Discipleship

Funny how we can give so much and still be withholding. 

Funny how we pick and choose which of the least of these we’ll love as Jesus did. 

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A few years ago, I accompanied a high school youth group on a mission trip to the Dominican Republic. For several days during our trip, we hosted Vacation Bible School in a rural village. Each day, we walked down a long dirt road that led into the village, and each day, we were escorted by dozens of skipping, screaming children. The commotion caused by our entrance made it much easier to ignore her.  

Sitting in a small wooden chair on the edge of the road. Rocking back and forth as she hugged a teddy bear that looked like a dog's chew toy. Her face was slightly disfigured. Her permanently crossed eyes followed us as we walked past. She made no sound. She expressed no emotion. 

As our group walked down that road on our first day, I happened to make eye contact with her. Immediately, I looked away. Irrational fear. 

For the next few days, I conveniently looked in other directions every time we entered and exited the village. 

It wasn't until we were walking to Vacation Bible School on our last day that it hit me: God is grieved by my disregard of his daughter. 

As we passed her seat, I looked at her and waved. 

She did not respond.

But on our way back at the end of the day, while we were still some twenty yards off, she began waving frantically, beaming from ear to ear, making unintelligible noises whose meanings were perfectly clear. 

She was far more happy than any of the kids at Vacation Bible School. 

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I hadn’t heard of Usher’s Syndrome before coming to the HLID. You’re born deaf, and over the course of your life, you gradually become blind as well. Teenagers only miss out on the peripheral. 30-year-olds are pretty close to being blind.

Amjad is a former HLID student who helps out in the office and lives at the school. He has Usher’s Syndrome, and he is 31 years old.

You would think that his situation would arouse compassion in me. And it did, at first. But over the course of the year, my good intentions were slowly drained by his general intrusiveness and cluelessness. And then there’s his voice. No use in attempting to describe the noises that accompany every single sign he makes. You’ll just have to ask for an impression when you see me in person.

The other volunteers and I are very privileged to have our own living space, which includes a kitchenette. If I ever want to get away for an hour or so, I can skip out on the cafeteria meal and cook something in our flat. For a while, I went through a phase of wanting to be alone and eat Italian on Sunday afternoons. One particular Sunday afternoon, as I was waiting for the cheese on my pasta to melt before taking the small pan off of the gas stove, I looked through the window and saw Amjad, maybe ten yards away, walking towards the front door of our flat.

He has a knack for these things. It seems that every time the other volunteers and I bake something together, Amjad walks in and ends up eating more than his fair share, meanwhile smacking like his life depended on it and asking, “Did you hear about _______? [insert topic that everyone stopped talking about last week]”

I hesitated for a second. In reality, the amount of food in my pan would have been adequate for two people. But all I could see was a very large, well-earned meal for myself.

I took the pan off the stove, hurried to my bedroom, and shut the door. 

Funny how I’ll go half-way across the world to love the least of these and then refuse to give one of them a few bites of my pasta.

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“‘I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not clothe me, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.’ Then they will answer, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not minister to you?’ Then he will answer them, saying, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did not do to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.’”

Each and every day, Jesus the Christ presents himself to us in the poor, the foreigner, the ill, the incarcerated. 

...Good thing he didn’t say anything about people who make involuntary noises as aggravating as hell.

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It would have been nice if our call to follow Jesus included a precise description of what exactly God was going to require of each of us: the big things, the little things, the little things that for some reason will seem quite big in the moment. It would have been nice to know what we were getting ourselves into. 

But all we got is this vague, rather unappealing invitation: "Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me." 

No details. Nothing concrete. Just an allusion to a tortuous death. 

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I recall the words of scholar and martyr Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who reflects on the ministry of the prophet Jeremiah (and perhaps intuits his own imminent death): 

“He is a prisoner and he must follow. His path is prescribed. It is the path of the man whom God will not let go, who will never be rid of God.” 

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Occasionally, I have wondered why some crosses seem lighter than others.

But then I remind myself that this is God's business, not ours. I have a cross, you have a cross, and the truth is that neither of us knows why yours is yours and mine is mine. 

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There are times 

when I wonder 

if I’m just playing a game, 

performing the role that I was given 

and that I’ve convinced myself I chose. 

There are times 

when I wonder if, 

despite what I say and pray, 

all I really want is to be seen and heard 

above the rest.

But at the end of the day, 

I don’t want to be wondering. 

I want to be moving. Forward. 

I want to follow. Something. 

Sisters and brothers, 

we must trust 

as much of God 

and God’s commitment to us 

as we now can.