I wish I could see clearly. I have trouble with blurred and double vision, especially when fatigued – I have to take my glasses off to read. Not fun. Not fun at all. I also have trouble with perspective, which often keeps me from seeing clearly as well. But don’t we all? Between my own anxiety and blinders things seem blurry or distorted. Sometimes, we just need a vision-check. My own vision-check came by a fella I nicknamed, Hank.
↓
Almost six years ago I was hired to preach at a local church in Scioto County. A month into my ministry, Hank hobbled into my office. Time was not kind to him as his well-worn faced aged him. His clothes hung from his frail thin body. Cancer was a major set-back, but he credited God for his healing. He was the victim of a hard life and was filled with anger and bitterness, sometimes spewing unkind words about people, some of whom were those closest to him. His bent body reflected a bent anger. On top of his head was a black cowboy hat with a thin woven leather band. He wore it everywhere he went. As he sat in my office looking at me, he promised we were going to be close friends because he and my predecessor, according to his story, were close friends. I was skeptical, filled with doubt that a friendship could be sustained between the two of us. He was angry, opinionated, and we had nothing in common. My predecessor died of cancer after a twenty-plus year ministry. My predecessor presented Hank with a Bible he cherished like it was an Olympic Gold Medal. I couldn’t compete with that memory. No, it wouldn’t work and the friction between us was real. I didn’t trust him. If I was honest, I didn’t like him very much, either. Oh we were friendly, but we weren’t friends.
Time passed. A few months later Hank hobbled into my office wearing his black cowboy hat with the think woven leather band. I expected the worst; he was going to unload on me and let me have it. I braced for the assault, only to hear his rough voice say, “Jon, I think we got off to a bad start,” then he added, “I really do want to be your friend.” And from that moment, we were. We talked more. He drove me around the county, and took me to dinner at his favorite restaurant – some gas station on the Kentucky side of the Ohio River. He showed me the covered bridge made of timber from my home state of Oregon. We were friends knowing that he had my back, and in turn, I had his.
Oh, he was still angry and bitter, sometimes saying words that made me cringe or shake my head. But I was blinded and he helped me see clearer, as I started viewing Hank as my friend, not my enemy.
↓
Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians is really about Paul exhorting the church to reconcile their relationship with him. This is a church he started a handful of years earlier. By the time Paul writes this letter, everything he had work for had blown up. For one, a seed of resentment from Corinth was planted when Paul refused to accept pay. For us, that’s a great deal, but for a Greco-Roman world, that was almost a faux pas. They didn’t trust Paul. Secondly, an antagonistic group infiltrated the church promoting a success oriented style of ministry and Paul looked like anything but success. Loyalties to Paul and the message of the gospel he preached was in jeopardy. Writing 2 Corinthians was his attempt to call the church back to him, back to God.
By chapter five, he really starts driving home the message of the gospel in terms of reconciling relationships. To do so, he offers a vision-check in verse 16 as we no longer view people from a worldly perspective. We stop focusing on status, wealth, power, race or even build relationships around manipulation like “what I can get out of it,” instead of “what can I offer.” We stop viewing each other as enemies or competitors or as problem people, but as a new creation in Christ. Therefore, he tells us five times in verses 18-20 to be reconciled, either to God, to Paul, to each other or to all three. We call the truce. We wave the white flag of surrender. We take the hit and loss. We stop the fight and battle while laying down our arms to embrace each other in peace. No longer holding grudges, we forgive. No longer building walls, we build bridges. No longer looking for division, we seek for unity. No longer war mongering, we pursue peace. At. All. Cost. Why? you ask? Because, as Paul says in verse 19, “. . . God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting men’s sins against them.” So in our reconciling mode we do the same: we stop counting or holding the sins of people around us against them.
Such language is so important that Paul describes this ministry of reconciliation doled out to us as if we were ambassadors sent from God to lead in reconciliation. As ambassadors, we speak and act on behalf of God. As ambassadors we have the authority to act for God. As ambassadors we do not have the right to act beyond our mandate, for Paul clarifies in the verse 20, “We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. We implore you on Christ’s behalf: be reconciled to God.” No, as ambassadors, we model reconciliation.
On a side note, those of us in Spiritual Care take the lead in this reconciliation. When we perform an eval on our patients, we probe their lives to uncover whether reconciliation with their children, family members, or neighbors is needed. Later visits hopefully uncover those needs where we can lead them to reconcile with their needed people. Clearly, nurses and aids play a huge role in this as patients often reveal deep needs to those they trust the most.
↓
Sometime after I shifted my profession from church oriented work to hospice, Hank’s health took a big hit. His cancer returned with a vengeance. He entered our services and once more, I was his minister. The last conversation we had was at his house. He sat in his recliner refusing to sit or sleep anywhere else. I sat down from him on his couch. Next to me was his black cowboy hat with the think woven leather band. I picked it up and put it on my head, asking him, “How do I look?” His tired, old, wrinkly face was broken by an affirming smile. “You look great,” as he chuckled. Then he added, “When I die, you can have my hat.” And sure enough, Hank was true to his word. At his memorial, his family presented me with his hat, the same black cowboy hat with the thin woven leather band I wear today.
If you were to ask me why I wear this black cowboy hat with the think woven leather band, I’ll tell you it’s for two reasons. One, it keeps my balding head warm. And two, it reminds me that almost any relationship can be reconciled. Such a reminder that my friend Hank helped me understand so that I could see clearly.
Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is Glorified!)