God's Ongoing Incarnation

For over a year, Nouwen served as the morning assistant to Adam, a young man with severe disabilities at the L'Arche Daybreak community.

Excerpt from Adam by Henri Nouwen:

My friend had a lot more questions about Adam and the people who lived with me in my home: "Why spend so much time and money on people with severe disabilities while so many capable people can hardly survive?" And, "Why should such people be allowed to take time and energy which should be given to solving the real problems humanity is facing?"

I didn't answer my friend's questions. I didn't argue or discuss his "issues." I felt deeply that I had nothing very intelligent to say that would change my friend's mind. My daily two hours with Adam were transforming me. In being present to him, I was hearing an inner voice of love beyond all the activities of care. Those two hours were pure gift, a time of contemplation, during which we, together, were touching something of God. With Adam I knew a sacred presence and I "saw" the face of God.

For many years I had reserved the word "Incarnation" for the historic event of God's coming to us in Jesus. Being so close with Adam, I realized that the "Christ event" is much more than something that took place long ago. It occurs every time spirit greets spirit in the body. It is a sacred event happening in the present because it is God's event among people. That is what the sacramental life is all about. It is God's ongoing incarnation whenever people meet each other "in God's name."

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I readily resonated with this post having experienced the exact same thing through my sister, Devin. It's actually taken me a long time to finish this post simply because it seems difficult to find the right words to express the way Devin has influenced me.

I remember the joy of finally hearing that I'd be getting the sister I'd been praying for. I remember dressing up to go meet her at the hospital: I was 4 days away from being 7. I remember her chubby little legs and her positively edible and endearing smile. I remember how she used to suck on my brother Daniel's nose until the day she grew teeth and bit him. I remember her sitting in a giant bucket of stuffed animals while Daniel and I played some elaborate pretend game that necessitated her sitting in a giant pink plastic bin full of stuffed animals. I remember when Mom and Dad began to be concerned that her development was a bit delayed. And how could I forget the hours in the hospital with countless tests and no answers. And I remember the first pair of glasses, the first wheelchair, the first leg braces, the first surgery, the first seizure, the first van with a lift, the first back brace, and the scoliosis surgery. And I remember finding out she had Rett's Syndrome when she was about 6...the relief in an answer. The joy in knowing that she was engaged in the world around her: she knew who we were, she understood when we said I love you...she just couldn't tell us with her words.

But I know her smile. And I know the looks in her eyes. We all know when she's telling us she loves us...or when she has an opinion she'd like to communicate. And I know countless numbers of people that have been touched by the radiant, unconditional love of Christ that flows so freely from Devin. Touched without even the exchange of words. Devin simply has to smile and look through even the most crusty, broken exteriors with her big brown eyes.

She's the perfect vessel for pure Father's love.

It's her gifting and ministry.

Tangible evidence that we ALL have value.

We ALL have a purpose in showing people God's Kingdom come here on Earth.

I believe in the ongoing incarnation of Christ Nouwen talks about. I believe because I experience it every time I am with Devin. Christ in me greets Christ in her. And words aren't necessary because the love of the Father speaks for the both of us.