himself - but there he was turning his heart to God in the secret place, naming his family members and loved ones (or whoever was impressed on his heart for the day) - persistently turning over those names again and again - surrendering them to the watchful care of "our Father". 

Though I understand little of what he's communicating to God, his constancy in prayer draws me into God's presence - communication in communion - praying as naturally and effortlessly as breathing: a breath of mystery. I've been given very little access into his secret conversations with God; though there are rare moments of lucidity and breakthrough. This morning he prayed with uncharacteristic directness and a not-too-subtle hint; "And Lord, I thank you for my birthday party today...". 

Oops! I had forgotten all about his birthday. At the end of the day I rushed to our local grocery store and picked up his very favourite cake: chocolate ice cream cake! Then too, I couldn't resist adding Cinderella (his favourite princess) birthday hats! He has a commemorative picture with every imaginable princess from his Disney Land trip; smiling ear-to-ear next to Princess Aurora, Ariel, Belle, Cinderella, Jasmine, etc. 

When we lit the candles and affectionately sang the birthday song - joyfully out of tune - we crowned him with his Cinderella birthday hat. He was so happy I thought he might burst; love spilling over into the lives of others. His prayer had been answered; "on earth as it is in heaven", after all, as any dead guy could tell you, heaven hosts a perfect party.  

I love birthday's now, ever since I began working with people with developmental disabilities. I'm not sure what I used to be so threatened by: aging, decay, death? Maybe I was just too full of self-importance to simply have fun with others and celebrate the good life of God? Perhaps, in part, that's why my prayer life is often dead too. 

The people I work with are always up for a party. They don't let self-preoccupation get in the way of celebrating our life together in community and communing in prayer. It's a rare occasion when they decline an invitation to a party or a prayer meeting. In fact, they so often are the life of the party and the first to make space for prayer.  "The poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame" are receptive to community celebration, meal sharing, feasting in the presence of God.

In Jesus' parable it was those the world has rendered "normal" with convenient "excuses" who missed out on the most important event of a lifetime: eternal life for those who respond to the freely offered invitation.   

Entertaining angels

Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it.

- Hebrews 13:2

Curiously enough, those the world rejects as repulsive often share a rare gift of hospitality, the overlooked and undervalued are often the first at welcoming the stranger among us. 

As a new arrival to Canada, my wife, Chieko, began sinking in the loneliness and isolation that so many newcomers to Canada share, after the initial euphoric rush of a new life in a new country. Rather than alleviating the loneliness, sometimes a crowded party only serves to underline the alienation, surrounded by people celebrating a foreign life in an untranslatable language, laughter spreading through the room at culture-bound jokes that make no sense whatsoever to an outsider. 

That night Chieko wanted nothing more than to participate in the shared life of the party, but felt entirely out of place, as if she had been pulled abruptly out of the natural running stream of a river, like a fish struggling to survive out of the flow of water.  

A severely disabled man approached her and took her by the hand. Not only are people with developmental disabilities approachable, but so often they are also the first to approach others who are hurting and in need of a friend. He was non-verbal, but highly expressive, and his animated body language transcended the language barrier my wife struggled against that evening.

It was a simple gesture wordlessly extended; an outreached hand, an invitation for friendship. He's at home entertaining, and is never one to exclude. He's received us all, and still there's always room for one more.

 

The Hiddenness of Revelation

At that time Jesus, full of joy through the Holy Spirit, said, "I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children. Yes, Father, for this was your good pleasure.

- Luke 10:21

The other day I was working on a task with a client of mind who has a sensitive heart and is highly perceptive. As usual, I was lost in self-absorbed dreaminess, when my client startlingly remarked; "she's feeling sad, isn't she?" His eyes had compassionately met another staff's look of despair across the room. 

It's been said that the eyes are the windows of the heart, and the tears forming in her eyes began to flow freely.  She could barely get the words out. She had just received a phone call: a close relative whom she loved dearly had unexpectedly passed away that morning. She was still reeling in shock. To be sure, my client is no Grief Counsellor, but I was so moved to watch the healing he initiated (or rather, a Divine initiative that he responded to), as other staff gathered around her to be present in her pain and grieving.

Like Jesus, he was moved to compassion; "when he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd." (Matthew 9:36) Like Jesus, he saw the person standing in front of him, and could see something into her heart that was hidden from plain sight. 

I had clearly missed the point, or rather, the person standing right in front of me. While living in Japan my wife shared a deceptively simple Japanese proverb that I keep running into: the lighthouse shines afar, but not at one's feet. In other words, we so often miss that which is staring right at us - investing in abstractions far removed from our lived experience. 

There's not much time or space for detached abstractions where I work and live anymore. People with developmental disabilities keep me solidly grounded and close to the heart. As Henri Nouwen observed, what is most personal is also most universal. Whatever their disability may be, in a way I can't fully explain, they keep what's happening at one's feet in perspective. 

I feel more safe in a world of disembodied ideas - flight from vulnerability - but I eventually come to my senses with the people I work with and learn from: "the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us" (John 1:14a). I'm threatened by that which is personal, I retreat from that which I can touch and be touched by; I don't want to get too close to others, nor do I feel comfortable with them becoming too close to me; but they have a way of touching me and inviting me to draw near. 

  

Why is it that the revealing God is so often hidden to the so-called "normal" people of the world? "The trouble with normal", as Bruce Coburn sang, "is that it keeps getting worse". Perhaps, at heart, God is not an impersonal abstraction for us to manipulate and recreate in our own image. "God is love", so the Bible says, and we've been created in God's image; created to love, created for intimacy, created to be in relationship.

They're no self-appointed prophets, but people with developmental disabilities often speak into our lives with a prophetic voice. My client that day could have been John the Baptist, a voice in the wilderness crying out; "Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is near." That unmistakable voice - the Kingdom at hand - straightening crooked paths, leveling insurmountable mountains. 

It often takes the physically blind to expose our spiritual blindness, the deaf to overhear and tune into our unresponsiveness, those with intellectual disabilities to open up and breakthrough our hard-heartedness. They are shining lights that illuminate what's been hidden all along; right at our feet.

A Spacious Heart

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting men's sins against them. And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation.

- 2 Corinthians 5:17

I attended a seminar with an illuminating title, "That All May Worship: Why A Ramp Is Not Enough". Led by Ginny Owens, the director of the Religion and Disability Program of the National Organization on Disability, this seminar put into question some taken-for-granted assumptions we share in faith-contexts of worship. 

What do we mean by "accessibility" and "inclusion"? Are we merely building a ramp, or are our congregations places of welcome where all people are included? Are barriers to full participation identified and removed? Are people with disabilities contributing to the life of the church as their unique gifts are discovered and affirmed?

Beyond architectural barriers I was reminded that "access" begins in the heart. To be sure, we need elevators and wheelchair-accessible bathrooms in our church facilities, but even more we need an interior renovation of the heart, opening doors for people with disabilities in active ministry.

Some participants of this seminar suggested that, currently, race relations in the church are over-emphasized, while special needs ministries are still neglected. It dawned on me, in light of the presentation, why can't people with disabilities be involved in intercultural ministries, and participate in the global mission of God as people from around the world arrive at our doorstep? Moreover, is it possible that the disabilities community could have a leading role in race relations? Why must Special Needs Ministries be segregated and compartmentalized?

In my mind, what is most striking about people with disabilities is the spaciousness of their hearts, welcoming people and including them, regardless of their ethnicity and cultural background, breaking down deep-seated barriers that divide people groups. With spacious hearts they serve as agents of reconciliation. 

My coworkers represent diverse nationalities, including China, Egypt, Jamaica, Philippines, Pakistan, Nigeria and First Nations. Curiously enough, it's the staff who often run into communication barriers and cultural misunderstandings. The clients I work with have a way of bringing us together with simple open-heartedness. They bear witness to the reconciling power of Jesus Christ, crossing the ethnic, cultural, linguistic, generational lines that divide the world today. 

People from all walks of life gravitate to their sincerity and transparency. People with developmental disabilities don't merely preach pious platitudes, such as "accessibility" and "inclusion", those words are often not even a part of their vocabulary, but unselfconsciously they live out the Good News, "that God was reconciling the world to Christ". 

    

Where the Light shines out

For it is shameful even to mention what the disobedient do in secret. But everything exposed by the light becomes visible, for it is light that makes everything visible. this is why it is said:

"Wake up, O sleeper,

rise from the dead,

and Christ will shine on you."

- Ephesians 5:12-14

The people I work with have a way of bringing out the best in me and surprising me by grace, but there are days when they also expose dark corners of my heart that I hide from. Not only am I surprised when God's manifest presence shows up, a goodness that I cannot see in myself, but also the shocking violence and mean-spiritedness lurking within.

I want to be in control, but the disruptive noises, socially unacceptable behaviours, and apathy my clients exhibit are often beyond the reach of my control. I want my own way, but my clients have a will of their own that resists my spirit of demandingness and "behaviour management" techniques. I value productivity, and their inefficiency can can evoke impatience and irritability in my heart, agitation expressed across my face, my words subtly conveying contempt, "Why won't you do what I want you to do?"

On one particular week my work was growing increasingly stale, routinely stuck in a rut, with a deep feeling of helplessness and purposelessness. I was still fulfilling my daily routines of job coaching, training, educating, with the focus on community inclusion and independence, but was anything sinking in, was there any noteworthy, measurable, visible progress? I was frustrated with my lack of results, and a dark irritable cloud was hovering over me. A client of mine has half-jokingly labeled me "Cranky Frankie" or "Frank the Crank" (my last name is Frank!).

Near the end of the week I snapped at a client with a regrettable attitude of anger.  He replied with a pained expression written across his face, "I'm sorry, Dallas. I won't do it again. I won't annoy you. I don't want you to be annoyed with me." The convicting and convincing power of the Holy Spirit surrounded that place, I was unmistakably standing on holy ground, my heart laid bare before a Christlike face mirroring gentleness, meekness and mercifulness. 

What was I saying after all? "You're annoying, I wish you weren't here, my life would be better off without you."  The revealing words of Jesus reached down in my memory, "For there is nothing hidden that will not be disclosed, and nothing concealed that will not be known or brought out into the open" (Luke 8:17). The grudge I was secretly nursing, the resentment I was carrying, the escalating violence hidden within, was now irretrievably open for all to see. I had nowhere to hide.

But humbly standing before this broken man of God who glows with such sincerity and purity of heart, I thanked God for His work of grace, the costly gift of forgiveness, and the mercy that's extended to me daily. Where else can I turn, but to the One who loves us most?

Leonard Cohen sang:

Ring the bells that still can ring

Forget your perfect offering

There is a crack in everything

That's how the light gets in.

The light poured in that day, but as a turn of phrase, it's also through those areas of brokenness that the light gets out.  I'm a little less defensive of those vulnerably exposed cracks in my life now. If there's one thing I've learned from people with developmental disabilities: we have nothing to hide before the One who sees it all, and still loves us with a fiercely unrelenting never-giving-up love.  

   

       

  

The Breath of God

Treasure is kept in clay jars. In the same way, we have the treasure of the good news in these earthly bodies of ours. That shows that the mighty power of the good news comes from God. It doesn't come from us.

- 2 Corinthians 4:7

I had the opportunity to attend the Accessibility Summit at McLean Bible Church in the Washington D. C. area: A conference connecting persons with disabilities, communities and churches. The cherry blossom festival was in full bloom, walking upon the pink-petaled grounds around tulips nodding in the breeze, bowing low and then holding heads high again. Spring was in the air and a spirit of newness, expectancy, and anticipation filled the conference as we soaked in the beautiful weather and scenery.

The significance of the conference's local context was not lost on us: among Washington D.C.'s corridors of power, privilege and position, we celebrated the apparent powerlessness of underprivileged and underrepresented lives in the disabilities community. I was reminded again that Jesus did not identify with the power structures of the age, but walked with people the world cared less about. The spirit of the age still conflicts with the Spirit of Jesus, but just as we were breathing in the refreshing scent of Spring air, the "fragrance of Christ" (2 Corinthians 2:15) was spreading out.

The conference was a breathless weekend of seminars led by community advocates, church leaders, and psychologists, as well as a flurry of activity networking with a wide range of organizations and special needs ministries. In the midst of all the activity, excitement, and inspiring stories of ordinary people with disabilities overcoming extraordinary challenges, the highlight of the weekend for me was the live music of guitarist Tony Melendez. 

Born armless as a "thalidomide baby" (his mother was prescribed thalidomide, a drug used to help calm morning sickness during her pregnancy), Tony Melendez travelled to America from Nicaragua to be fitted with artificial arms and the opportunity for freedom. Ironically, at the age of ten Tony had already realized that he was most free with the remarkably adaptable use of his feet, and he disposed of the stifling artificial arms he couldn't relate to.

He began excelling at the guitar and has now picked and strummed with his clubbed foot in front of audiences around the world, including a memorable performance for Pope John Paul II who - visibly moved - approached him through the massive crowd with a kiss of appreciation for the gift of hope Tony had shared with the world. Tony has also appeared on countless prime-time network specials and talk shows and inspires audiences wherever he goes with his giftedness.

We were bathed in the presence of God as he led us in worship fragrant with the life of Christ. His soaring voice and beautiful melodies were stunning to say the least, but even more than his remarkable capability as a guitarist and composer, I was so deeply moved by the way he shared his life and carried us into God's presence. 

Recently, I've had the privilege of listening to captivating messages from people with a wide range of disabilities: Cerebral Palsy, Paralysis, and a man born without arms. They all spoke with such disarming simplicity and a message I had heard many times before, "Jesus loves you", "God has a special plan for your life", "Your life is a precious gift from God", and yet somehow they embody the Good News - broken open - exposing our invisible disabilities and concealed flaws. When they speak as simple and vulnerable "jars of clay", the power of God is released in human weaknesses. 

While the world is threatened by their visible disabilities and apparent unattractiveness from a worldly point of view, God sees things very differently, and has called these clay jars in their vulnerability as His messengers bearing witness to the power of the Good News to a watching world.

While influential policy-makers and government bureaucrats were preoccupied with global conflicts, a humble and unassuming man of God led us in worship, right into the presence of God, where it matters most. As he sang, I was convinced that when God moves on Capitol Hill and to the far-flung corners of the world, the disabilities community will be at the centre of it all as a blessing to the nations. Come, Holy Spirit, come.       

I could feel revival stirring in my spirit, as the cherry blossoms quietly opened to the breath of Spring - the open sky dotted with the drifting of pale pink petals.  

  

A Work of Grace

For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith - and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God - not by works, so that no one can boast.

- Ephesians 2: 8, 9

I did not feel particularly lovable this drowsy Monday morning, world weariness sinking in, but when a colorful client of mine walked through the door his eyes lit up when they met mine, smiling broadly from ear-to-ear, and happily calling out my name for all to hear. It dawned on me; he's simply happy that I'm alive! It's doubtlessly not my performance or attractiveness, particularly on a heartless Monday morning, that puts a smile on his face when he sees me. There's something else at work.

If I could define my work with people with developmental disabilities, in a word, it would be: grace. The undeserved, unmerited favour of God has become more evident to me everyday in their presence, and I'm beginning to accept that I am accepted in spite of being unacceptable. God's free gift of grace: a smile freely given in spite of my unattractiveness, calling me by name even when I withdraw in self-absorption, reaching out heart-to-heart though I have nothing left to give.

Grace has a leveling effect on our world, "so that no one can boast". We will never be "good enough" to be accepted by our holy, altogether perfect, sovereign Creator on our own. Thank God, salvation is not earned by self-effort, but by a Divine initiative that sent Jesus to the cross on our behalf even when we had turned our backs on God, hands outstretched in self-sacrificial love, marked once-for-all by grace. We're all on common ground at the foot of the cross.

If God's grace is for me, than it's for you too. My client understands how grace works: his spacious smile spreads out for all, no one is left out of the reach of his smile. I sincerely have nothing to boast about, my only response to such amazing grace is gratitude. I'm so thankful for his welcoming smile, happy to be alive after all, even on a Monday morning. I smiled at the next person I met, extending God's spreading grace in that place.