April, 2007
Last week, Abby and I, along with some friends, went to the
But as we walked around, I found I had to make a conscious effort to not think of these bodies as real people who had lived real lives, who had had souls, who had run, breathed, laughed, cried, hugged, and suffered. As long as I compartmentalized that fact I was able to enjoy the exhibits and the fascination of the complexities of God’s creation. This wasn’t too hard for me, but my friend found it impossible to not think about their souls and found herself grieved over the potential of their not being in Heaven, over the pain that some suffered. (Though most were completely anonymous, there were a couple that told a little bit of their stories, including one that had drowned herself when she was pregnant and spurned by the father of her child. Her family, refusing to give the girl a proper burial, donated her body, and consequently that of her child, to science.) My friend allowed herself to be touched deeply.
As we were leaving, we talked abut if we were to donate our bodies what position we would want to be posed in. I thought that it should be a natural position, something I do all the time but folding laundry wouldn’t make the mast interesting exhibit. I finally came up with playing the piano even though I don’t do that much anymore.
This week I thought some more on the subject. “Maybe I should have said I’d like to be posed on my knees by a bed, in the position of prayer.”
“Why?” The still small voice within me asked. “Is that what you want others to think, that you pray all the time?” He went on gently, asking me about the real state of my spiritual life. I thought about it. If God were to remove my skin to reveal, instead of musculature, my spiritual life – what would be exposed? The reality of a posed, plastic spiritual life began to take form in my mind. The conversation continued.
“Is that what I look like, to You, God? It’s not what I want – You know that!”
“Let Me breathe life into it.”
“How, God?”
“Embrace the pain of others.”
“But God, You know that would drain me. I don’t have time. I don’t have energy. I’m busy.”
I thought about what He said and how tough that would be. You see, I’m into self-preservation. I have my life all arranged at the level I can handle. I portion out time for my work, time for my family, and even time for other people’s pain – but it is kept at arm’s length, in amounts I can handle. Even my compassion is planned, doled out when and where it works for me. To embrace other’s pain would put it on their schedule; to truly have compassion would be to put myself at their disposal, where and when they need me. I went back to God. “I want to have compassion, but I don’t want to feel the pain myself. That would cost me too much.”
“I know. I paid the same cost for you.”
Ouch. I thought some more and God brought Scriptures back to my mind. (This is what happens when you memorize it when you are young – He is able to use it when you are old…whether to convict or comfort.) God calls each us to a deeper pain, to weep with those who weep – on their schedule. To carry one another’s burdens when they need it. It is this path through pain that leads ultimately to joy.
As I thought about this tendency toward self-preservation, God gently brought His Word back to my mind. “Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.” (Matt. 10:39)
I don’t want a plastic spiritual life, posed for others but protected for myself. I want it dynamic, living, breathing. I want it touching others, allowing the breath of God Himself to flow through me into others’ lives.
Like a rock,
The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise
Amy Shane
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