Sometimes I can be so callous.
Driving to the hospital today to see someone, I was following a person who was driving significantly below the speed limit. As Nancy would tell you, I have a tendency to be a tad impatient with those who are extra careful in their driving, especially if they are driving slowly so that they can text, talk on the phone or just look around the countryside. The person I was following today was going so slowly I thought, "Murphy's Law: The faster you want to get somewhere, the more likely you are to be following Aunt Bea on her way to pick up Opie at the lake fishing with Andy." It was that kind of slow.
Mile after city mile I followed and mile after city mile the person stayed right ahead of me until, finally, we both turned onto a four lane street and I could get around them. It was as I indignantly passed this person on the left that I could see who it was that had held me up all those many minutes. This person could have been my Grandma, complete with thick glasses and doing their best to keep up and drive straight while looking through the steering wheel of her vehicle. It actually could have been Aunt Bea, but I think she died some years back.
Sliding swiftly and confidently by her, I thought, "Nice, Pastor Don. Nice way to care for those who struggle for their daily existence." She was probably on her way to see an old friend, taking the back streets as I was, trying to stay out of everybody's way, not wanting to be stuck at home, and not ready to give up her keys . . . and all I could do was think of a new version of Murphy's Laws. Sometimes I can be so callous. Sometimes I can't see the forest for the trees. Sometimes I am the most in need of forgiveness.
The absolutely incredible part of the Bethlehem story is that the One who comes, comes both for Aunt Bea and the one who can't wait to get around her. The One who comes opens the door of a stable to incredulous shepherds and doting Magi alike. The One who comes understands one person's need to drive slow and another person's need to hurry - and there, somewhere in the middle, invites everyone to savor a different pace, a better vision of each other, and a deeper understanding of how God wants us to live together. The One who comes softens the calloused heart and eases our stiff-necked living. The One who comes leads us away from the trust of our own abilities and understandings into a relationship filled with respect, integrity, love and honor. The One who comes . . . takes away our anxiousness while introducing us to the imminence of the Kingdom. The One who comes . . . causes an over-zealous pastor to smile and wave (with all his fingers) at one whom, just moments before, he was ready to curse.
Come into my heart this day, O Jesus, for I can sometimes be so callous. Come into my heart this day, O Christ, for I can sometimes be so sure. Come into my heart this day, O Savior, for I cannot sever these shackles of slavery on my own. Come into my heart this day, O Lord, for I cannot wait . . . I cannot wait . . . oh, yes, yes I can . . . Was it you I passed this day in my hurry from here to there, O God?
I can wait, and will wait, that You might shape me to be the person You need, the person I need to be, in Jesus' name. Amen.
Driving to the hospital today to see someone, I was following a person who was driving significantly below the speed limit. As Nancy would tell you, I have a tendency to be a tad impatient with those who are extra careful in their driving, especially if they are driving slowly so that they can text, talk on the phone or just look around the countryside. The person I was following today was going so slowly I thought, "Murphy's Law: The faster you want to get somewhere, the more likely you are to be following Aunt Bea on her way to pick up Opie at the lake fishing with Andy." It was that kind of slow.
Mile after city mile I followed and mile after city mile the person stayed right ahead of me until, finally, we both turned onto a four lane street and I could get around them. It was as I indignantly passed this person on the left that I could see who it was that had held me up all those many minutes. This person could have been my Grandma, complete with thick glasses and doing their best to keep up and drive straight while looking through the steering wheel of her vehicle. It actually could have been Aunt Bea, but I think she died some years back.
Sliding swiftly and confidently by her, I thought, "Nice, Pastor Don. Nice way to care for those who struggle for their daily existence." She was probably on her way to see an old friend, taking the back streets as I was, trying to stay out of everybody's way, not wanting to be stuck at home, and not ready to give up her keys . . . and all I could do was think of a new version of Murphy's Laws. Sometimes I can be so callous. Sometimes I can't see the forest for the trees. Sometimes I am the most in need of forgiveness.
The absolutely incredible part of the Bethlehem story is that the One who comes, comes both for Aunt Bea and the one who can't wait to get around her. The One who comes opens the door of a stable to incredulous shepherds and doting Magi alike. The One who comes understands one person's need to drive slow and another person's need to hurry - and there, somewhere in the middle, invites everyone to savor a different pace, a better vision of each other, and a deeper understanding of how God wants us to live together. The One who comes softens the calloused heart and eases our stiff-necked living. The One who comes leads us away from the trust of our own abilities and understandings into a relationship filled with respect, integrity, love and honor. The One who comes . . . takes away our anxiousness while introducing us to the imminence of the Kingdom. The One who comes . . . causes an over-zealous pastor to smile and wave (with all his fingers) at one whom, just moments before, he was ready to curse.
Come into my heart this day, O Jesus, for I can sometimes be so callous. Come into my heart this day, O Christ, for I can sometimes be so sure. Come into my heart this day, O Savior, for I cannot sever these shackles of slavery on my own. Come into my heart this day, O Lord, for I cannot wait . . . I cannot wait . . . oh, yes, yes I can . . . Was it you I passed this day in my hurry from here to there, O God?
I can wait, and will wait, that You might shape me to be the person You need, the person I need to be, in Jesus' name. Amen.
1 comment:
I know this feeling of impatience very well and probably isn't good as someday I will probably be 'that car' driving too slow for the person behind me. Something for me to think about as I drive to work and back 'in a hurry'. Thanks for sharing. Jill
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