What is it to love someone well? I find myself wondering this again as I lean over her bed, trying to help her sit up so I can maneuver her shriveled, crippled body onto the bedside commode, a process which has taken the place of the multiple trips to the bathroom which used to occupy her day.
Do I really care for her—and about her—as I would want someone to care if this were my mother? If this were the body of Christ Himself that I’m touching?
As I’ve witnessed—and gradually become a participant in—this sweet little woman’s journey towards death, I’ve had to ask myself some tough questions about what it means to love someone unconditionally, selflessly, and well.
Do I consistently treat her with respect and courtesy and fight to protect her feelings of personal dignity, regardless of how many times she accidentally pees on the floor, dribbles food all over herself, soils her bedding, or tips over a drinking glass?
I didn’t expect it to be hard to feel the right things in these situations—but sometimes, it IS hard for me. Sometimes, I want to feel impatient…because I forget to remind myself of what it probably feels like to be her right now—to have a mind and a body that are withering away, becoming less capable and less under her control with each passing day. That must be hard. Really hard.
Being in this position—having someone be almost completely dependent—has made me think a lot about friendship, too, and how people are wired.
I feel like it’s a tremendous weakness of human character that would cause us to show less respect for people when they’re physically or mentally incapable of demanding it—and yet I see this. I see this tendency in myself, and I see it in others as well.
And yet, if the measure of a man—or a woman—is determined by what he or she does when no one is there to hold them accountable, then what kind of people are we if we’re less kind, less compassionate, and less considerate when the accountability of answering to a person as capable as we are is removed? Do I provide the same level of care, same kind of compassion, and interact with the same degree of respect for the relational nature of the person for whom I’m caring when they’re unable to respond to me, unable to complain, or express appreciation? Sometimes, I’m ashamed to admit, the answer to that question is no. Which is inconsistent, because for several years, I’ve claimed that I believe that the value of personhood and the sacredness of humanity is in no way diminished by lack of physical or mental capacity. Our actions have a tricky way of betraying what exactly it is that we really believe, regardless of what our mouths say.
Sometimes, the circumstances that make us think, or challenge us to look deeply into the depths of our own character and honestly evaluate what we find there—sometimes these things are part of our own personal journey, which just happens to overlap with someone else’s. And so, in an odd way, I have found that my own personal journey towards exploring—on a new level—the superlative virtue of love has been oddly interlaced with my little landlady’s journey towards meeting the ultimate Lover of her soul face to face.
Over and over again during the past two semesters, I have been brought face to face, in an uncomfortably honest way, with the question of what exactly it means to love someone well.
We live in a generation where it is considered normal—and culturally acceptable—to stand up front and sing in the choir on Sunday and smile in a very spiritual and ever-so-holy fashion at all of the dear parishioners (unless they don’t clap after the choir finishes—then it’s probably acceptable to frown most disagreeably and possibly to send angry glares at certain people), and yet be a completely nasty, ungrateful, whiny and basically dreadful person to be around for six-and-a-half days out of the week.
Yet the Master we claim to be whole-heartedly serving says that men will know us by our fruits…and that we are known not by our words, but by our spiritual power…that the greatest commandment is to love God with all of our heart, soul, and mind, and to love our neighbor as we love ourselves…and that those who are truly sons of God will obey His commandments.
So my question then, is…in a world where we are called to shine as lights—to be counter-cultural, to be different, to be beacons of hope, and life, and love—how are we doing? If we’re failing to be even minimally nice to the homeless guy inconveniently blocking the sidewalk or the annoyingly slow cashier with the crazy hair in the express lane at WalMart, or the waitress who is distracted and distraught and providing rather poor service at Olive Garden, can that really be considered radical, God-inspired supernatural love?
It’s easy for me to point fingers at the ways that Christianity in America has failed—or to get indignant about the fact that the church in America is not living up to her calling. But what I’m brought face to face with over again is that I am a disciple. I am a Christian. I am a part of the church. I am an American. And I have failed to radically show the love of Christ as I’ve been called to do.
Radical change in a nation starts with radical devotion in the heart of one person who submits to the radical calling of a God who demands radical devotion. If I am unwilling to be that person, than I have forfeited my right to criticize anyone else for failing to be that person.
And I guess, what I’m gradually coming to through this journey of the past few months is the realization that each one of us has to deeply want—passionately yearn—to be that person.
