Habakkuk 3:16-19
I hear these things, and my body trembles;
my lips tremble when I hear the sound.
My bones feel weak,
and my legs shake.
But I will wait patiently for the day of disaster
that will come to the people who attack us.
17 Fig trees may not grow figs,
and there may be no grapes on the vines.
There may be no olives growing
and no food growing in the fields.
There may be no sheep in the pens
and no cattle in the barns.
18 But I will still be glad in the Lord;
I will rejoice in God my Savior.
19 The Lord God is my strength.
He makes me like a deer that does not stumble
so I can walk on the steep mountains.
Sometimes I just look at people and wonder why they aren't a pile of tears on the floor.
Her husband is in ICU, having just had an unknown type tumor removed from his colon and a spot from his lung. Then he had a heart attack. It is his second this year. Meanwhile she cares for his 97 year old mom and her ailing mother is coming to live by them next week. Her house is full of her children, grandchildren and friends. Not to mention the three Chinese girls who are living with them this semester, steaming some rice in the kitchen, all hushed voices. Front row seats to a Christian family mid-crisis. Is this faith stuff real? She laughs as she says, “Physical therapy consists of teaching him to put on his own pants... but he's not wearing pants right now, anyway.” Seriously, she speaks, “if he has one more heart attack, it's over.” She's still standing and smiling. Faith stands.
….
He's been down this road before: genetic – gut wrenching - chemical depression. Compounded by a repeat of history - a horror story of a family. A family man, abandoned. Children... one... two …. three months... no visitation allowed. Time passes and the darkness closes in. Almost. But not complete. And maybe there was someone there, to stand in the gap, to pry open a little sliver of light. Not enough to stand up in – or find your way... but just enough to stave off the madness. Just enough to say... “if I can make it through tonight, tomorrow the sun WILL rise.” It's a mustard seed.
….
On her hip, she sways her one year old baby girl,decked out in daughter's hand-me-down's. The girl is snot-nose cranky with a cold that is not letting her sleep several hours past her bedtime. Mama is calm, recounting yesterdays events, which include hours of miscarrying their third in the bathroom while the four year old boy threw up eight times... in the arms of an exhausted father. The father is now at the grocery store late at night... the little one falling asleep in mom's arms. And she speaks passionately about the stress of reaching ten-year as a foreign woman professor of the sciences in our midwestern university. Her reviews have improved, she says, all but one, where the Kansas boys still finish her year evaluation with profanities and disrespect. With an easy swipe of their pen, jeopardizing all that she has worked for in the last decade. The racism, the chauvinism– it fights her but it will never win. So, she will go to work tomorrow, weak and anemic, to be there for her students, to instruct on a subject that still brings her passion and joy. And tonight, the little girl sleeps finally, on mama's chest – and mama sits and rests... in visible peace. Faith has found a home.
….
These two sit hour-after-hour engaged in truth, hidden in a language that is more like a riddle than communication. But yet they change. They grow more confident, more at peace. Losing fear, finding hope – entering into a kingdom not of their country nor of ours. And they move forward knowing that no one else they know shares this journey. No husband, parent, sibling or child approves of the faith embraced. But the draw is deeper still.
….
Tuesday night a meeting to discuss what we can do and how we can help Women at risk of human trafficking. What prayers, what money, what empowerment can mid-western women give to the women of this world less fortunate – more in bondage than ourselves? We as believers are broken together, as we know there is not much but that we can do a little. A something. So we do a little something, and are challenged to do more. Faith moves.
Wednesday afternoon the university begins their strike against hunger with a small gathing in the back of the library. They want to partner with “Numana.” I smile to myself thinking, “I wander if they know the play on words, the deep history of provision.” Can there ever be anything NEW about MANNA? Isn't it always the same? Provision comes from the strangest of places... from God alone, and we wonder 'what it is it?' And they discuss who in the community could help with feeding the world, and the first suggestion is the churches. Not because they want to acknowledge this, but because that is who gives.
And I feel a deep peace, that I had almost forgotten in my cynicism. Amidst the centuries of error and horror and failure of the humans who follow Christ, Christ has led anyway... and along the way there have been hospitals and schools, relief, and love in the darkest corners of the world. And when Somalia calls – the church – broken though it may be - will answer. Because grace comes by faith.
And then the man, some professor, some Dr., who I am sure was trying to say something different, instead spoke the desperate need of the heart of humanity, more clearly than I have heard in a long time: “Poverty is not something that is happening TO us. It is not a meteor striking the earth – it is something we are doing to ourselves – it is a moral dilemma and no one is thinking of these things – we are not thinking in moral terms as we buy food, eat, make trade agreements, build factories, make policies. We are the cause of starvation, and no amount of packaging food is going to fix that.” And I pray, “thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” In me. In the church. In the world. Faith's final fix is yet to come.
And tonight a group of men gather in our garage to pry for one another, uphold one another, search for answers where they may be found – lead to truth those who will desire. Faith is just a little bit strange.
And this week, I have seen these things, and it pulled at my disabled memory. Of widows sustained, orphans surrounded, people mobilized to make a difference, forgiveness given after war, generosity drawn from once clutched hands, and those living with disability and disease, not just surviving but embracing and sharing life.
And maybe some days I believe the lie that my faith is a crutch or it is an opiate. I doubt, deeply. But not today. Because this story I believe about a good God ordering and sustaining the world cannot be only a crutch – if it is any such enabler it is full blown life support. It cannot be a drug that disables because I have seen more passion and deep motivation for change behind the Cross than any other place.
But that's today.
