The late Gerald Strauss, Indiana
University’s wonderful professor of Reformation history, once asked me, “How
can you go through life not knowing how to spell?” The answer turned out to be that Microsoft
Word saved my academic career. Still, to
this day, when I don’t have the foggiest idea of how to spell “badminton” the
computer may correct my imaginary word into “bad mitten,” and I may not have
the sense in the moment to catch the difference.
Most people don’t recognize the depth of
my handicap and naturally assume my spelling problems can be corrected with
greater effort. I have tried to implement their suggestions, often spending
more time proofing my work than I have writing it, only to find my writing
still littered with silly mistakes. All
this is especially painful because once upon a time I was a certified,
award-winning teacher of English. My spelling problem threatens things central
to my identity, and the business world doesn’t care about my handicaps. It just measures competence.
Jesus, however, collected a crowd that
was considered a bunch of lame, leprous, prostituted, tax cheats. He said, "It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick.” Jesus seems
to think that human brokenness precedes real accomplishment. Christ’s esteem for the least is considered
a “scandal” because Christ’s love doesn’t
guarantee his followers a decent salary. In my case, parents prefer English teachers
who can spell.
What do we do for people whose whole life’s
work seems shattered by their failure? How
do we value the builder who can no longer work because of injury? Do we trust that God can use the spiritual
director who is having panic attacks? The counselor who has been divorced? What should we do for a bankrupt financial
planner besides suggest a career change? Can we trust a depressed interior designer to
create a happy space? Can judgmental
people, who lack the self-awareness necessary to see how they also violate
their own ideals and aspirations, still feel our gracious welcome?
Do our
lives spell grace?
