When We Are the Ones Who Need Care

Dear Ray,

There is something I have not said much about, and I think it reaches into what we mean when we say that Christ is our life.

We speak about functioning in the body. We speak about supplying something, sharing something, having something to give. But suppose I can no longer contribute in the ways people have come to expect. Suppose I am tired, growing old, unable to speak clearly, or without the strength to carry what I once carried.

Have I become less a member?

Of course we would say no. But does our living together agree with our answer?

So much of what we recognize in a person is connected to what that person can do. A brother speaks well. A sister takes care of everyone. Someone opens a home, carries a responsibility, or always knows what to say. We become accustomed to receiving something from them, and gradually their usefulness becomes their identity among us.

Then something changes. They cannot do what they once did. And we speak about how useful they used to be.

But the person is still here. Christ is still their life. What has changed that would make their place among us smaller?

Their capacity has changed. The life of Christ within them has not diminished, and their belonging has not changed. What they can express outwardly may be greatly limited. That limitation does not tell us how much Christ they possess.

A person who cannot finish a sentence has not received less Christ than the brother who can speak for an hour.

We have been made one in a life. The very life of God has become our life. We did not earn our place by becoming useful, and our usefulness cannot be the condition upon which that place continues.

I want to be clear about this. I am not suggesting that we find something small for the weaker person to do so that he can still feel valuable. He may welcome something to do, and there is nothing wrong with that. But why must we discover an assignment before we can recognize his value?

He is a member of Christ. That is already an extraordinary reality.

Paul says in 1 Corinthians 12 that the members which seem to be weaker are necessary. Necessary. Yet we can arrange nearly everything around the capable ones and then make allowances for everyone else.

I wonder how deeply we have understood what he is saying. The body cannot be understood by looking only at what its most capable members accomplish. Those whose contribution we scarcely recognize are included in its necessity.

And there is another side to this. What happens within us when we are the ones who need care?

We may be comfortable giving. I can help you. I can explain something. I can bring what is needed. But when I need someone to do those things for me, I may discover feelings I did not know were there. Embarrassment. Fear. The need to explain that I normally manage quite well.

I can speak about oneness and still find it difficult to let someone see my need.

Peter’s objection when Jesus came to wash his feet reminds me how difficult receiving can be, even when we love the One who is giving. There is more in that passage than accepting help, but his resistance is familiar. Love may come to us in a way that unsettles the position we thought we occupied.

We have become accustomed to being the one who supplies.

But I do not want to make an accusation out of this. Some people hesitate to receive care because care has previously come with conditions. Someone helped them and then expected obedience. Someone gave generously and never allowed them to forget it. Someone entered their difficulty and began taking charge of their life.

There may be good reasons why receiving feels unsafe.

We cannot tell such a person that his hesitation proves he is resisting Christ. Love must allow trust to grow. It cannot demand to be received on its own terms.

Suppose a brother brings a meal. Before he has put it down, the person receiving it begins apologizing. He promises to return the favor. He wants to explain that this is an exception.

There is no need to correct him. There is no need to turn his discomfort into a lesson about the body. Perhaps we can simply be with him, without keeping an account and without expecting anything in return. Over time, he may discover that this care carries no claim upon him.

And perhaps, when our own turn comes, we will discover the same freedom.

The meal itself does not establish the source. Human kindness is real, and we should be grateful for it, but an act of kindness does not by itself tell us that Zoe is supplying the action. We can give from duty, from affection, from pride, or from a need to be needed. We can also use our need to hold another person close or make demands upon them.

The issue remains the source.

Yet Christ’s life can find expression in something as ordinary as bringing food and receiving it. We do not need to turn the visit into a spiritual occasion before it can belong to our living in Him. The same Christ is the life of both members. His love can have expression through the hands of one and a grateful reception in the other.

We cannot manufacture the body by making people dependent on us. But within the life we already share, we can become free to give and receive.

That freedom must include the person’s voice.

A brother who needs care has not become our project. A sister who can no longer manage everything has not surrendered her right to say what she wants. We can ask before we act. We can listen when our help is unwanted or when what we thought would help does not help at all.

Our ability to do something for another person does not give us authority over that person.

I think this is a very practical matter of allowing Zoe full access. Does our care leave the other person free? Can we love without becoming indispensable? Can we receive gratitude without needing recognition? Can we remain present when there is nothing to fix?

And when we receive, can we gradually become free of the belief that everything given to us must be earned or repaid?

These are places where the life within us can expose what we have carried for years. We do not resolve them by imposing another standard upon ourselves. A person who finds receiving difficult does not need one more thing to fail at. We can acknowledge the difficulty honestly within the union already ours.

Ray, as we grow older, this becomes more than a subject to discuss. There may come a time when we repeat ourselves, need things explained again, or have very little strength for what others consider important. We may need patience we once assumed we would always be the ones to provide.

I do not want us to reach that time and discover that all our speaking about life still left us believing that our place depended upon our performance.

The Christ who is our life does not cease to be our life when our strength declines. Our weakness does not undo what He has made us in Himself.

Surely our living together should give room for that reality. Room to remain fully among one another when we cannot carry a responsibility. Room to be heard when our words come slowly. Room to receive care without shame, and to say what care we actually need.

We have spoken much about giving Christ room to live through us. That room includes these ordinary, vulnerable parts of our life together.

We already belong.

Your brother,
Brent