Among the Least of These

Every spring, when I was in elementary school, I would spend a weekend at a rural Virginia ranch with sort of a Christian scout troop from my church. One of the couples who lead our group had a girl, probably a teenager at the time, with Down's syndrome. I remember one night, after our group was particularly rambunctious and disrespectful to her father, her mother tearfully explained the sacrifices, the physical and emotional toll it had on him to raise her.

Every Tuesday at 6:15 AM, when I was in high school, I met with a group of guys before classes. We met at Burger King, ate greasy breakfast food (one of the guys would have a Whopper for breakfast each week), read from the Bible and held each other accountable. As bad a wrap accountability groups have (fairly) gotten in Christian circles, the memories here remain to me a special time of honesty among friends. One morning, one of the guys openly shared that he was worried God would give him a mentally handicapped child. This would not be in the near future, of course - we are all teenagers who were abstaining from sex. But he was worried a mentally handicapped child would wreck the future world of marital bliss (and of course, sex) that we all so eagerly desired. It was an honest statement, particularly among a group of Christians who knew we were called by Jesus to love the least of these, which must include the handicapped. Whatever spiritual benefits may come from a situation, the task itself seemed monumental. We were not alone.

Last week, I read this sobering post from Judith Warner's excellent New York Times blog, "domestic disturbances." (man, someone teach me to write like her) In Nebraska, a law was passed that was meant to "keep desperate new mothers from abandoning their babies in dumpsters by offering the possibility of legal drop-off points at 'safe havens' like hospitals." It turns out, most of those who took advantage of the law abandoned, not unwanted babies, but teenagers with severe mental health problems. It is an eye-opening testimony to the lack of mental health care in our national and local structures.

Indeed, if my wife and I had a child with severe mental or physical health issues, we would likely be better off than many. We are not rich, but we should remain upwardly mobile (our current economic difficulties aside). We are blessed with healthy community here, and we would seek it elsewhere. Our capacity for handling hardship on our own is very limited, but we have help in family, friends, church, and if we are really paying attention, God.

Beyond structures of community and government, my hope rests in this, that if God helps you to love the least of these, you better know love Himself. I thought about this as I read the Economists obituary of Christopher Nolan. Mr. Nolan was amazing. Behind his crippled body dwelt an amazing mind, full of stories to tell. But for me, the hero of his story is his mother, who held him not just as he wrote novels and poetry, but as he ate and used the bathroom. Few of us will ever be able to produce such beauty with words, but her love made it possible, and he lived a fuller life.

I've also been encouraged by Henri Nouwen. You probably know the story. The Dutch priest had many things I wish I could have: he was a well-respected academic with teaching positions at elite universities. He used his position to write amazing books and support social justice. But his final joy was found when he left all of that to work at a home for the mentally disabled. He found a community of people who showed him God's love as he never knew it. A good book on this theme is Adam: God's Beloved.

For us Christian, all this means, beyond social or political policy, to embrace God and his way, above our own plans. The arrival of any family member with a mental or physical illness will shatter our own plans, often in ways God used for the good. It also means the difficult, but by faith, rewarding task of knowing and loving the least of our own community.It means hoping in a Savior who will one day put everything right.

I'll end with a small disclaimer - these thoughts are half-baked musings and reactions to several things I've read or thought about recently. I cannot in any way pretend to understand the trials and joys of taking care of such need as I have been describing. But there is a real possibility that some day I will. There is much more to say on such a theme, and I am nowhere near qualified to say it.