Marty's God

Marty and I have a heritage rooted in Christianity. We continue our Christian confession in spite of or more rightly because of our liberal proclivities. Our faith is our foundation; it is our past and our present. Marty and I were both raised in a Christian church, stayed in a Christian church and raised our children in a Christian church, it is part of who we are, part of how we think, hopefully, it drives how we act toward others.

Marty was raised in the Baptist tradition, a bit more conservative than my Presbyterian foundations, but largely the same. The only real difference, as I see it, is the emphasis on God’s grace and church polity. Baptists focus on humanity’s actions; Presbyterians focus more on God’s actions for humanity, a small but telling difference for Marty and me.

My faith in God and what that means has been tested over the years, certainly no more than the past five years when Marty’s strokes changed our lives. The idea that God never gives you more than you can handle has been sorely tested in my eyes. While it may not have been more than I could handle it’s certainly right to the very edge of my emotional and intellectual capabilities. I have been alternately grateful, angry, thrilled, depressed, faithful and faithless through all of this. To say these past years has been a test of my foundation is a complete understatement.

Amazingly, Marty’s faith, her basic belief system, her foundation has never been shaken and never been stronger. When we talk about religion, our faith and belief in a higher power, she has never wavered, she has never expressed anger or disappointment in her God for what has happened. She has only said I believe God carries me and cares for me. I think if anything her faith in this higher power, her belief in God’s action for humanity is stronger than ever.

Personally, I have a hard time finding God sometimes. I get angry and I lose my faith on a regular basis. Not Marty, I don’t understand why she doesn’t feel anger, why she doesn’t whine about the unfairness of her situation, why she doesn’t moan about God taking her most precious gifts from her. She simply doesn’t, she simply, very simply believes, very simply holds faith, very simply knows God holds her in God’s hands.

Marty‘s evolved view of Christianity is simply, “God is with me.” She has managed to avoid the trap of humanizing her God by blaming God for her strokes; she understands her illness is not of God, by God or for God, it is human illness caused simply and completely by the frailty of humans.

She knows intuitively not to ascribe human characteristics to God, she believes God is infinite and she knows we have but finite understandings causing us to cast our fears, our anger, and our own prejudices as God’s. Marty knows we can’t excuse our frailties by making God frail.

Her God is not one of hate or retribution, her God, my God; the God of our Christianity is one of benevolence and grace. Marty doesn’t blame God or hate God for allowing the illness she is just grateful for her continued life and the chance to continue her life. She believes God is with her.

There are days I want to blame God, to rail about the inherent unfairness of Marty’s loss. On too many days I have found more hard questions, more friction in my beliefs and faith. My doubting times are much more frequent and much stronger than ever. I wonder, I doubt, I lack the clarity of my faith. I’m not Marty, I don’t have her strength, I don’t have her faith.

Marty, like Job has accepted her life and her fate and said I will live as I am, I will live with my faith in a God that is with me and loves me. She knows that better today than ever. I am constantly amazed at what I learn from Marty.

CHARGE!

We sat there together and heard it week after week, Sunday after Sunday.  We heard it from Jimmie our minister and we heard it from other ministers at virtually all of the other churches we have attended.  We heard it and were moved by it as my niece spoke the words at her own ordination.  It is one of the things Marty remembers, it is one of the things that moved Marty then, it is one of the things that still captures her.

Go out in to the world in peace;
have courage;
hold on to what is good;
return no one evil for evil;
strengthen the fainthearted;
support the weak, and help the suffering;
honor all people;
love and serve the Lord,
rejoicing in the power of the Holy Spirit.

The charge fits at the end of the service, the time when you receive instruction to carry your faith from the safety of the sanctuary to the ugliness of the real world.  To Marty it was always one of the most meaningful parts of the service, consequently she can still recite it. 

Marty was certainly not an overly religious woman, in fact she was and still is irreverent, but she was and remains a spiritual person.  She felt a fellowship with the brokenness of the church, she was moved by the forgiveness of the people of the church and the concept of undeserved grace, and she drew hope from the teachings of the church.   She found a home in the Presbyterian Church because, as she said, “Presbyterians are like the Miller Lite of Christianity, all of the religion but a third less guilt.”  Rim shot.

She, I, am often amazed at the sense of connection felt in our church; never more so than when I sat in my sister’s church in a service of ordination for Presbyterian Preacher Kate.  I sat in the sanctuary next to my brother, next to my father, next to my sister watching my niece be ordained.  I sat in the sanctuary and listened as my niece spoke the words of the charge in her new role as a Minister of the Word and Sacrament, “Go out into the world in peace.” I sat and listened to the words as Kate read them and in the background, just barely audible I could hear Marty’s hum as Kate continued, “have courage, hold on to what is good.”

I was touched by how the words coming from my niece connected me, my family, and the other people of the church to others who heard those words earlier in the day, “return no evil for evil.”  I was touched and remembered how the words Kate was reading reached Marty, “strengthen the faint hearted,” and I could hear Marty’s hum gently adding to the background of the moment, “support the weak and help the suffering.” 

I turned from where I was sitting, I looked to my right and behind me and saw Marty as the words continued to roll out, “honor all people.”  Marty had looked to where I was sitting and smiled, a smile of recognition, a smile of contentment, a smile of connection, “love and serve the Lord.”  I smiled at Marty, a smile that I hope said I love you and I’m proud of you, as Kate ended the charge, “rejoicing in the power of the holy spirit.” 

Marty continued to look at me and kept humming.  I was touched by the moment.  It was one of those serendipitous events that touch you so deeply you know as you experience the moment it will be etched not only in your mind but in your heart.  It was one of those moments where things were in balance, where the feelings of connection with Marty, with family, with church, with God, with history were in tune and clearly part of our life’s rhythm. 

 

In Marty's Own Words -- Caring for Her Mom

At one time Marty was a fairly prolific writer.  With her humor and insight she would have been a wonderful blogger, I guess in effect she is because she inspires so much of this blog.  Marty wrote this right after her Mother had a cerebral shunt and a cerebral hematoma.  I want to think this happened in 2000 or 2001.  It's amazing how close to the bone she cuts this.

This may ramble, but I need to write it now. I am just back from mom having brain surgery twice in one week, lots of very stressful and very frightening stuff. Briefly, Mom is better, out of ICU in the Neuro observation unit, and will probably go to rehab soon. Still quite a bit of confusion and poor coordination of muscles - particularly right side (bled on left side). Language and purposeful movements are most compromised, but all signs are slowly improving and it has not reached a plateau yet.


I am somewhat encouraged; 2 days ago there was only a blank stare. In a detached sort of way, it has been a fascinating process to be a part of. I have learned more in the last 10 days than you can imagine about neurosurgery, suffering, compassion, me, and life in general. It has been an amazing experience, I can't say I'm glad at all that it happened, but I would not trade for having been a part of it. I am changed in very fundamental ways -- although that sounds rather dramatic and a tad histrionic.


My father has been incredible, two phrases he used repeatedly when I would get discouraged, "I'll play whatever hand I'm dealt" and "I'm designed for whatever the job requires." Although I have never admired their relationship except for the longevity of it (51 years) it was awesome to watch their love play out and impact all of this. His commitment to my Mother and the whole "for better or worse” was operating at full force and often took my breath away.


The big thing for me involved this notion of "the grace of obligation." More and more I think I understand that through meeting obligations that just come with loving others, you receive God's grace. Through all of this I had two voices going on (borrowing from Kay Toombs) - the human voice that fights against it all and screams "no, don't let this happen, this sucks, this is my worst nightmare, this is so bad, I can't bear it." Vs the spiritual voice that says "no matter what, it will be okay, God didn't make this happen, but is with all of us each moment, and will help us bear whatever occurs." This love is made evident through the multitude of caring, compassionate gestures from people you know and from people you don't know. I have been in similar situations before and I don't think you ever experience God's love as powerfully as when you are in some kind of real crisis - it strips you of all the things that normally block the receiving of God's love. In this way the crisis becomes an amazing opportunity to receive grace.


In addition, to be able to offer comfort to someone who is sick and suffering or someone who is mentally hurting and frightened allows you to be a vessel or vehicle for grace. It becomes a privilege to minister to someone who is suffering, and you know what? - I'm good at that. The verse "if you have done it to one of these, you have done it to me." Well this is what the grace of daily obligation means. It really does become an honor to respond to the needs and expectations and hurting in others. The obligation gets transformed into an opportunity that nets you unbelievable grace. To be forced to walk by faith, not sight is really wonderful in a very paradoxical way. I don't mean faith that the problems of this world will all be okay. Maybe they won't, but faith that you really are "designed for whatever the job requires" and that ultimately - everything will transcend this and be okay.

Grace

"An outward sign of an inward grace." I first heard this description of Presbyterian sacraments from the right Reverend Bob Moon, the pastor of the First Presbyterian Church in Hillsboro Texas. I was just getting back to the Presbyterian church and learning theology and polity while taking my first officer's training class prior to Deacon ordination in the Hillsboro Church.

There are two sacraments in the Presbyterian Church, communion and baptism. Bob used the above quote to help us all understand why Presbyterians do what they do. We believe that God is omnipotent, loving and generous and that human kind basically kind of sucks. We believe God's grace is for all and God does not depend on us to earn his grace because, well, see the previous statement, we kind of screw up everything pretty much all of the time so if God waited for us to be good enough, not going to happen, therefore God's grace. Thus, in our theology we use human signals, human signs of God's grace and love for all of us. We find these in our sacraments.

Marty and I saw "an outward sign of God's grace" this weekend when we saw our first grandson Noah Robert Kinard baptized. We saw Noah and three other infants, through the church, baptized and introduced as children of God. We saw and heard the people of the church say they will take our grandson in their hearts and minds and live their own baptisms by keeping him in their heart and prayers. We saw our children stand with their first child, as we did 30 years ago, and promise to renounce evil and raise and teach Noah in the ways of Christ. We saw, with my parents, who stood with me 55 years ago as I was baptized, the connection of our faith and the grace of God in our lives.

In our church in Waco we always sing "Jesus Loves Me" as our minister, Jimmie Johnson, takes the baby down the aisle, in the midst of the church and introduces the child to the congregation. I'm a bit chagrined to confess I always, always find this moment particularly moving. In Matt and Sarah's church in Dallas, the concept is the same as the minister introduced each of God's children to us. As I watched Noah being held by the minister who married Matt and Sarah I could feel the power of the moment. I looked at Marty in her chair as she intently watched the whole ceremony and I was once again reminded of that inward Grace that God freely gives.