There is something prophetic in people who seem marginal and difficult; they force the community to become alert, because what they are demanding is authenticity. Too many communities are founded on dreams and fine words; there is so much talk about love, truth, and peace. Marginal people are demanding. Their cries are cries of truth because they sense the emptiness of many of our words; they can see the gap between what we say and how we live (Jean Vanier, 274).
It will be difficult not sharing the holidays with my family this year, but my absence from home can't be in vain. Living in community there is an importance to be where I am and who I am with. God can call us else where, with others, and it's vital for us to be intentional about our presence to those God wills us to share it with.
During a season that culturally couples the extremities of 'individualism, materialism, and sensationalism'(Nouwen, 90) to the importance of quality time with others, we miss out on the gift and importance of a 'true being-with'. Our souls seek consolation, but we guise it with hollow offerings to others. We offer a few cans for the food-drive, buy the overpriced gift in hopes for high praise, toss a few extra bucks into the tithing basket [which please understand these things can all be very good, whether given genuinely or not for those who will receive these blessings], but really at the end of the day the soul screams, "What about me!? Who will care for me!? How am I loved!?" Although there are definitely times in life where we need nourishment before we can nourish, I believe Christ certainly dwells within when our innards cry out not to be consoled, but to console; not to be filled, but to be empty.
There are many who have lost confidence in their smile, their words of encouragement, their eyes, their prayers, and their presence; many who have forgotten the bare essentials to being present and available and how acutely transforming these things are. Genuine presence is the confirmation of a love that bears a true being-with; eyes ready to see, ears ready to listen, hearts beating with compassion, smiles pursing into laughter.
At L'Arche many of our core members and assistants return to their families, relatives, or dear friends to celebrate the holidays with one another. Some community members share a grief in not having family to visit or that not many are seeking quality time to be with them- during a season of togetherness they feel isolated. In light of this reality there is a lot of empowerment in being sent off with the knowledge that one will be greatly missed and that their return would be a joyous reception. This is not apart of our job, but apart of our roles for those of us who have set our roots in community.
Some community members might be physically fit enough to be considered mobile, but it is not without a strenuous exertion of effort. For those who struggle with such mobility, I've always found it important to come to them. One of my housemates enjoys sitting on the couch and watching TV before he goes to bed. Each day looks different, but to express love the extensions of my heart come through feeble details. I sit next to him, watch with him, talk with him, and always attempt graciously to say goodnight. When I first arrived at the house he never spoke with me, joked with me, and was clearly stifled by my boisterous personality. Day in and day out I learned the little things that I could do to show him that I was not there simply to sit, to watch, and to let the time pass. My 'being there' was also meant to be my 'being with'. His guardedness slowly turned into a recognition of acceptance and a seed of trust was planted, watered, and nourished between the two of us.
A very beautiful example of the 'true being-with' I speak of is in the movie Forrest Gump. Near the end, Forest enters with breakfast prepared for Jenny to eat in bed. Jenny is fatally ill.
Henri Nouwen writes, 'Death is such a mystery, forcing us to ask ourselves, 'Why do I live? How do I live? For whom do I live?' And also, 'Am I prepared to die...now...later? (101-102)'
In light of this, Jenny asks Forrest if he was scared in Vietnam. The exchange goes like this:
FORREST (while reminiscing on landmark experiences apart from Jenny)-
Yes. Well, I, I don't know.
Sometimes it would stop raining long enough for the stars to come out. And then it was nice. It was like just before the sun goes to bed down on the bayou...
There was over a million sparkles on the water. Like that mountain lake.
It was so clear, Jenny. It looks like there were two skies, one on top of the other. And then in the desert, when the sun comes up...
I couldn't tell where heavens stopped and the earth began. It was so beautiful.
[Forrest looks at Jenny. Jenny looks out the window]
JENNY-
I wish I could have been there with you.
FORREST-
You were.
[Jenny reaches over and takes Forrest's hand]
JENNY-
I love you.
This heartwarming interaction just pulls you apart from yourself. Go out with a conviction to share warmth and light to those whom we have been given over to. Grasp that hand a little bit tighter, reach down and converse a little deeper, laugh harder, smile brighter, hug longer, walk slower and make sure to take the long way home, eat merrier, breathe deeper. Do all of this in a way that depicts that beautiful desire to truly be with whomever it is that stands before you.
May your presence have a rhythm to it. One that stays up late near hospital beds during the holidays, one that sits longer with those who beg from concrete, one that assuredly answers to those who don't want to be alone, who hurt, who rage, who despair, who hunger, and who cry. Think of those you know of who might need to be reminded of what it feels like to be deeply adored, welcomed, missed, and loved. Live with a peace and a grace that tenderly speaks 'You Were'.
Jean Vanier quotations taken from 'Community & Growth'
Henri Nouwen quotations taken from 'Adam'
The last scene of Forest Gump can be seen at this url:
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JFadFtZ8M-I)
