(THERE HAVE BEEN SOME REQUESTS FOR ME TO ADD THIS NOTE FROM LAST YEAR TO THE BLOG, SINCE IT WAS RELEVANT TO OUR PROGRESS OR LACK THEREOF AT THAT TIME. IT WAS ORIGINALLY WRITTEN AS PART OF THE GODSPEED NEWSLETTER MAILING LAST JULY)
Entry from the Log of the Good Ship Davis: July 2011
“This, then, is how you ought to regard us: as servants of Christ and as those entrusted with the mysteries God
has revealed.” 1 Cor 4:1 NIV
“Let a man so account of us, as the ministers of Christ, and stewards of the mysteries of God.” 1 Cor 4:1 KJV
My pastor gave me a word, a Greek word, one that I had
not heard before, although when I researched it I found considerable commentary
from others. I had asked for a meeting with the pastor to discuss theological
issues, most of which were camouflage for my real topic of griping about our
current life situation. He is a wise man and soon saw through me; after listening
to my many complaints about how I couldn’t see where God was taking us,
couldn’t understand why God would have prepared me for so many things only to seemingly
disallow my pursuit of them, and my concerns that God has forgotten to keep me
informed about His plan and obtain my approval of same, the pastor briefly but
firmly reassured me that 1) God has me exactly where He wants me, and 2) there
was ample Biblical evidence that the Kingdom can, and will, move on without my
guidance. And then he gave me the word: hyperetes.
Look at the
first verse of the fourth chapter of 1 Corinthians: Paul, the principal
theologian (after Christ) of the New Testament, once again refers to himself
and his companions as “servants”. I am familiar with the Greek word doulos which he uses more frequently,
often translated as “slave”, or “bondservant”, either of which has its own
connotation of just where in the hierarchy of Christian service this esteemed
apostle saw himself. But in the verse above, it isn’t doulos; it is hyperetes. According to linguists, it is
usually translated as “servant”, or “minister”, such as seen in the NIV and KJV
passages above. But to the original reader of Paul’s letter, to the Greco-Roman
citizen of the seaport city of Corinth and thus familiar with the terminology
of ships and sailors, it would have been heard in its literal meaning: under-rower.
And this is
the word that Paul uses to describe himself, and us, when he says we are
“servants” and “ministers” of Christ: hyperetes, sometimes in the dark, unable
to determine the course, dependent on someone else to establish the direction and
the pace of our journey, continuing to work at the job at hand while being
utterly dependent on those above for the outcome of the voyage.
Karen has now effectively lost the ability to recall who many of the important people in our lives have been; she can remember first and last names, but not where, when, or how we have known them. She senses that they are important to us, but cannot identify why. Even the best of times we now have with our granddaughters are fleeting experiences; on a recent drive back to Arizona from a visit with our family in Texas, Karen remarked that she looked forward to when we could see them. Not see them again, but see them; she had already lost the events of the previous day. Yet she is still vibrant, alert, and beautiful. Those who don’t know us would not guess what she is going through. It is painful, but she can handle it because she doesn't have much left to compare it to. She is aware only of the moment, unencumbered by memory of what was or what might have been. She trusts God and thanks Him for His promises. She doesn't always like where she is, but she has no doubt that she is where she is supposed to be.
We are getting excellent neurological care; the cutting-edge research program that enrolled her in a novel drug trial for Alzheimer’s patients later determined, on the basis of still more research-level tests, that she almost certainly does not have Alzheimer’s. They removed her from the drug study, only to ask after two months if she could be re-enrolled; they don’t think it will harm her, and are hoping that unexpected benefit might be seen regardless of diagnosis. Which diagnosis, unfortunately, we still don’t have; we are receiving the best care from the best people, but nobody has yet been able to define the problem. The current working diagnosis, at least the one they put on the requests for another PET scan and trials of cognitive rehabilitation, is “Pick’s Disease”, a form of FTD, the much less common group of FrontoTemporal Dementias. The outcomes are not necessarily better, but the progress of illness may be atypical, and slower, compared to Alzheimer’s. Our next neurology appointment is in August, where we hope to get more information from the results of these most recent tests.
Typically at this point in a letter, particularly to ministry supporters, I would write about what I have been able to do work-wise under the circumstances: some local volunteer work at a crisis center, some church consultations associated with my attempts to learn Spanish under the very patient tutelage of the wife of a pastor of a local Hispanic church, and my sporadic efforts to respond to requests from those on the mission field for consultation and supervision, accomplished through video Skype. I feel compelled to reassure everybody that I am still useful and relevant. I am grateful that I can serve in these ways, but there is such a huge part of me that still wants to do more, to travel, to meet needs internationally that I hear about routinely, to take control of the course of this vessel and steer it out of the storm. In my heart, I want to take back the helm of my ship so I can sail it where I want to go.
No wonder my pastor gave me this word. He quickly saw my litany of supposed accomplishments was just an attempt to convince everybody that I am the best rower in the galley, worthy of promotion from the third level back to the deck, ready to give advice to the captain, ready to take command and take this vessel to infinity and beyond, trying to escape a situation where things often seem dark, the course unfathomable, and where I must respond to a rhythm dictated by others, completely out of my control. I have been missing the obvious: I truly am exactly where I am supposed to be. My tasks are few and simple. I am to trust my Captain to set the course, I am to tug on the oar that I have before me rather than try to teach others how to row, and respond to the drumbeat rather than try to set what I think is a more efficient cadence. There is a purpose in my rowing, yet it is not mine to know the course or length of passage. This may be a long journey. But this I know: however apparently menial my assignment as crew may be, the ship in which we sail is a victorious vessel. By the grace of God, we have been chosen to serve on the winning boat.
Thus, this report from the lower deck. Actually, it isn't all that bad. Fewer responsibilities, pretty clear job description, and a growing awareness that sometimes the cook (it’s a small trireme; some of we under-rowers have more than one job) can put out an acceptable gruel. But most importantly, I am realizing I am supposed to be here. I don’t need to know why, or where, or when. I just need to remember Who has the helm.
God is faithful. Your prayers for us are effective and much appreciated. I look forward to hearing from you. In our trireme, hyperetes can receive e-mail…
BD
Karen has now effectively lost the ability to recall who many of the important people in our lives have been; she can remember first and last names, but not where, when, or how we have known them. She senses that they are important to us, but cannot identify why. Even the best of times we now have with our granddaughters are fleeting experiences; on a recent drive back to Arizona from a visit with our family in Texas, Karen remarked that she looked forward to when we could see them. Not see them again, but see them; she had already lost the events of the previous day. Yet she is still vibrant, alert, and beautiful. Those who don’t know us would not guess what she is going through. It is painful, but she can handle it because she doesn't have much left to compare it to. She is aware only of the moment, unencumbered by memory of what was or what might have been. She trusts God and thanks Him for His promises. She doesn't always like where she is, but she has no doubt that she is where she is supposed to be.
We are getting excellent neurological care; the cutting-edge research program that enrolled her in a novel drug trial for Alzheimer’s patients later determined, on the basis of still more research-level tests, that she almost certainly does not have Alzheimer’s. They removed her from the drug study, only to ask after two months if she could be re-enrolled; they don’t think it will harm her, and are hoping that unexpected benefit might be seen regardless of diagnosis. Which diagnosis, unfortunately, we still don’t have; we are receiving the best care from the best people, but nobody has yet been able to define the problem. The current working diagnosis, at least the one they put on the requests for another PET scan and trials of cognitive rehabilitation, is “Pick’s Disease”, a form of FTD, the much less common group of FrontoTemporal Dementias. The outcomes are not necessarily better, but the progress of illness may be atypical, and slower, compared to Alzheimer’s. Our next neurology appointment is in August, where we hope to get more information from the results of these most recent tests.
Typically at this point in a letter, particularly to ministry supporters, I would write about what I have been able to do work-wise under the circumstances: some local volunteer work at a crisis center, some church consultations associated with my attempts to learn Spanish under the very patient tutelage of the wife of a pastor of a local Hispanic church, and my sporadic efforts to respond to requests from those on the mission field for consultation and supervision, accomplished through video Skype. I feel compelled to reassure everybody that I am still useful and relevant. I am grateful that I can serve in these ways, but there is such a huge part of me that still wants to do more, to travel, to meet needs internationally that I hear about routinely, to take control of the course of this vessel and steer it out of the storm. In my heart, I want to take back the helm of my ship so I can sail it where I want to go.
No wonder my pastor gave me this word. He quickly saw my litany of supposed accomplishments was just an attempt to convince everybody that I am the best rower in the galley, worthy of promotion from the third level back to the deck, ready to give advice to the captain, ready to take command and take this vessel to infinity and beyond, trying to escape a situation where things often seem dark, the course unfathomable, and where I must respond to a rhythm dictated by others, completely out of my control. I have been missing the obvious: I truly am exactly where I am supposed to be. My tasks are few and simple. I am to trust my Captain to set the course, I am to tug on the oar that I have before me rather than try to teach others how to row, and respond to the drumbeat rather than try to set what I think is a more efficient cadence. There is a purpose in my rowing, yet it is not mine to know the course or length of passage. This may be a long journey. But this I know: however apparently menial my assignment as crew may be, the ship in which we sail is a victorious vessel. By the grace of God, we have been chosen to serve on the winning boat.
Thus, this report from the lower deck. Actually, it isn't all that bad. Fewer responsibilities, pretty clear job description, and a growing awareness that sometimes the cook (it’s a small trireme; some of we under-rowers have more than one job) can put out an acceptable gruel. But most importantly, I am realizing I am supposed to be here. I don’t need to know why, or where, or when. I just need to remember Who has the helm.
God is faithful. Your prayers for us are effective and much appreciated. I look forward to hearing from you. In our trireme, hyperetes can receive e-mail…
BD
No comments:
Post a Comment