Some things in life are hard to understand and to deal with–especially those terrible things that happen to the innocent, especially when it’s our own children. In his ninth chapter, John tells the story of the man born blind. My brother, Rod, is legally blind as a result of his diabetes, and it has proved a great challenge to him. I am currently reading the letters of Bede Jarrett, a provincial of the English Province of Dominicans from 1916-1932. He has a thought-provoking reflection on John 9:
Think what it means to be born blind. He could do nothing for himself, except what he had learned with great labour and trouble. It must have seemed the worst possible thing to him. Think of him as a child, a boy with all his strength for, as far as we know, he was otherwise perfectly healthy, his pent-up energy, and he couldn’t walk, ride or swim without someone coming to help and guide him, and tell him which way to go. If you described the beauty of a flower, or the bloom of a fruit, to him, it meant nothing; he was born blind. Horrible, hideous–and yet, what does our Lord say? The apostles, seeing him, said, ‘Lord, who has sinned, this man or his parents that he should be born blind?’ Of course they put it down to sin (the Pharisees had a doctrine that a man could sin even in his mother’s womb), and our Lord said, ‘Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents, but that the works of God should be made manifest in him.’ It was just the fact of his being born blind that made the glory of God so manifest. ‘It has never been heard of since the world began that man born blind hath received his sight.’ Others, yes, but never one born blind. So just what seemed so cruel to him turned out to be this wonderful miracle, making manifest the glory of God.
So we see that all circumstances, however adverse they seem to be to us, are always favorable to God’s plan, always, always, as to the blind man, the best thing for us.
His hands are strong and powerful hands and we can confidently rest there. Can we not sometimes see in the hands of a clever artist, or surgeon, the strength and deftness expressive of the mind that directs their action? But with God, they are not only the hands of power, and not only the hands of wisdom, but of love, and it is only when we leave all things in his hands that we find complete serenity; and then a great peace shall come into our souls.
The blind man washes in the pool of Siloam (James Tissot)
My brother, Rod, and his wife stopped by for a couple of hours this past Friday on their annual trip to New York to watch a Yankees game. Three and a half years ago I was able to save his life by donating one of my kidneys to him. I have to be honest–it didn’t even occur to me to offer when he first told me that he was either going to have to have a transplant or go on dialysis. (He’s diabetic.) I got off the phone from that conversation, and then it occurred to me that I could possibly give him one of my kidneys. So I called him back and offered. He still tears up when it comes up in conversation.
You have to go through quite a few tests to determine if you can be a donor–all paid for by the recipient’s insurance. They want to make sure that you are in good health in order to donate. I remember before each test begging God that they would just say “yes”. My desire to save my brother’s life was very great. It was about half way through the testing process that I realized that the Lord was giving me just a small glimpse into His love for us, His desire to give life to us, to give us His own Son at whatever cost–and because He wanted so badly to do so.
Well, the doctors kept saying yes, and I was able to donate. The human body is amazing. When you donate one, the remaining kidney adjusts to take over for the removed kidney. Most of the time I forget that I only have one kidney, and when I do remember, I just thank God that I was able to donate. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
My brother wrote me a letter right before surgery. It’s a treasure I will always keep. I would keep it in that zippered part of my Bible, but it doesn’t really fit. (See “Courage.”) I pulled it out today to reread. It starts: “As we embark on our journey tomorrow, I’d like to say a few things about what you’re doing for me. I might not have said thank you enough for your gift but I feel you know how I love you for saving my life.” As I said, he still tears up when we talk about it. Thinking about that–his continued gratitude to me–convicted me in a new way of how much, much more grateful I should be to the Lord for the gift of life He’s given me, at much more of a cost to Himself than I experienced in order to donate a kidney. It wouldn’t hurt me to tear up about His gift of life more often . . . .
And as I said, I’d do it again in a heartbeat. And so, I’m sure, would God.
Witnesses to Hope 