With Five Years To Live

If you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any fellowship with the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and purpose.

- Philippians 2:1-2 

In one of our small-groups we have been using a resource developed by our community pastors, entitled, Five Years To Live, addressing the question, "If you had only five years to live, how would you live them?" 

At the very beginning of our study, we created a "community tree" on a large roll of paper and cut out construction-paper leaves to stick on the sprawling branches. Each individual of our group shared what they would like to do in their remaining five years of life. Some members of the group are less verbal than others: one individual simply said, "Mom", and we knew that he would like to spend his time nurturing his relationship with his Mother, while another individual said she would like to visit New Zealand, "where the Lord of the Rings was filmed." 

After our sixth and final session we revisited our community tree under cover of smudged leaves, pushed down in purpose. We turned over our leaves to rewrite our purpose at this point in our personal faith-journey's and our community life - turning over a new leaf, so to speak - and asked each other again, after all we had shared and prayed for over the course of six weeks: what we would do if we only had five years to live?

Everyone had a turn to speak order and purpose into their lives, in their own unique way and timing. As we rambled around the circle, I looked at the blank backside of my leaf and thought about the purpose God had created me for. When it came my turn I gave some forgettable, half-hearted platitudes about loving others. Everyone stared at me politely, but as unconvinced as I was by my detached abstraction.

I turned to the man beside me and raised the question; "What would you like to do if you only had five years to live?" 

"Well..." he looked down at the foot pedals of his wheelchair and thought quietly to himself, "I would like to have a coffee with you and you", he pointed his finger emphatically at me and then another friend. "I'd like to get to know you better, 'cause you're good guys", he said with striking clarity and purposefulness - his arms flapping excitedly and grinning with missing front teeth.

With clearsightedness he invited me to rethink my purpose here. How sincere is my God-talk if I'm not willing to simply sit down over coffee with a friend and get to know others personally, as God in unoccupied availability does for us: slowing down to accommodate the otherness of the other. Love is not a removed abstraction for him. His purpose and identity are defined in relationship to others. Love looks a person straight in another's eyes, acknowledging their presence, up close and personal. 

When it comes time to pray for each other we need to listen creatively in our small-group of mixed abilities. One man who is non-verbal (though he speaks volumes into our lives) will simply point to a person in the room on his mind to express care and invite us to pray over that person. Tonight was my turn. He decisively pointed at me with purpose and a broad smile of full awareness. Love is that simple.   

 

A Pageant of New Life

To them God has chosen to make known among the Gentiles the glorious riches of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory."

- Colossians 1:27

Christmastime is here again and our Hand Bells Choir was ready to celebrate after a year of faithful practices and successful performances. And so we decorated our room with the life and colours of the season, while the tables were covered with homemade Christmas treats, sharing the taste, sights and sounds of Christmas. 

Lately, I've found myself growing nostalgic for the good old days of Christmas Pageants, and so I decided to draw on the talents and resourcefulness of our inclusive choir of mixed abilities, and stage my own makeshift pageant that evening. With crayon-coloured, cut-out paper Bible characters pasted on chopsticks, choir members chose their favourite character, and just like the very nature of our choir, no one was left out; "Who wants to play the starring role as the barnyard chicken? Oh, me, me...". 

When the stage was set and the curtain raised one of the choir members raised the applause sign and we all gave ourselves an enthusiastic opening round of applause. Another member raised her "ACT I" sign and I began narrating.  Awkwardly, but willingly, we stepped into the Story, which has given new meaning and life to all our unrehearsed stories. 

The members of our choir proudly held up their chopsticks, sometimes with an additional prompting or two; "And the Wise Men..." Our friend with the Wise Men chopstick stared vacantly at me. "Ahem...the Wise Men", the Wise Men suddenly popped up, "followed the star" and the wisemen bobbed up and down on chopstick after the elusive star. The Barnyard animals mooed and neighed and clucked and bayed, chasing shepherds while the choir of angels stood on high to sing the Hallelujah Chorus. 

I continued narrating among the ordered chaos, "And the world held its breath..." There at the centre of all the noisy action, a little, defenseless baby boy, vulnerably held high on a flimsy chopstick: Christ among us, "the hope of glory." (Colossians 1:2)

It was a fitting way to end the year with this welcoming choir who accepted and included me, simply for who I am, even after ringing the wrong bell (only to realize after the song) or pointing at the wrong note for other hand bell players who require pointing aids. God's love is stronger still, strong enough to carry us with our limitations, stronger even than the power of death. 

They accepted me even with my limitations and the disability of my heart, just as God has accepted us in Christ; they love because God loved us first; they included me because God has welcomed me and you and made us a welcoming people too - and together we made beautiful music for God. As I looked out over the floating chopstick bible characters animating the story and listened to the strangely harmonious chorus of our shared lives, I knew I had found a place of belonging in this community of hand bell players.    

With our final Act upon us, the pageant was coming to a close; "And they named him, 'Emmanuel', which means..." 

In front of me Mary stuck up her hand and blurted out, "Oh I know - God with us". 

"That's right" I nodded approvingly.

The living and loving God right here with us, here in the midst of simple, humble hearts, gathering together in the name of Jesus; Love incarnated in our human-all-too-human condition, with the promise of new life, the eternal life of God.  

In the Beginning

In the beginning you laid the foundations of the earth, and the heavens are the work of your hands.

- Psalm 102:25

As much as sin, suffering and death has run its course in our ruined world, there is still much good-will to be found in others. A kind businessman from our church invited one of our Special Needs Ministry small-groups to a hockey game at the Saddledome, and moreover, to enjoy the game from the comfort of box seats.   

We jumped into our vehicles and headed down the road to the big game, with so much energy and enthusiasm it felt as if our vehicles might take off in flight. After arriving and gathering our group together into some semblance of order, the kind businessman led us up to our box seats. As we turned the corner all eyes grew in disbelief: The kitchen was full of mouth-watering food, and a view of the game like none other, as if watching from the comfort of one's home. 

Everyone filled their plates, roared with the crowd, booed the referees, danced at every intermission, sang off-key with all their hearts, waved frantically for free T-shirts and a spot on the wide-screen. We all ended up losing our voices, but still had enough in us for the final countdown to close the game, with one last hooray for the home team.     

5...4...3...2...1..." We held our breath, as my dear friend sitting beside me yelled in all seriousness, "Happy New Year!" 

We all stopped and looked at each other, with a raised eyebrow and the mutual recognition of the time of year (it was November). We suddenly broke out in the simple pleasure of shared laughter, a measure of grace incomprehensible to the crowd around us, as the winning home team skated over to the goalie, encircling the net and smothering his face-mask with sweaty gloves. 

We laughed, in part, for the out-of-place remark, and then again, because of its timely appropriateness. We were, after all, celebrating new beginnings: for the honoured guests an opportunity to take part in a hockey game, a gift the rest of the crowd had taken for granted with numbing familiarity, and for our host an opportunity to see the game from an entirely different perspective, through the eyes of his guests wide-open wonder. We left the Saddledome and piled back into our vehicles to head home, still laughing, dancing and singing, fully human and alive.  It's good that we exist, even in this fallen, old world of ours.