Comfort in the Familiar

By Nancy Wade

When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became a man, I gave up childish ways.

1 Corinthians 13:11

During this season of Lent, sermon topics were focused on the Gospel of Luke, on the stories and parables that defined Jesus’ final chapter in ministry. As I listened to these sermons, I found comfort in the familiar words; they connected me to my childhood.  I delighted in listening to our clergy staff share their thoughts on the Good Samaritan, a story so ingrained in me that during my childhood it was like an anchor – a lesson I embraced as I grew older. The Good Samaritan is a well-known cultural reference that reminds us all how to reach out to those whom we may consider our enemies.

The sermon on Zaccheus the tax collector took me back to my days in Vacation Bible School. I remember singing this song: Zaccheus was a wee little man, a wee little man was he. He climbed up in a sycamore tree for the Lord he wanted to see. And as the savior passed that way, he looked up in the tree and he said, “Zaccheus – You come down! For I’m going to your house today, for I’m going to your house today.” Such a simple song and such a sweet memory. This story gained complexity as I grew older prompting questions in my mind: Why would Jesus ever visit the home of the despised tax collector? What did the residents of Jericho think about this? And the story’s resolution: Zaccheus was a wealthy man who, as a result of this encounter, declared his intention to give half of his possessions to the poor and to repay anyone he had cheated four times the amount. Why was there no mention of this repentance and change in the song I sang all those years ago?

The third Sunday of Lent brought us to the story of sisters Mary and Martha. Mary sits at the feet of Jesus completely engrossed in his teachings while Martha is distracted by the tasks she feels compelled to complete. As I got older, I could strongly relate to this story. Jesus’ conversation with Martha has always brought me comfort, for I was always the child who – when company came to our home – opted not to join the women as they cleared the table and washed the dinner dishes, choosing instead to sit on the fringes of the group of men – my Dad included – who were engaged in far more interesting discussions: sports, current events, politics, and stories of their jobs. I soaked up their conversations, knowing full well that my Mom would probably scold me for not helping out. Clearly, the roles of men and women were much more clearly defined during Jesus’ life as they were during my own childhood. I wonder if Mary and Martha’s dilemma would be quite as understandable to young people today.

The parable of the prodigal son rounded out the Lenten stories. Now that I have parented two kids to adulthood, this story gains more depth and meaning. The infinite love we feel for our children knows no bounds and our ability to forgive is a difficult but essential skill. In meditating on the father’s unconditional welcome of his younger son when he returns home (regardless of his older son’s objections) I found a new understanding of the story.

There is comfort in the familiar. And in listening deeply to these familiar stories, we come to understand them on a higher level – a sort of juxtaposition between the Bible stories of our youth and the more complex thinking that comes with age. Hearing these stories linked me back to my childhood but also helped me to see them in a fresh, new way.