Works of Love

If I speak in the tongues of men and angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.

- 1 Corinthians 13:1,2 

We put up the final streamers and balloons, took a step back and admired our work. The frozen pizzas were in the oven and the aroma of pepperoni was wafting through the air. Today, as both of my clients were quick to remind everyone at the office, was their big day. It was the day of the Pizza Party, which the two of them would be hosting for our agency. 

The tables had been set, adorned with salads and drinks, chips and pasta bowls. The games had been prepared and the prizes were ready to go, along with appreciation cards they had painstakingly signed for everyone in mind with a free snack coupon redeemable at all their snack basket locations. 

With the support of staff these two entrepreneurial clients of mine had established their very own snack business. They set up their snack baskets at a few different local businesses around the city, and each week they faithfully restock the snack baskets, collect the money, and when they return to the office they count up their earnings and record it in their accounting ledger.

The past few months had been especially profitable, which didn't go unnoticed by either of them. God had blessed their fledgling business, and they in turn, wanted to bless others. They decided that they would express their appreciation for their peers and staff at our agency by throwing a Pizza Party on the one-year anniversary of their snack business and share a bit of the overflow of God's goodness.

Waiting for the highly-anticipated "Big Day" must have seemed like a long eternity for them, but finally the day arrived as planned. Before the celebration began one of the more ambitious clients of the business partnership shared a speech he had written to commemorate this auspicious occasion.

With his head lowered reverently and clutching his manuscript in hand he read verbatim in a slow, somber tone, sharing the challenges of running a successful business after one year, a cause for celebration indeed on their snack business' "First Adversary" (afterwards he was to tell me that what made him most proud of his speech was the fact there were no spelling mistakes, thanks to his "spell checker" - I vigorously nodded my head in agreement). He outlined a short history of their business and with forward-looking expectancy forecasted economic expansion, "As we celebrate this special event memory may God continue to bless us as we continue to reach out and support city and country".   

He also offered up his "mission statement" and vocational high calling from God: Not only had he been called to "supply treats to companies who otherwise have none due to staffing challenges at local snack companies" but furthermore, "to show people God cares about their sufferings." 

I wiped away a tear from my eye. I'll be the first to admit that this snack business was mind-numbing drudgery for me, which added some extra pocket money for two of my clients, but nothing more. I did it, because, well, I had to. For my client, though, this business had a far larger, redemptive purpose. Mother Theresa has often been quoted as saying, we're not required to do great things, but only "small things with great love", though I think it wasn't until I heard my client's speech that I realized the significance. 

The "special event memory" was over for this year, and after the last game had wound down, the prizes had been handed out, and my two clients had proudly handed out their autographed cards with a free snack coupon insert hidden inside to everyone's delight, we took down the streamers and balloons, still basking in the afterglow of success. 

The next week, after we had picked up our bulk snack supplies, we returned to their work again, restocking snack baskets as usual, but this time there was a notable difference. The insular, colourless office space was the same, the office staff were still busily typing away while staring deep into the emptiness of their faceless computers. The environment hadn't changed, but I saw the people we were serving differently. 

Is it possible that we were doing our little part to ease their suffering, adding a bit of flavour in their otherwise bland world of paperwork and meetings? My clients work wasn't just another run-of-the-mill job. In their littleness they were participating in God's mission with great love.   

In Confrontation With Myself

When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

- 1 Corinthians 13:11, 12 

Two of my clients have an employment placement at a video store where they complete light janitorial duties. One of the more challenging aspects of my work is knowing my clients limitations, knowing where I need to step in supportively, and then again recognizing signs of unhealthy dependency, and stepping back and challenging them to grow without my support.  

Today, while dusting the DVD shelves, one of my clients wheeled himself to my side and asked me to go get the bathroom key for him. I know that he has an irrational fear of people in authority and is terrified to approach the manager (who happens to be one of the most easy-going, approachable people in an upper management position I've met). It would have been a quick stroll for me to the front desk, but I knew this was one of those teachable moments where I needed to let go and let him face his phobia head on, and so I prompted him to ask the front-desk staff for the bathroom key.

His face turned pale. He sat there for a moment in his wheelchair stunned, then his shock turned to anger. Never one to mince words, he yelled at me with exaggerated intensity (he's deaf and cannot always control the volume of his voice), "what are they teaching you at our agency anyways? When you're asked to help somebody you should always help them! I even said please!"

So often in my line of work I come into confrontation with myself. When I looked at him, bound by fear, I was confronting my own fears, face-to-face with my people-pleasing tendencies. For so many reasons, it would have been easier for me to go and get the key for him, not the least that it would have been easier on my professional reputation (would I be accused of abuse by not offering assistance?), but in spite of his rhetoric, would I really have been helping him by doing something for him that he could learn to do on his own?

I'm beginning to thank God for these crisis points, as painful as the unavoidable point is, for these moments of confrontation have a way of throwing light on the falseness of my life. I like to think of myself as a nice, caring person who helps others out in need, but I live with the undercurrents of fear. Underneath it all, I fear that my false motives might be exposed, when my patronizing attitude is a mask betraying my avoidance of confrontation, not only with others, but with myself. 

I can't tell you how many times people have made comments like, "oh, you work with handicapped people, you must be so patient", as if I had heroically chosen a life of martyrdom. God knows (as well as my truly patient wife who graciously puts up with her husband's daily antics) that it's not my long-suffering "patience", but the mutuality of the relationship that keeps me going, keeps me moving forward in my walk with God, as we continue to learn and grow journeying together. 

I sat down with my client and asked him what he thought my role is at work. "Well, when someone asks you to do something for them you do it." I took a deep breath, "No, that's wrong. I'm here to help you help yourself, and that's what they teach us at our agency. I know you have the ability to ask for the bathroom key on your own, and I wouldn't be helping you to grow independently if I were to do that for you." He thought to himself for a moment and apologized for his "outburst".

He went to ask for the key on his own from the front desk staff, perhaps looking into that staff person's eyes for the first time. He wheeled himself to the bathroom door, grasping the keys in one hand. He attempted to open the door, but try as he might, his hand tremors wouldn't allow him to steady the key long enough to turn it properly. He thumbed through the keys one at a time, but they kept dropping to the floor. My other client tried to help out and take the keys from him, but he grabbed them back and with a look of defiance said determinedly, "no, I need to help myself now."

How I wanted that door to swing wide open, but it refused to budge. He hung his head despairingly. Finally, I caved in and asked if I could give him a hand. Was he facing a limitation and in need of my support, or was I getting in the way of his independency? I couldn't be sure. I don't always know where to draw the line, but one thing is clear, we need each other.  

At the end of their shift my other client came running up to me proudly clutching the pay cheque he had just received. He ordered me to put it in his bag for him. I opened up his bag and was about to put the cheque in when I stopped myself, turned back to him and smiled, "I still have a lot to learn, don't I?" 

The Posture of Worship

Therefore, I urge you, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God - this is your spiritual act of worship.

- Romans 12:1 

This morning I joined our students in the Special Needs Ministry of our church for worship and their class. The worship service began and we sang together, "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your soul and all your mind and all your strength", when the man sitting beside me with a great heart broke out in dance. 

He was a flame on the altar, burning with God's glory, and soon our whole row was lit up by this flickering flame of the Spirit: a man who compulsively spins, a lady who shakes uncontrollably, another man who just has the need to jump. There we were among the orderly rows stuffed with polite people in our well-mannered congregation, swaying, spinning, shaking, and shuffling in worship, aspiring to the heavens with feet of clay. The Spirit must have been moving because even I was caught up, in my pious rigidity, clapping out of rhythm with the rest of our off-beat row.

They were worshipping with one foot grounded in the Kingdom of God and the other planted firmly on the earth, engaging God's presence in a posture of full embodiment. All the senses stimulated as they responded to God from the depths of a visceral gut reaction, and not the mere mental assent that I cerebrally offer in worship. 

If it's true that it's not only words that speak to us, but lives, then I wonder if God is even more deeply touched by the way they give their lives to Him with immediacy and urgency. They may be disabled and weak, but they don't have a disabling weakness, in fact they seem refreshingly whole, and this is nowhere as evident as when their spirits are soaring heavenward in worship. The creative power of God is most evident in their human weakness and point of need. They don't really care what other's think of them when they are worshipping God heart-to-heart, for they've heard the voice of God, "But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness" (2 Corinthians 12:9) and they unashamedly respond in worship, "when I am weak than I am strong" (2 Corinthians 12:10).     

It was time to leave for class. I got up from our pew as unobtrusively as possible so as not to distract others, when a "friendly" man in our row who I met for the first time expressed so much enthusiasm to see me I thought, in his over-excitability, he had mistaken me for a celebrity. He vigorously took my arm and led me to class, and so locked arm-in-arm we walked happily together out of the sanctuary.

In class, another man whom I work with from time to time led us in prayer. He has a rare gift of encouragement and of seeing the best in others, and in characteristic fashion he ended his prayer on a charitable note, "And thank you God that I could work with Dallas this week and that he's such a great worker." I was moved to tears and thanked God, with tears streaming down my face, for "every good and perfect gift, coming down from the Father of heavenly lights" (James 1:17). I felt his prayer opening shutters in every stuffy room of the household of God and letting the light flood in.

I knew I had found a home, a genuine worshipping community, one that calls us into the posture of worship, loving the Lord our God with all that is within us, and sharing the overflow of that Divine love, one to another.  

Slowing Down to Catch Up

But do not forget this one thing, dear friends: With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day. The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.

- 2 Peter 3:8-9

"You can't catch me!" My client taunted me with his booming voice rippled with laughter across the pool, as swimmers effortlessly glided past him in parallel worlds.

 

I threatened to chase him down, another big-belly laugh and arms began flapping wildly, his ill-fitted lifejacket bobbing up and down with the current, while bumping apologetically into other swimmers in their well-ordered lanes. 

He must have progressed a few centimeters when I meandered up slowly to his side. His head popped up, "Hey! How did you get here?" We laughed and laughed and laughed.

Out of necessity, people with developmental disabilities encourage us to slow down. Sometimes, in fact, it doesn't feel like we're moving at all; but we are; as the subtly shifting ground on which we are standing - the continents moving beneath us slowly and imperceptibly.

While I judge the value of time by my own life span, God often moves slowly - taking a painstakingly long view of history - and so we wait, and sometimes keep on waiting; but God is willing to take His time with us, in His own way and His own timing - "slow" (by my uptight, impatient measurements) but altogether complete - because each soul is worth the eternal investment. While I claim to follow Jesus, I wonder if sometimes he's not trailing behind me crying out breathlessly "wait for me!", as I rush forward leaving him behind in the dust. 

The truth is, it's much more efficient for me to do things for the people I work with, and regrettably there are times when I succumb to the temptation of efficiency. Lately, I've been assisting our clients with woodworking and craft projects for an upcoming community auction. When I let go of control, get out of the way, and let them take ownership over their work, the result is never a picture-perfect postcard; but yielding one-of-a-kind imperfection, a wonder-invoking humanness emerging all of its own.

I'm always hesitant to let go and let them draw outside the lines, but life like art can't be reduced to connecting the dots, merely getting from point A to point B as quickly as possible. Somehow, I've missed the point in-between, and outside of the lines altogether. The people I work with may never be the most efficient and competitive, but they invite me to slow down long enough to be present, listen to the heart, and rest in God.

The next day this same client arrived hobbling in with his walker. He abruptly stopped when he saw me and quipped, "I can catch you, but you can't catch me!", grinning knowingly while shuffling along to his next appointment. A poignant parting line, though I'm sure we'll cross paths again, waiting on God with a spirit of expectancy, and a different way of looking at time. 

Japan's Unrecognized Ambassador

We are therefore Christ's ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. We implore you on Christ's behalf: Be reconciled to God.

- 2 Corinthians 5:20

It was our family's first exhilarating night in our cramped tatami mat apartment in Japan. I had never lived outside my frozen corner of Western Canada, and here we were, according to my Western-centred map, at the very end of the earth breathing in the ephemerality of the exotic Far East. 

The vibrant energy of the frenetic neon Pachinko parlour lights across the street were flooding into our room, the rush of noise calling us out into the crisp evening air and onto crowded city streets animated by hundreds of brightly-lit signs competing for our attention. 

We set our feet down on unfamiliar territory, crossing paths with bustling salary men and OL's (office ladies) staggering out of high-speed trains at the end of another break-neck exhausting day, rushing without end to who-knows-where placelessness; past the young people elusively hunting for "coolness"; restless street buskers strumming their guitars in hand and singing resolutely for a clustered group of kids staring vacantly at them while huddled in a perfect circle of uniformity; senior citizens sitting lifelessly at the bus stop with no one in particular to talk to and nowhere in particular to go; young mothers shopping recreationally to occupy time while text-messaging with their cell-phones in one hand and pushing a stroller in the other. And so on.

        

We were acquainting ourselves with the train station market hub when we heard the distinctive voice of an endearingly eccentric snack-vendor, "irasshaimase!" ("May I help you?"). We were later to learn that he belonged to a community collective for people with developmental disabilities. They made simple packaged snacks in a factory and then distributed them through the service of snack vendors at high-density locations.  

I had passed through crowds and crowds of faceless people, but he was the first person I was to truly meet in our neighbourhood of Japan, and the first person in our little corner of Japan who was, in turn, sincerely enthused to meet me. He was thrilled to talk to a real flesh-and-blood "gaijin" ("foreigner": a contraction of gaikokujin, which literally means "outside country person"), but was soon to welcome me in no uncertain terms as "oniisan" (term of endearment for an older brother or close friend).  After all, I was his brother that night, welcomed into his circle of family, no longer an "outside country person", not on his familiar ground anyways.  

From then on, each day as I was off to work and running for the train, dutifully rushing with the crowds so as not to bump against the flow, I'd hear him from a distance making his appeal at the top of his lungs, "irasshaimase!". Through the masses he'd catch my eyes from afar and motion excitedly to me, "oniisan! Come and see". I'd browse through his latest featured snacks, catch my breath and talk about the weather. Then I'd rush off again into the facelessness of the crowd.

Some say that Japan's point of entry is marked by its torii gateways, the imposing, gated entrance of its sacred shrines defining the pronounced in-group/out-group boundaries of Japan, clearly marking who's in and who's out. For myself, though, I hadn't really entered Japan until I heard the irrepressible voice of a snack vendor, calling me to cross a threshold and set foot in the tender love of home, a place where all are welcome.  

 

Free to Forgive

Bear with each other, and forgive each other. If someone does wrong to you, forgive that person because the Lord forgave you.

- Colossians 3:13

My wife and I had been talking late into the night. Our conversation turned to the grudges that mercilessly hound us when she observed, "the people we know with developmental disabilities don't seem to have that mechanism". Is there a grudge mechanism coiled in the human spirit that clings to the slightest offense, relentlessly turning it over in our minds, refusing to forgive and let go? If so, it begs the question why those with developmental disabilities are so free from the death-dealing machinery of resentment, so blessedly free to forgive.

I was reminded again today how people with developmental disabilities live in a spirit of forgiveness. I joined in today's Special Needs Sunday School Class at our church and our lesson today was on the very topic of forgiveness. The Sunday School teacher opened up our class with a simple enough question, "What is forgiveness?"

Everyone lowered their heads; averting eye contact; and sat in silence - whether in contemplative reflection or the fear of being called upon to answer, I couldn't be sure. The teacher turned to a man who I work with occasionally and who is possibly the most forgiving person I know on earth, and repeated the question. He replied thoughtfully, "Well, we need God to forgive us when we do wrong things." The teacher graciously elaborated, "Yes, that's true, but what does the word forgiveness mean?" Another student chimed in, "And we should forgive others too." The teacher was disheartened but even more determined now to elicit the correct answer, "That's true as well, but that still doesn't answer the question: what does the word forgiveness mean?" He looked puzzled by the dauntingly strange question, "Well...I don't know."

He's served as a faultless model of forgiveness for me, yet he couldn't define the word for her, and perhaps could not even find it in the dictionary if the teacher had asked. He doesn't have the explanatory powers to define the word - he's too generous a soul to know the word needed explanation in the first place. Forgiveness is an intuitive way of life for people with developmental disabilities, not a logic-chopping concept to break apart and analyze into its component pieces.

Then too, when we sharpen our critical claws and carve out a definition of forgiveness, we're not only clarifying who is forgiving, but, perhaps of decisive importance, who's unforgiving. It's for this very reason that my client couldn't define the word: He doesn't make those kind of in-group/out-group distinctions. For him the words of Jesus are a way of life; "(God) causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous." (Matthew 5:44-46)   

It might be a well-worn cliche for me; but for them - rain or shine - every day really is a new day. They live life so much more straightforwardly than I do, with so much more freedom and light-heartedness. They hold onto their anger lightly in the spirit of Scripture, "In your anger do not sin: do not let the sun go down while you are still angry." (Ephesians 4:26) They wake up and start again, and give others a fresh start too. 

As one of my clients would ask rhetorically, "you know what? Tomorrow is a new day. I can hardly wait for tomorrow. It's a new day!" We can relax and be ourselves with them, and even laugh out loud at our human-all-too-human condition - a sign of grace - a reminder that no matter how bleak this day has been, tomorrow will start all over again with them. 

This week I worked with men with wide-ranging developmental disabilities who, at times, were agitated, yelled in frustration (sometimes at me!), and acted out aggressively; but they don't share my fault-finding capabilities, withdrawing into myself and recording others wrongs with calculating duty, even if the perceived "offenders" don't realize that I am mentally replaying their wrongdoing, while something in me slowly dies within.

It's been said that it takes two to make a prisoner: the imprisoned and the accuser. Though, as I think of it now, it often seems that there's only one trapped in the dark, cold prison of unforgiveness, as the offended holds on to their unrelenting anger, sometimes for years or even decades on end, while the offenders go on living their day-to-day lives blissfully unaware, released from the clammy grip of condemnation. 

Perhaps, that's why we are more cautiously guarded around "normal" people with well-developed grudge mechanisms, for fear of accusation and imprisonment, bearing the burdensome weight of another's resentment. We know all too well, even if unconsciously, that the slightest misstep could unbearably convict and judge us. 

In stark contrast, people with developmental disabilities have nothing to hide, everything is out on their tattered sleeve for all to see and be released with the winds of the Spirit. They tell it like it is, nothing more, nothing less. To be sure, they don't withhold any punches, but then again, their punch doesn't hold the same deep-seated sting either. 

Is it possible to live in the Spirit of Jesus while living in a world soaked with the blood of senseless violence: the willingness to turn the other cheek when someone strikes us (Matthew 5:39); to go as far as to love our enemies (let alone our loved ones) and pray for those who persecute us (Matthew 5:44); to bless those who curse us (Luke 6:28)? 

People with developmental disabilities don't condescendingly preach at me with a critical eye and raised eyebrow, but their simple kindness and merciful presence has gentled me - without them even knowing it - and has made me see how wonderfully gracious God is to us and how that wonder-invoking kindness has set me free from binding bitterness; "or do you show contempt for the riches of his kindness, tolerance, and patience, not realizing that God's kindness leads you to repentance?" (Romans 2:4) 

According to Jesus, those who have been forgiven much love much, but those who have been forgiven little love little (Luke 7:47). Their uncommon grace has given me occasion for pause, in wonder of the far-reaching extent of the daily forgiveness I've undeservingly received. I'd like to think their freedom to forgive has made me a little more loving, and by God's grace, less of a judgmental grudge-bearer.   

   

Landing on the moon

Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.

- Matthew 5:8

It's been said that we don't know who discovered water, but we can be sure it wasn't a fish. I'm always discovering something new from people with developmental disabilities, looking at the world from an unfamiliar angle, as if I was seeing the world for the first time. 

A few years ago now, my wife, Chieko, was working at a group home (the same group home where we were to meet). Every day was full of activity (toileting, bathing, cleaning, appointments, community events, errands, accounting, and so on) and after a particularly eventful day she was tying up some loose ends and washing the dishes cluttering the kitchen sink. 

One of the elderly residents with a tender heart and a keen eye for beauty, motioned to Chieko to come and see something that caught his eye through the front window. Chieko is always remarkably ready to set aside anything for people, and as busy as she was that evening she went to see what was capturing his mind out the window. 

He pointed eagerly with a big smile, and there it was: a full moon in a clear sky, shining so brightly she couldn't imagine how she had missed it with her head buried under a mountain of dirty dishes. They stood there in silence, simply enjoying each others presence and their secret discovery of God's creative activity that night.       

The Way of a Servant

Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves. Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others. Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus.

- Philippians 2:3-5

Sitting down, Jesus called the Twelve and said, "If anyone wants to be first, he must be the very last, and the servant of all."

- Mark 9:35

This day could only be characterized by disorientation: forgetting things, losing things, and generally feeling incompetent at work. Could anything else possibly go wrong? Half-jokingly, I told my client today, "I think you'll have to fire me!" He looked at me intently, and thoughtfully replied with stammering, slurred speech, "Dallas, I could never do that." Then with his tremoring arm raised for dramatic effect he shouted at the top of his lungs, "You're the best!" 

Truth to tell - always given to hyperbole - my client says the same thing to all of his support workers. Yet, his encouraging (though admittedly exaggerated) words were entirely sincere and convincing. There is no contradiction in his eyes: I am the best from his perspective, as are many other significant people in his life, and he was simply but profoundly lifting me up and honouring me above himself. Following Jesus, "the servant of all", he was humbly stooping down to lift me up. As a humble servant of God he looked up to me and saw something in me that I couldn't see on my own. 

What a gift to the world, an expression of freedom in Christ, not the "freedom to indulge the sinful nature; rather, to serve one another in love." (Galatians 5:13) A freedom not defined by anything-goes self-indulgence, but by the capacity to lay down one's life for another. 

What a stunningly simple picture of the depths of God's love for us. It sends the mind spinning: The downward, humbling, self-sacrificial path of servanthood; carrying our burdens all the way to the cross and raising us to new life in Christ.

God loves and values each of his beloved children without favoritism, and still you are uniquely special and precious in His eyes, as if His eyes were only on you. There is no theological contradiction, and no need to overcomplicate the way of a servant. At that moment I really did feel like I was "the best", along with all the many other loved ones he's served and shared his life with.