A few years ago, I
entered my room to discover my little grandson looking up at a large
crucifix on the wall above my bed. He
turned and asked if that really happen?”
“Yes it did.” I replied.
“Did
Jesus die?” he asked, turning back to look at the crucifix.
“Yes,
he did. But that’s not the end of it. He rose from the grave and that gives
hope to everyone who believes in Jesus.”
“Why?”
“Because
it showed us that death is not the end. It only begins a new life.” My little
fellow looked intently again at the crucifix. I was reminded of C.S. Lewis’
comment in his book The PROBLEM OF PAIN:

Was
my little grandson having such an experience? I don’t know but I dared not speak
or stir in case he was. Only he and God knew. My little guy turned around to
face me with a happy little smile (as though he had somehow been blessed) and
climbed on my lap. We slowly left the bedroom and went down the hallway in my
electric wheelchair to the kitchen for “wunch”. (He pronounces the letter “L” as “W”.)
What
am I saying? There are sacred moments that surprise us all; they come without
warning or prompting; they simply visit then vanish, leaving us with peaceful
joy or bliss that is beyond our ability to express or describe. These
experiences are more frequent in early childhood then become rarer as we age
and cynicism or doubts jades us and separate us from what is divine. Do you
know what I am talking about?
My
experience with degenerative disability unexpectedly opened a door again to
such experiences. It only began to happen after I stopped fighting disease and
surrendered to Christ. It was a long journey from the initial bitterness of
becoming chronically ill and disabled to a watershed point of finally being able
to truly pray our Lord’s words, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup away
from me; still, not my will but yours be done.” (Luke 22.42, cf, Matthew 26.39, and Mark 14.36).

Long
ago I ceased to discount the prayers of children. Before I converted to Catholicism I attended
an evangelical church. One day I was approached by a leader of the youth
ministry. He shared with me that the Friday night teen group was having a
“problem” with a member who had mild Down’s syndrome. She insisted on coming to
the youth group and in devotional time would pray long, long prayers that
bothered the rest of the teens.
They
were uncomfortable with her attendance and her praying. He asked me what could
be done? I don’t think he liked my
answer. “Has it occurred to you that her prayers may be more intense and her
communion with God more Paradisal than any prayers the rest of us pray?” I
reminded the youth leader that the Disciples tried to turn away children but
Jesus welcomed and blessed them. I reminded him that Jesus said that whatever
we do to “the least of these” we do to Him. He sheepishly looked at his shoes then
responded, “I hadn’t thought about it like that. Perhaps the problem is with us
not her.”
We
must hold up the simple and the child as indispensible members of church
life.

Why are the weaker members more necessary and the parts less honorable
deserving greater honor? I think it’s partly because the weak call the strong
to a higher standard of love and care. The less honorable members need
understanding and acceptance from the more honorable.
God works through human weakness and brings strength to his people. -- Mark
[Click on image below or http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uwDRZMoJtkk for Libera, "You Were There"].
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