Reflected

I got the link to an article by Tony Snow off of Greg Sponberg's blog. Greg writes in honor of his infant son, Luke, who died in May. In transparently revealing his grief, Greg brings honesty to the healing process. Along the way he is faithful to bringing pieces of "soul food" meant just as much for himself as they are for his readers. He has no answers, just an all-knowing God.

Tony Snow, former White House Press Secretary, speaks to this same truth. He died this summer of colon cancer, but not before publishing his article in Christianity Today. No answers, just an all-knowing God. In it he writes:

Yet even while staring into a mirror darkly, great and stunning truths begin to take shape. Our maladies define a central feature of our existence: We are fallen. We are imperfect. Our bodies give out. But despite this-- because of it-- God offers the possibility of salvation and grace. We don't know how the narrative of our lives will end, but we get to choose how to use the interval between now and the moment we meet our Creator face-to-face.

We get repeated chances to learn that life in not about us-- that we acquire purpose and satisfaction by sharing in God's love for others. Sickness gets us partway there. It reminds us of our limitations and dependence. But it also gives us a chance to serve the healthy. A minister friend of mine observes that people suffering grave afflictions often acquire faith of two people, while loved ones accept the burden of two people's worries and fears.

Tony (I call the White House Press Secretary by his first name because we are, after all, best friends) talked about how cancer made him acutely aware, especially when looking at the mirror, that he is fallen. Imperfect. Limited. But we live in an i-can-do-it world. For those of us not suffering from an illness that makes our mortality eerily obvious, we're pretty sure we've got it under control. I can get made up. I can complete my assignments. I can go to the gym. I can cook. I can clean. I can plan. I can dream. I can love. I can be beautiful. 

Isn't it so frustrating to meet your limit? A pimple. A B-. A missed alarm. Burnt food. Dust Bunnies. Rain. A fever. A harsh word. One or a combination of these things pops up and it hits us good: we can't do it all. Put the self-help books aside, because in the end self never did anything to help. Not even the former Press Secretary, with his wealth and status, could escape a weak reflection. Staring him down in the mirror was his own ineptitude. It's harder when it's less (literally) painfully obvious. When we look in the mirror and think "pretty good" its pretty easy to look at life and think pretty good. But when life's looking pretty dark, no power of our own will fix it-- that's the reality I want to live my "pretty good" days in acknowledgement of. There is hope on the other side of that acknowledgement-- and at the center of that hope is love.

"For the LORD's portion is his people,

Jacob his allotted inheritance.

In a desert land he found him, 

in a barren and howling waste.

He shielded him and cared for him;

he guarded him as the apple of his eye."

-Deuteronomy 32:9-11

"I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing... I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master's business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you. You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit-- fruit that will last. Then the Father will give you whatever you ask in my name. This is my command: Love each other."                               -John 15:5, 15-17

Love each other. Not "love your appearance." Not "love your grade." Not "love those great fall fashions." Not "love your favorite TV show." Not "love the BCM." Not "love having it all together." Love each other.