The cantata finished and we sat in silence. One after the first, the two pastors walked quietly down the long aisle, their heads down, no eye contact with the people. We sat and absorbed the sorrow of Holy Week. The small choir filed out until just one older man remained seated.
Then began the arduous process of his departure. The narrator brought over his walker and gripping his arms, pulled him to his feet. Clutching the walker handles and with her hand on his broad back, he pushed and shuffled his way to the edge of the chancel and out of sight of the watching congregation. Age may have left him his voice but inevitably, it was stripping away his dignity, along with his strength.
I've been stripped for a season- of my strength, my self-sufficiency.
I've been led in public places. Once I stood gripping a shopping cart, staring down at my hands on the handle, at my feet on the floor and unknowingly blocking the aisle. My eye surgery required almost three weeks of lying flat on my stomach or holding my head down gazing at my lap or feet. It's easy to feel invisible when you don't look up.
Even now, almost two months since my retina detached and was surgically repaired, I am hesitant when I walk, nervous without normal depth perception. Fumbling for reading glasses, I peer closely at jewelry or sweaters to determine what to wear in a slow process that used to take seconds. My compassion for the elderly has expanded and I understand more their fear of falling.
When I feel sorry for myself, I feel frail and fragile.
And I hate it.
Interesting timing of this frailty in my life with the Christian Holy Season. Easter vigil reminds use Jesus was weakened by a scourging and humiliated by his tormentors. He chose frailty when he set the power and privilege of His divinity aside and become human in the first place.
Fully God, yet fully man.
And in becoming fully human, Jesus also became those frail parts of humanity—the hungry, tired, lonely, disappointed, painful parts of our existence. Perhaps he too had moments of fear.
He never rebuked His followers for being weak, for being frail, for being human.
He rebuked them for lack of faith, for doubting, for falling asleep when he needed them. In my Bible I haven't found Jesus saying in red letters, "You are so human. Why do you feel pain and experience confusion? Get a grip!"
Instead, His words are familiar in their compassion,
Come all who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
Are not two sparrows sold for a penny?
Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father's care.
When He approached Jerusalem, He saw the city and wept over it,
When Jesus then saw His mother, and the disciple whom He loved standing nearby,
He said to His mother, "Woman, behold, your son?"
Being frail can be humiliating. Our elderly tenor was once a strong and vibrant man and today he needs help standing. I'm frustrated by my weakness in this healing process but Jesus is my example of divine willingness to be frail, to be humble, to be comforted. Jesus was what humans needed to see and, in turn what we need to become.
He embraced the human experience. He understood when his disciples were weak. He saw to the needs of his mother at his most vulnerable time. The complete expression of God in human form.
Humiliate and humble both have the Latin root of humilius- of the hummus, or earth, human.
Perhaps we aren't humiliated by our frailty,
just revealed to be fully human.
