And God said “Let there be light. And there was light.”
I had gotten up early and made my way to a gazebo with the intention of reading this familiar passage from the Book of Genesis as I watched the sunrise. While you’re on a mission trip and surrounded by beautiful scenery, why not worship God in the midst of His creation? So I had my Bible app open to Genesis as I eagerly awaited the sun to begin its approach over the trees.
But then I heard a voice approaching.
Potash! Potash!
I bet I had heard this nonsensical word at least 500 times in the last 48 hours. I knew who was coming.
Potash! Potash!
I heard it again. Only this time, it was being yelled directly into my face.
Potash! Potash!
This word left George’s mouth with the frequency of a drummer hitting a snare drum. You could almost keep time by it. And now the nonsense was ruining this time I was planning to spend with God in the midst of His creation.
This time, though, George was making motions as well. Rolling up his sleeve and pointing to the veins in the bend of his elbow. “Potash,” as I was hearing it, actually meant “blood test.” And George was trying to tell me, yet again, about the time he had to go and get blood work done. Before his blood test, he was not allowed to eat. I know that, partially because fasting labs are not an uncommon occurrence in the medical world, but also because George retold the story every few minutes.
George is going to turn 50 soon, but he has the mind of a three year old child. When George was an infant, healthy as any baby you’ve ever known, his parents grew tired of hearing him cry one night. So they put him in the chicken coop, where the chickens pecked his head until his skull was exposed. And they didn’t stop pecking. Consequently now, George is afraid of loud sounds such as sirens and fireworks. And of course, chickens.
George has lived in a community operated by Mennonites since he was taken from his parents at the age of four. Along with 18 other residents, each with varying degrees of disabilities, this is the only home he has ever known.
I had helped plan a small mission trip to go and spend some time with the residents of this facility. Play games, make arts and crafts. You know. Do whatever needed to be done that wouldn’t require a long stay or any specialized skill whatsoever.
And now I sit attempting to read my Bible as George proceeded to tell me the same story that I had heard. Over. And over. And over. And over.
I thought perhaps I could still glance down at my Bible as George told his story. I was familiar enough with the details of George’s bloodwork that I could probably repeat some leading questions and make him think I was paying attention while I was actually reading.
And then I heard it.
Mama. Mama. Mama.
And up walks Butchy. Mama was the only word that Butchy could say. Ironically, he can only say ‘mama’ because his real mama did not know to give him milk as an infant and only provided him with Kool-Aid. His brain never got the nutrients it needed to develop correctly. So now the one word is all you hear.
As Butchy walked up, I locked the screen of my phone, seemingly throwing in the white flag on this special time with God in the morning. With George on one side going over his story and Butchy on the other side repeating his one word constantly, I probably couldn’t get much reading done.
So I decided to clear off the app. Save some battery. Why waste it now, after all, if I’m not going to get to read about God’s creation in the midst of His creation?
But instead of clearing off the app, I accidentally just scrolled down a few verses. And instead of reading Genesis 1:3, I found myself reading Genesis 1:26. Let us make man in our own image.
Then I got it. I was, in fact, reading about God in the midst of his creation. After all, that sunrise was created by God, but not in His image. But George was created in His image. Butchy was created in His image. Their presence was more beautiful than the sunrise.
So I gave it another shot. Until it happened.
Butchy begins to visibly urinate. I’m not sure sure how adult diapers work. Maybe it was too full. Maybe it had burst. Maybe his business had made its way to the portion that was not absorbent. I’m not sure. But I am sure it was happening.
I immediately flashed back to my questionable decision to wear sandals, as I curled up my toes to avoid getting them exposed to Butchys urine as it began to make its way down his leg and onto the cement.
Mama. Mama. Mama.
My holy moment had been interrupted by the profane. My sunrise had been interrupted by urine.
Or had it?
My mind went to Matthew 27. The veil that kept the holy from the profane was ripped. Upon the death of Jesus, the old system was done. No longer was it the perfect that were allowed in God’s presence. His presence was not just for the physically perfect. The mentally perfect. The spiritually perfect. The ones with perfect genes. Or the ones with perfect jeans.
The holy had not been interrupted by the profane. The holy had invaded the profane. And that’s exactly what was happening in my presence. Now. The veil was ripping as Butchy’s bodily fluids approached my feet.
The sound of the urine trickling down the cement sounded an awful lot like a veil being torn. The words of Matthew 25:40 were ringing true right in front of me, as I watched Jesus wet himself.
So there I sat. Still trying to allow my feet to avoid the urine flooding ever closer to my foot.
But still worshipping God. Only now, it was worshipping with His most prized creation. George and Butchy. Made in His image.
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