My Voice Part 3
John 15
I am the vine; you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing. (John 15)
Let me begin with an apology. You may be wondering how many times I plan to write to you concerning “my voice.” When I wrote the first letter on my voice, I did not expect to write a second and later, now, a third letter on the topic.
Well, I’m sorry, but since I have found my voice (or more correctly, now that a voice has been given to me), I am using it more than I ever dreamed! Maybe that’s making up for lost time, but whatever, I feel the need to communicate with you about voices for one last time. Just one more. I promise!
So, if you read the first two letters, you know that I longed for a voice, or perhaps more accurately, for a story of how my life was touched by God. For years, I prayed for it and finally, in my later years, it came. I have not been the same since. No, I did not have a “lightning bolt” experience. It was much, much less dramatic. But nevertheless, as I have aged, I can tell how my life has become so different from before. Yes, very different.
And that’s what I want to communicate to you in this letter. I mean, your life, too, can follow an unexpected path, just like mine. Yes, the life you are given in Christ can unravel all your assumptions and it certainly can take you places where you never expected to go.
You see, it all does come down to expectations. Let me explain.
In our day, the expectations for our lives are almost totally fixed. For example, my father raised sheep and grew grapes on our family property. He did that, just as his father had done, and his father before him. So, I was expected, and did, follow as well, and I know that my sons will continue this legacy.
But there’s more: our entire lifestyle follows a similar pattern, living in the same village of Nazareth for generations, associating with the same families, marrying into one of them, attending synagogue, celebrating Jewish festivals, and so on. And I must add that the imposition of the Roman occupiers has not really changed those patterns. They’ve stayed the same for hundreds of years.
That’s why it was so out of the ordinary when I was given my voice. I mean, no one in my lineage had ever strayed from the narrow path that we’ve all walked. No one had ever spoken of any sort of life change, one that you may call a “born again” experience, as I have. No one had taken even one step away from the generational expectations that give so much stability and assurance to so many.
But it was never enough for me. Even when I was dutifully following the path of my forbears, I was always looking for more. More what? More depth, more meaning to life, more of an elusive sense of our YHWH God, one that I was just not getting from Torah and weekly synagogue.
Jesus came along at just the right time for me. Yes, Jesus proclaimed an abundant life, one where he is the vine and we are the branches, a life built on a deep love of God and of neighbor. And more, Jesus actually lived that life, and so did those who followed him. And he invited us to join his life, what I can now call a life in Christ.
Yet strangely, it still took years, even after his departure, for me to make the connection that has brought me into the life in Christ and that has given me the voice that I so treasure today. I honestly don’t know why it took so long, but it did, and we all must trust the timing of our God.
And that’s when my life changed and became so different from the expectations of the generations before me. I’ve heard that Jesus told Nicodemus that he must be “born again.” I don’t know if I’ve been born again, but I can truthfully claim that now, in my senior years, it feels like my life has found a new starting point, and that I have been given the blessings of something new and fresh.
That new life has led me to some unexpected places, places that broke some of the family traditions that I once lived by. Let me explain.
Suddenly, and I do mean suddenly, the poor of our village became more visible to me. And the sick, too. Before, I hardly noticed these afflicted people. Our culture disparages them as “sinners” and not worthy of my attention. Minding my own business was what I was taught. But now, now I see so much more and my attention has broadened to see the needs around me, needs that were invisible before. It’s as if scales have been taken from my eyes!
Why couldn’t I see this all along? I don’t know but for me, it’s an example of how my life has started over in Christ.
And I must add that I don’t just see more clearly. No, I now feel called to action. Yes, action. What am I doing? Well, speaking modestly, I am making a difference in the lives of those in need. Along with other followers of Christ, I am helping to feed and shelter the poor in our village. I visit the sick, and even help those who’ve contracted leprosy, an incurable and fatal disease that requires its victims to move out of the village to avoid infecting everyone.
I don’t do this alone. No, there are others and, in most cases, the others are folks whom I would never have known before. Why? Because they are not among the respected members of our synagogue. They live among the fringes of our culture, not totally rejected, but neither are they respected. And in fact, their loyalty to Christ has raised suspicions among our village leaders.
Eyebrows have been raised at me, too. Even members of my own family are questioning my new life in Christ. And I have to say that I agree. Yes, I agree that what I do and what I say about Christ is as surprising to me as it is to them. I mean, before, I never gave a thought to serving the poor and the sick. Never! And I had no thought that I could ever be sympathetic toward anyone except the respected members of our village. Like most, I looked down on the very people I now serve. My gifts seemed to follow the traditions of our family: tending a farm, raising children, and as I said, minding my own business!
And likewise, I had never seen myself as someone who could speak out on any subject and find listeners.
In a way, what has happened carries significant irony and it almost makes me laugh. I mean who’d have thought my life, at this age, would leave the path of tradition and charge off in this new direction? If you’d asked me, ten or twenty years ago if I thought, in my senior years, that this might happen, I’d have said you were crazy to think that it could. Even writing these letters to you would have been unthinkable in my former life.
And that’s where my voice comes in. You see, I am considered an elder in our village. The tradition of respect for elders is one that I have always honored and so do most of our residents. That means that some will still listen to me, even as I use my voice for Christ, and even as they see me departing from the expected path of respectability. I mean, believe it or not, my words actually carry some weight!
For so much of my life, I have been quiet. Yes, quiet, especially about my faith. It has always seemed to be a private thing, and I have never felt the need to speak up about it. Nor have I ever thought anyone would listen to me anyway, especially if I spoke up about the poor and the sick. I mean, why would they? I ‘m just a farmer and a raiser of sheep, just like my father and all my ancestors.
But believe it or not, some do listen. And I truly enjoy using my voice, speaking for Christ and sharing my story. It’s a story that God himself has given me. A story without an end. A story of waiting and never giving up on finding more meaning in this life. A story of how what we say and what we do can be seen and heard, even in the twilight of our years. A story of how our God never gives up on us, and how his timing is better than ours. It’s even a story of hidden gifts, as he uses us in ways we thought could never happen and were outside of our abilities.
Yes, gifts. Surprising gifts, gifts that I would never have imagined. Was my newfound calling to serve buried in me all along, only to emerge late in life? Or was it truly a gift, given by Christ himself, just when he found me ready to accept it? Honestly, I don’t know the answer to that. But I do know this: if feels like I have broken through a shell, yes, a shell that confined me by tradition, by the expectations of others, and also by those of my own. Yes, a shell that I will never return to.
Leos Moskos, 17th century
And what about you? Are you living in shell like I was? Are you, like I was, looking for more from life? Looking for a life with a deeper meaning? If you are, and if you are getting on in years, I want to encourage you to keep searching. Our God hears you. And I am confident that he will, at just the right time, bring those gifts out in you, yes, gifts that like me, may surprise you.
So let me close as I began, with an apology. I am sorry if these letters to you in your time fall short of making any sense to you. And really, despite how I began this letter, I can never promise that this is the last that you will hear from me. Why? Because I have learned that God’s ways and thoughts are so far above ours that we can never predict him. Even at my advanced age, I can promise you that our God is not through with me!
So, all that I can add in closing is the words of Jesus, which I have found to be so true for me:
I am the vine; you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing. (John 15)