Blind Trust

There is a man in our congregation who is blind and he is a sweet old man (we’ll call him Jerry).  I often see him getting dropped off on Sunday morning by public transit or walking down the sidewalk after church.  Sometimes he is alone and oftentimes, there is a member of our congregation walking with him, helping him get food, or helping him navigate large crowds of people. I’ve walked with him a few times and though our conversations were casual, I’ve developed a deep love for him just by being in community with him.

During our church’s Ash Wednesday service, it came time for us to receive communion.  The pastor invited all who were present to come to the table and receive God’s gift for us.  People began to stand up and walk towards the front.  I was standing up along with everyone else when my wife suggested we help Jerry make his way towards the Table.  I looked over and saw Jerry standing at the end of the pew, waiting to be led to the Table. He didn’t seem anxious, nervous nor was he making a commotion in the hopes of getting help.  He stood, patiently waiting.  My wife walked over and offered him her hand.  He asked who she was and after she told him her name, he let her lead him to the Table.

I’m finding this image is becoming a sort of spiritual director to me, especially this Good Friday. I’m less confident I understand what is happening at the cross today than I was in the last few years.  I’m much less ready to spit out a concise explanation of the Trinity, of substitutionary atonement, of the hypostatic union.  If anything, I’ve become less sure what I believe about these things.  But my lack of understanding has not been a lack of faith.  If anything, I’ve found that I trust God more in moments of uncertainty.  I can’t lean on my theological acumen.  I have to trust God to show himself to me in his own way and his own time.  And sometimes that means I stand still, patiently waiting and trusting that someone will lead me to the table.

One of my latest favorite bands, The Collection, recently released a fantastic album Ars Moriendi, which is Latin for “The Art of Dying.”  The album was created in the aftermath of a friend’s suicide as the band tried to make sense of what had happened and where God was in the midst of the tragedy.  One of the songs, “The Doubtful One” ends with the following lyrics:

Cause all my friends and I

We have stolen, we have lied

We have looked upon each other full of lust

But you carried your cross

When it seemed like I was lost

So I know you can carry all of us

 

Yeah you carried your cross

When you knew that I was lost

So I hope you can carry all of us

What resonates with me in these lyrics is the way the singer acknowledges that God could save everyone.  But he ends the song, not with a demand for an explanation but an admittance of trust.  He acknowledges what is a possibility, but ultimately leaves it it God’s hands.  I’m finding this to be where I’m at this Good Friday.  As Christ hangs on the cross for the next 5 ½ hours, I know his death can save everyone.  I hope that might be the case. But I’ll leave it in his hands.  I’ll wait patiently, trusting that God will be God and sometimes that’s all we need.  He’ll lead us to the Table.