I still remember him often standing underneath the basketball hoop at our local high school on those nostalgic Friday nights, when seemingly the whole town showed up to cheer on a bunch of teenagers to hopeful victory. He would have his professional camera in hand, as he was one of the leads of the sports section of the newspaper, when cell phones weren’t quite to the level of providing instantaneous information; and so farming communities would still fervently clamor for the delivery of the latest updates on the near and far away world. It was a rather fitting job for him: a gentle giant. He could tower over the majority of players on the court to get just the right digital shot, which could then reel in captive readers the following morning (or perhaps the following Monday if the game ran too long into the night). But he was also seemingly the calmest individual in the entire county, and never wanting any kind of public recognition, even if it was his job to popularize others. He, and anyone like him, seem almost…impossible to find nowadays.
He was also the father of one of my good friends from my growing up years, the one who ended up being the best man in our wedding. But then something started to change for the gentle giant: the one who I’ve grown to appreciate all the more in a time when not only news, but so much not-so-good news can be popularized and spread like captivating wildfire now. A few years ago, the family made the trek to the medical center behemoth we know as the Cleveland Clinic, for further clarification on what was going on with this still relatively young man, and perhaps with some hope thrown in for good measure. Unfortunately, “the long goodbye” had already started. It is yet another reminder that with all our collective resources pulled in to stave off so many human body complications, still so much seems to be beyond our control with Alzheimer’s and cancer, just to name a couple more prominent ones. And although he wasn’t the same the last couple years, at 66 years young, his earthly struggle had ended.
And so I wonder about his own humble witness, his relatively quiet carrying on about life; if anything should be taken away from that: about the way the should church should carry its ministry out in the world. Because, even in his own gentleness and humbleness and comparative quietness amidst the surrounding shouting world, his impact was still felt on his family, his community readers; even for a time when he worked for a place specializing in caring for the needs of differently-abled individuals, and numerous others. And yet, the church is also called to be a “voice for the voiceless,” to even shout down injustices and evil inflicted on any of God’s precious children. Yes, we can turn to Jesus and money-changing tables for that, as many faith institutions do for Biblical support and encouragement. There is certainly a needed time and space to do exactly that: to ensure our commitment to those often shouted-down and given-up-on.
Nevertheless, there are also times and spaces needed to be a gentle giant, of sorts, to be sure, recognizing our and Christ’s impact can still be felt in those moments, too. Yes, there are times to be the compassionate ministry to those who feel as if they try everything to control and move past certain medical diseases, but still cannot. We are called to lift up certain individuals with their wonderful gifts and talents without glorifying the church itself along with it. Sometimes as much as we have more than the desperately needed prophetic role to shout out on behalf of those in a variety of heart-wrenching need, we also recognize the moments when we need to be silent and listen, and enter in more deeply into a human story that captivates God.
It is a unique, interesting, complicated, nearly impossible both-and to navigate just as much now as ever before, but it may just be that this upcoming Holy Week nearly begs us to continue head-on with such a full gamut ministry. We may not always receive quite the captivating audience, but I have a feeling the world is still watching how the church carries out its needed life in the local neighborhoods and beyond, whether from the perspectives of relatively court-side pew seats or far, far-off in the distant bleachers. I have a feeling the world is still watching to see what we’ll do, almost as if they know we’re still needed, almost as if they know the impact that can be made, almost as if they might still believe that Christ is/will be…indeed. Amen.
In Christ,
Pastor Brad