Every day the news brings us stories of sexual abuse. No group is immune – the Catholic church, Boy Scouts, politicians, or business leaders. Most of the time, it is distanced from our reality. They are either groups we are part of but people we are unfamiliar with, or they are people we only recognize from television.
Until it hits home.
This past weekend, L’Arche International released an internal report that concluded its founder, Jean Vanier, had sexually abused 6 women between 1970 and 2005. Prior to his death last year, Vanier was a highly celebrated religious leader who dedicated his life to people with learning disabilities. Although none of the women were developmentally challenged, the revelation that he had used his ministry to prey on others is horrific (click here to read the story).
Click to redirect to Amazon. It is $4.99 and a great 1-hour read.
Most people have never heard of Jean Vanier, but he was an inspiration to me. I discovered his book, From Brokenness to Community, when I was first forming my philosophy of community. In a brief fifty-two pages, he clearly spoke words where I had previously heard mere whispers. He boldly proclaimed that community is where people become equals, sharing their strengths and their needs. Everyone has something divine to offer, and everyone has something they need to receive.
In September 2014, I led a discussion group to explore life in community, focusing on relationships and living with open hands. I stumbled across Vanier’s writing as I was preparing my notes. It was one of many books I read at the time, but it spoke life and became the centerpiece of our discussions.
Kim and I named the study “Building Neighbors” and first created the name and logo that would come to grace signs, t-shirts, and book covers over the coming years. Everyone who came received a copy of From Brokenness to Community. I repeatedly poured through the pages, highlighting text and making margin notes.
Over and over, I have repeated his story about the disabled, little Armand strengthening a powerful bishop, and I have copied his advice on how to know if someone who comes to serve will stick with it or not. Elements of his philosophy profoundly influenced my view of life and ministry.
Over his 90-year life, God used Jean Vanier to accomplish tremendous things. His spirit flowed through Vanier one-on-one, in speeches, and in books. He founded 154 communities in 38 countries with a culture of shared lives between people with and without intellectual disabilities. He was widely regarded as a “living saint”.
Jean Vanier’s spirit was filled with the healing light of Christ and yet his brokenness ushered incredible destruction to people who trusted him.
I have lost a sense of innocence with my teacher’s betrayal. Perhaps I am naive, but I have held onto my pure vision of a ministry totally devoted to God, a part of his kingdom on this earth. I am heartbroken for the six women who have suffered for so many years and repulsed by these reported actions.
To dull my pain, I want to embrace my anger. My rage burns against the actions, the man, and his legacy. How could he have betrayed us all? My fury however, hardens my heart and is toxic to my soul.
I recognize the need to set aside my anger and offer forgiveness. If his sins are not forgivable, how can I hope for something different for my own? I can begin by asking God for compassion, first speaking through clenched teeth, and then repeating my words of forgiveness over and over until they become genuine.
Last night, I shared my feelings with my men’s group. It was cathartic to release my emotions in a safe haven of support. They understood my anger, but encouraged me to move forward. I needed that. In the comfort of friends who know each other well, I can be honest and open. Healing began when I stopped denying the pain and let them release my shackles.
It is ironic that I find comfort in the concept of community that I learned from the man who betrayed it. Each of us is given different strengths, capabilities, and callings. We also have weaknesses, inabilities, and temptations. We will be broken until the day we are reborn. I depend on my Father and the rest of my spiritual family to guard my soul until that time.
For as long as we open our hearts to others, we will have our hearts broken. However, we can be both vulnerable and wide-eyed. Vigilance does not need to be the enemy of embrace. I am thankful for my friends, who gather around me when I am sad. You walk with me from brokenness to community.
“Community is the place where are revealed all the darkness and anger, jealousies and rivalry hidden in our hearts. Community is a place of pain, because it is a place of loss, a place of conflict, and a place of death. But it is also a place of resurrection.” – Jean Vanier, From Brokenness to Community
Over the years, I’ve given Erin and James some bad advice.
In 2012, we took a family trip to the mountains of Colorado. During a slow time one afternoon, I decided to teach them the value of trust. Our lodge was near to a water slide that ran a couple of hundred yards down the side of the mountain. It was an inground slide, about three feet from side to side. For whatever reason, it was closed that day so the channel was dry and we had the entire area to ourselves.
We hiked to the start of the ride, following the winding sidewalk that was adjacent to the slide’s path. When we got to the top, we looked down over beautiful scenery and could see the bottom of the ride. It seemed very far away.
I said “Guys, today I am going to teach you about trust. I want you to close your eyes and begin to walk back down the sidewalk. We will all hold hands, and I will keep my eyes open so that I can tell you when to turn right or left so that you don’t fall off the sidewalk.”
They proceeded very slowly at first, worried with each step that they would fall into some unseen abyss. Over time, as their comfort level grew, their pace picked up. Eventually, they were talking and laughing as we wound down the mountainside.
Definitely not the same time, but how James remembers the fall 🙂
Erin promised that she was not peaking as she proceeded fearlessly. I became engrossed in a story she was telling and didn’t notice that James was drifting off course as we approached a small bridge that crossed the waterway.
While my attention was on Erin, James walked straight off the bridge and fell into the dry slide. He was startled by the drop, but unhurt other than a small scrape on his arm. After he climbed back up to the sidewalk, he looked me in the eyes and said, “Seriously, Dad?”
Blind trust is a bad idea.
As they are entering adulthood, I stumble across other examples of advice that seemed wise at the time, but really weren’t. One of the other errors of my parenting was a 180-degree departure from blind trust. In my foolishness, I raised them to become independent adults.
From the time they were young, I taught them how to deal with adversity. Knowing that I would not always be there, they needed to be able to survive and thrive without me. There were lessons on withstanding pain, thinking calmly while the world around them spun in chaos, and postponing pleasure when there was work to be done.
I trained them to go fast and to win. They learned to stand tall and proud in open defiance of forces that would hold them down. They became survivors.
Only later did it occur to me that becoming an independent adult is a bad idea.
The flaw in my plan revealed itself in bits and pieces. I watched James struggle with his classes as a freshman in college, unwilling to reach out to others for help. I watched Erin endure her inner pain as a teenager, bearing her burdens alone and in silence.
James passed his classes and learned that he could make it on his own. Erin lived to see brighter times, conditioned to keep her thoughts to herself. They were becoming independent by building protective shells as they learned how to persevere without relying on others.
The problem with winning on your own is that you are alone while you do it. We weren’t designed to be alone; we were created for community. We weren’t meant to be independent, proving our value and demonstrating that we can win. We are called to be interdependent, using our strength to prove the value of others and achieve the success of a broader group.
I love the song “City on the hill” by Casting Crowns (click to listen). It tells the story of poets, dancers, soldiers, and elders who are the citizens of a beautiful city on a hill that is admired by the world. However, each of the groups becomes focused on their own importance and the city gradually crumbles around them. The chorus strikes at my heart as it reminds us of how our strengths were designed to be part of something bigger than our own success.
It is the rhythm of the dancers That gives the poets life It is the spirit of the poets That gives the soldiers strength to fight It is fire of the young ones It is the wisdom of the old It is the story of the poor man That’s needing to be told.
The apostle Paul puts it another way in 1st Corinthians. First, he tells us to run the race of life like we want to be the champion (1 Cor 9:24-27), which sounds very alone and independent. But then he says that we have been baptized by one Spirit to become parts of a larger body (1 Cor 12:12-31). Paul made himself strong, but it wasn’t for his own good. It was so that the church would be victorious. In his submission, he became stronger and shows the power of interdependence.
Our strengths were given for the benefit of the whole and our weaknesses are the connections that bind us to each other.
I’m sorry, James and Erin. It looks like falling off a bridge wasn’t the only time I was wrong. Hopefully, we can all unwind this mess together with no other injury than a minor scuff.
I pray that you continue to discipline yourselves and develop the talents that were designed into your soul before time began. Instead of seeking personal reward though, use your gifts to bless others. When you desire to be recognized, give away recognition to others. You will find the greatness you seek reflected in the eyes of people you love.
Your family, friends, community, and world need you. Be great together.
When I was a small child, my parents taught me to say my prayers each night before bed. I can see myself kneeling on the floor with my hands folded together, leaning onto the bed my brother and I shared. The prayer was always the same, it only varied by who I asked God to bless at the end. Sometimes it was just Mom, Dad, Kelly, and Preston. At other times, it included the dog, my grandparents, or anyone else who crossed my mind.
“Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.Amen.”
Later, my prayer life expanded beyond the 31-word recitation at bedtime into saying grace at dinner. Over time, I eventually began to seek God out for different things throughout the day. I would pray to win my Little League game, pass a spelling test, play well at my piano recital, and have fun at a new summer camp. When I was afraid, I would seek him out.
My wish lists did not always come to pass. My Little League all-star team never advanced very far. My spelling improved, but mostly because I started to study harder. My piano recital became a disaster when I forgot where I was in the middle of my song and sat in absolute silence for 15 seconds before suddenly remembering what notes came next. Summer camp was a weird, scary place and I totally freaked out.
Those prayers may not have delivered everything I asked for, but I found comfort asking God for help. When things got scary, I remembered who was in control. My prayers rose to Heaven.
As an adult, my prayers grew to include other people who were scared or hurting, like my men’s group. I love the mighty men that meet at my house each Tuesday night to seek out God’s will. Most weeks we close by listing prayer requests. One-by-one, each person shares an area where they would appreciate prayer.
You can probably guess the usual items on the list. Most requests are for someone who has lost their job, was injured, became sick, is dealing with a strained relationship, or faces some other difficult challenge.
For my friends and in my own life, my prayers have often become requests for hard things to become easy. It seems innocent, but is it a healthy ambition?
The human appetite cannot be satisfied. Whatever you desire, you will always want more. If I am broke, I want enough money to pay my bills. Once I am stable, I crave the freedom of the wealthy.
If I am sick, I want to be healthy. Once I am healthy, I want fountains of energy. If that is granted, I will want to look younger.
It’s the same for my job. If I lose my job, I want a new one. If I get a new one, I don’t want to be worried about losing it again. If it becomes stable, I will pray for God to eliminate my bad days.
If God were to continue to grant all of my requests, my tolerance for discomfort would diminish until the slightest imperfection would be a call for alarm. I would become weak.
Is the answer to embrace the suck and become happy with adversity?
Last year was difficult for me. Instead of raging against the emotional pain, I focused on it, poking myself to see where it hurt the most. When I found a sensitive spot, I probed around until I understood its limits and then posted about the insights gained.
I am learning that pain is not the answer, but wisdom often lies on its other side.
My energy level was so low that I couldn’t do most of the things I normally do. While I prayed to get my mojo back, the downtime forced me to slow down where I could write these posts and then publish them into book form. God gave me quiet time to spend with him, discussing my fears, dreams, and his truth.
People that I love have passed from this earth. By asking myself why I miss them, I remember what I love about them. I am also more attuned that life is short and our time here uncertain. I want to make my life count.
God is using my difficult circumstances to transform my thinking and bring me into closer relationship with him, but along the way, I have been resistant. I continue to pray for easy.
Jesus gave an example of how to pray. He basically said to honor God while we ask for his will to be done, for our basic needs to be met, and for him to hold us safely in his embrace. Jesus didn’t mention removing all unpleasantness.
In my prayers and in my life, I need to ask myself “Do I crave comfort or connection?”
Whichever I choose, I will always want more. I would rather pursue an ever-expanding love instead of constantly-declining pain level.
My prayer life has become confusing. I don’t want to suffer, and I don’t want people I love to suffer either. James 5:16 tells us that “the prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.” I need to be thoughtful about what I ask for. Easy may come at the expense of breakthrough, both for me and my friends.
At times, it leaves me wondering what to pray for. As with most things, the answer was always there.
I was on the right track as a small child, kneeling beside my bed, saying, “I pray the Lord my soul to keep.” Come good or come bad, I pray for a stronger faith that he is in control and loves me as much as life itself.
I went to visit my Tennessee family last weekend. It has been about three months since my mom passed away, so Kim and I flew over for a brief visit to check on dad and hoped that a family gathering would serve us all well. My sister, Kelly, made the two-hour drive from Nashville with one of her daughters and they stayed in the back guest room. I got the front room and two nights in my high-school bed.
Dad is hanging in there as he mourns the loss of his wife. After promising to love her through all of life’s surprises, he joyfully threw himself into his vows for fifty-six years, savoring every moment they spent together. He knows that they will eventually be reunited but still feels alone in the meantime. A very great love was torn from him, and the wound is raw. God and time will bring him healing. He is keeping his eyes looking forward and doing his best. As always, we are proud of how he is handling it.
Over the course of the weekend, one of Kelly’s other daughters joined us from Knoxville and Preston’s clan drove across town, comprised of him, his wife, two daughters, and his granddaughter. It was great to have the eleven of us together.
The kitchen table is our favorite gathering spot. It starts first thing in the morning when Dad sits down to work his Sudoku puzzle and I drink a cup of coffee out of the McHottie cup I have claimed as my birthright. Ultimately, he reads the newspaper while I favor online news feeds. As others wake up, they join us there, some to eat breakfast while the teenagers merely rub their bleary eyes. Preston always drives over around 9:30am with his younger daughter, Cameron. Everyone else joins as their schedules allow.
Dad has a big house with lots of places to assemble. He has a nice living room, a cozy sitting room, a deck that overlooks the golf course, and a front porch with a picturesque yard. None of that matters though. We always crowd around a four-person table that leaves some folks standing.
The odd gathering spot was Mom’s doing. She spent hours in the kitchen each weekend preparing meals for a growing family but never wanted to miss out on anything. She insisted that everyone who wasn’t helping stay out of her way but within earshot. So we gravitated to the kitchen table. It has been years since she mashed potatoes, but we have held onto the custom.
I suppose that every family has a place that they are drawn to when they come together. Tradition triumphs over convenience as we embrace rituals that represent the best of the times we have shared. Each family is unique in their interactions, and that is part of the reason that there is no replacement for family.
It has been seventeen years since I moved away from Tennessee while everyone else stayed relatively local. Phone calls and text messages are no substitute for a lazy conversation and I miss out on a lot. I don’t know how to be an active part of my niece’s lives and that makes me sad sometimes. I wish I could stop by to help with a small chore or have ice cream with everyone else at Clumpy’s. There are times when I feel the burden of my choices, but while I am at the kitchen table, I am accepted without question.
Everybody needs a place where they are accepted and embraced. We all need a gathering place that reminds us we have more in common than the differences between us. We should guard the sanctuary that makes all of us equals regardless of age, income, community standing, or yesterday’s choices.
Every three months for the past year I could be found circled around a table where no one’s seat is sacred because everyone’s place is assured. It’s not as often as I would like, and I am thankful for the people who love me enough to come together. I will always have a soft spot for that corner of the kitchen, but my heart belongs to the family I share it with.
I can’t wait to see each of these smiling faces again, along with the others who avoided Kelly’s selfie cam. I also hope to build a place deep in the heart of Texas where my own expanding family finds the same comfort.
