Grounded by the Least of These

In life it's alarmingly easy to default to autopilot mode, where we perform our daily tasks and duties with not much care or troubled thought. Get up, take a shower, go to class, listen to professor, take notes, pay attention, go to next class, come home, read/watch news, do homework - on and on. It's a series of commands we follow in a program we've coded for ourselves to get us through the day without much effort. It's this thoughtless execution that makes us easy-to-lead, dutiful citizens that move society along at it's own pace. It's also this that numbs us to the needs and pains of those around us - when we see hurt, or pain, or death, or loneliness - we just click on our scheduled task and walk right by. I'm as guilty as any in this regard, and despite all of our best efforts it seems to be a ground level fault of living in our culture.

I guess I notice how broken this merciless fault is most when something pierces me and wounds me enough to break the "program" and make it shutdown. It takes something that grounds me - that clips my wings off and makes me land in the things I normally just fly right over without much of a thought. Something I've really noticed in the last year that is absolutely effective at this "grounding" is when I encounter someone who is one of "the least of these." You know those people you pass by, who just aren't as "lucky." You know the ones with an illness, or a disorder that makes them markedly different than "everyone else." The ones on the walkers, the bracers and in the chairs. The ones who have a hard time doing every day tasks, and who usually give more thanks for being able to do anything at all. It's the ones in the beds, on the machines and in stale rooms under florescent lighting - those who know what it is to suffer and go on. They really know the gravity that's part of living in a fallen world.
Recent circumstances have put me in proximity to such a person, and every time I am around him I am cut down to the floor. There's something about it that makes me face myself and how often I am morbidly obsessed with myself. In the droning on of Seminary life, it's easy just to engage the material and never engage yourself honestly. If we never face ourselves, how can we truly know our own depravity and truly repent - and if we cannot do that, how can we really be Christ's? The simple answer for me is terrifying and yet wonderful: We can't. Maybe that's why Jesus points to them when He talks about real, saving faith.
Most moments I can't imagine what such an inescapably difficulty would do to me, but recently I've had things turn out more difficult than I would have imagined, and I've got to say, I'm not looking to the "strong" folks for encouragement and examples of perseverance. I'm looking to the "least of these." Watching them grounds me, humbles me, and puts me in a place that I haven't quite got figured out yet. Maybe it's solace, or strength. Maybe it's that the air down here has a richness and fragrance that gets thin when I'm back on top. One thing's for sure however, when I am here, I don't want to leave.

It's so easy to make Christ into this figure who's got all the answers, and none of the scars. But He has the scars - and that's something I'm starting to really know. He knows loneliness and betrayal, He knows the hurt and the loss, He is acquainted with the weight of both grief and glory - yet in all of it He did not sin.

I have often craved a visual medium in which I could express what I feel when I get cut down to the ground. It makes my faith one that's real, not just "right." What would such a work look like if we really remained so close to the real heart of things? Perhaps it would be a painting full of broken people serving other broken people; who forge ahead despite death or life, or angels or rulers, trials now or to come, or powers, or heights nor depths, or anything in creation toward the beautiful end for which we were called; our Lord and His Glory - a glowing yet gossamer standard that flows above all of our heads. I don't know if I even have the vision to capture the feeling, and oh how I wish I could. The Body is a strikingly beautiful thing. I imagine that if we visibly bought into what we were selling, most of the distracting things we get pulled into might just lose their appeal. I pray that I am constantly afforded eyes that “re-see” the things I would normally just pass by, and a spirit that remains grounded by “the least of these.” Lord knows I need it.

… Now in putting everything in subjection to him, he left nothing outside his control. At present, we do not yet see everything in subjection to him. 9 But we see him who for a little while was made lower than the angels, namely Jesus, crowned with glory and honor because of the suffering of death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone.
10 For it was fitting that he, for whom and by whom all things exist, in bringing many sons to glory, should make the founder of their salvation perfect through suffering. 11 For he who sanctifies and those who are sanctified all have one origin. That is why he is not ashamed to call them brothers, 12 saying, "I will tell of your name to my brothers; in the midst of the congregation I will sing your praise."
13 And again, "I will put my trust in him." And again, "Behold, I and the children God has given me."
14 Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, he himself likewise partook of the same things, that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, 15 and deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong slavery. 16 For surely it is not angels that he helps, but he helps the offspring of Abraham. 17 Therefore he had to be made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people. 18 For because he himself has suffered when tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted.

~Hebrews 2:8b -18