sitting on a bench
I saw a homeless woman sitting on a park bench early one more morning, Lord. A piece of cardboard beneath her protected her from the snow. An old blanket draped over her shoulders covered layers of tattered clothes. She sat silent and still as if waiting for a bus. Except no bus passed by that deep in the park. She stared ahead unmoving, unblinking. I realized she was waiting for nothing but the passing of time and for the warming sun. On another day–a brighter, warmer day–others sit on that same bench. In the course of a day or a week, mothers watching their playing children, business men taking a lunch break, or tourists resting their weary legs may all sit on that same bench
Each life that stops by the bench carries his or her own individual successes and failures, dreams and despondencies. Each, in the largeness of creation, not only share a resting spot, but the sameness of their humanity. Each struggles with purpose and meaning, with faith and doubt. Too often, Jesus, I want to see myself as different from the masses. I want to believe that I’m somehow more human, above the pettiness of other lives. I’m unwilling to see myself in others.
I want to believe that I could never be the homeless woman sitting in the snow, that I am of greater value. I deceive myself into believing I always play the part of the protagonist or the hero. But then you remind me of all I have in common with that woman on the bench–fears, loneliness, hopes, dreams (real and shattered), faith, and love. You remind me that I am often the one that needs a hero to save me, and at times I play the role of antagonist collecting shame like it’s some prized possession of which I cannot get enough.
When I consider humankind, Jesus, I can’t help but wonder as have others before me, “What is man that you are mindful of him?” Yet you are far more than simply mindful of us. You became us. You joined us on the snowy bench. You felt the cold of a winter wind and the chill of helplessness. You experienced rejection that the homeless and disinfranchised experience everyday. Who am I to believe I am above that kind of love or in anyway better than others? I, too, must learn to embrace the common bond I share with your human creations. Perhaps then I can learn to love as you love.
Today, help me humbly accept my common bond with the failures of humanity. May I join the homeless, the weary, and the lonely on the bench. May I sit patiently in the snow with them waiting for the warming sun. Amen.
Comments
Share your thoughts...
