A passage that’s been on my mind lot in the last few weeks is 1 Corinthians 12. After writing my post Eagles and Hedgehogs, I’ve been thinking on the ‘zoo of faith’ quite a bit, and how, big or small, scaled or skinned, we all have a part to play and we are all a part of deliberate creation. This world needs a mix of eagles and hedgehogs, barracudas and bears, to be the place it is. It needs the tiny ants and the slippery fish and the yawning koalas. Every animal was equally welcome on the Ark – as far as I know, there wasn’t first class accommodation for the lions and lambs and shoddy bunks for the rest. Not that most animals could cope with bunk beds, but you get the picture. This ties into 1 Cor 12 too, which, as a geeky medical student who spends her time getting to grips with different body parts, is a passage I love a lot. I love this idea of the body working in harmony, of everything having a purpose, even if it only becomes apparent when something goes amiss – if you’ve had acute appendicitis, you’ll know the havoc wreaked by something that often doesn’t seem to do much.
I love how egalitarian the Bible is – I love that in the Old Testament, there’s always the option of a grain offering if you can’t afford a calf, or a silver shekel for those with no gold. I love that the contribution of all is appreciated and judged as equal. I love that women and children are valued, and that Jesus was there just as much for the Gentiles, as the Jews. This is similar to 1 Cor 12 in that it reminds me that the church is made of many people, not just bricks and mortar. My coming to Christ was followed so quickly by falling into depression that I never really had much time to figure out what my role, or gift, or place was. I am not someone who was known for doing this, or that, around the church. I am not someone who previously, was up at the front, praying left right and centre, laying on hands, or serving behind the scenes. By the time I’d got my head around Jesus, I was already on a fast slide downhill.
I look at myself sometimes and find it hard to see how God is using me, if He is at all. I’m not a frantic evangelist, or a ‘confident’ pray-er. My philosophy is more about trying to help people as often as I can, without creating too much of a fuss, than being up in front of the crowds. Finding my role in my church has been tough, slow, and fraught with obstacles. It’s a big church, with a big congregation, and as a clinical medical student, I sort of fall inbetween ministries – I’m quite a long way from the seventeen-year old first years still staying in halls, but I’m not yet a young professional with a regular, predictable job and bills to pay. I span several gaps, but don’t quite fit any of them – a square peg surrounded by round holes. Add into this that I was completely bemused by the whole ethos of the student ministry when I started going, and it’s no wonder I don’t always feel a part of things; before encountering church, I’d often been involved in caring for other people, through leading a brownie unit, being a class assistant at school, and volunteering at a centre for children with LD – but I’d never ever been targetted as needing guidance myself. It took a while to get my head round it, although the concept of pastoral care is something that doesn’t strike people who have been around churches for long, as an odd thing; for them, it’s normal. My role and place is uncertain and at the moment, feels undefined. I wonder often, whether the church would notice, or be any different, if I stopped going? Would it start to limp, or go off course? Would it able to carry less loads, or hear things less acutely? Would it’s vision suffer, and speech slow down? Would it notice, at all?
When something in our bodies fails, other parts often step up to carry the deficit; in heart failure, the kidneys excrete more water to lighten the load. In arthritis, the muscles on the opposite side try to take the weight. In blindness, the other senses become more acute, so that we can still find our way through the world. This is what the church should do; when one member stumbles and falls, the rest should be there, to let them lean until they heal. This is what I want to be a part of – this collection of people who celebrate in strength, and comfort each other in weakness. It’s hard though, when I feel detached a lot of the time, like an extra hand that’s surplus to requirement, or a misshapen bone that just creates more work for the frame around it. How can I expect others to know my part, when I am so uncertain of it, myself? It all takes time. At the moment, I am more in need of someone to carry me through, than extending that to someone else. It’s a slow process.
One of the reasons I’ve made a promise that I’ll keep going to church is that, according to this faith I try to ground myself on, according to the book I follow, God wants me there. He wants me there, in His House, with His people. He wants me there, though I don’t understand why, though I don’t deserve it, though I sometimes don’t want it. He wants me there, learning, maturing, growing. I am a finger or toe, a muscle or bone. I am a tendon that connects two parts, a membrane lining a cavity, a space between two lungs. And reader, He wants you there, too. Some day, I’ll know just what it is that I bring to the body, to the table, but for now, I just have to keep on going and trying, and hoping, that this phase of uncertainty, of melancholy, shall not last in the way it so surely feels it will.
Yesterday was the AGM for the student charity I founded, and have subsequently chaired, for the last two years. It was bittersweet in that, of everything, I am so proud of it; in the last year, we’ve grown from having 6 people visit a hospital ward once a week, to four times that, plus the library we’ve sourced (containing at current count, 500 books!), community activities and stronger community relations with charities. On a rough count, we’ve provided a visitor to over 250 patients without regular family visits this year. As I’ll be away a lot on placement next year, I’ve had to step down from presidency, and therefore feel like I’ve reached the end of an important phase – I’ve been the president of 5 student societies of varying types in the last four years (I just seem to fall into leadership positions) and this is the last one to go. I’m excited to see the project grow under new leadership, but will need a lot of guidance from God to not fall into the trap of wishing I was still at the helm, or thinking that I’d do a better job than the new exec. It’s been my baby for the last two years – letting go is going to be hard and I need to trust that God will be behind the new committee as much as He was behind me.