Getting Off My High Horse Luke 1:5-7

“In the time of Herod king of Judea there was a priest named Zachariah, who belonged to the priestly division of Abijah; his wife Elizabeth was also a descendant of Aaron. Both of them were righteous in the sight of God, observing all the Lords’ commands and decrees blamelessly. But they were childless because Elizabeth was not able to conceive, and they were both well advanced in years.”  (1:5-7) NIV

Random Thoughts:

As humans, limited in our perspective and understanding, we often miss the mark when it comes to recognizing the things that God values most and we subsequently measure our "success" in ways he never intended. In Zacharias and Elizabeth’s day--as in ours--there were widely held presumptions of what it meant to be spiritually “acceptable”. For many of us today, the badge of spiritual shame that we try to avoid at all cost is parental failure (explained so well by the recent article in Christianity Today's ,  The Myth of the Perfect Parent ). Some things never change. In the ancient Jewish culture, being unable to bear children was the ultimate parental failure, thought to be God's curse and punishment for sin.

Barreness was a condition that would not only have brought enormous grief to the childless couple but shame on them in the eyes of their community, a shame so unacceptable that by law, Zacharias could have divorced his wife for the “offense”. Yet Zacharias chose to love his wife and stay by her side, to endure derision and smug speculation by those more fortunate.

But we are also told this couple was righteous in God’s sight, a term that denoted maturity of faith. Contrary to what others would have assumed--that they were “unacceptable” because of a sin that resulted in barreness--that fact was that in God’s sight they were wonderful because their hearts were right. They loved God and they served him faithfully, observing all his commands despite being denied status and respect within their community through no fault of their own. 

Question: What measures of "acceptability" do I need to rethink either in my life or in the life of someone I know? Is there a hardship I have not asked for but that I can surrender to God?

Journal Response:

Nine years ago, in a small doctor’s office, seated across from large desk, my husband and I finally learned why our gifted son had also spent the first seven years of his life struggling in ways no one could understand. He was diagnosed that day with Asperger’s Syndrome, a high-functioning form of autism. It was both a relief and a nightmare. A relief to finally explain “why” and to give us direction in our efforts to more forward to help him. But it was terrifying because the word “autism” was a word the world was only just beginning to recognize and certainly a word I’d never thought would apply to our family.

Within weeks, our scholarship-winning son was asked to leave the academy he had attended for two years for gifted children. They had no resources to address the needs of a gifted but special needs student. Several years later, his brother, also, was diagnosed with the same disorder.

For a woman who’s love language is praise, who’s modus operandi has always been to perform for kudos, to appear “all together” at every conceivable moment, this was a change in our lives that meant I needed to change. I had been hiding all my life, pretending I was “okay” and good at everything I did and everything I was but there is no hiding with autism. Meltdowns, anxiety attacks, social faux pas with peers and adults for lack of social understanding--these things make “normal” impossible to fake. 

It took me a while to give up that fight, however. And I still struggle at times, wanting to climb back into that “I’ve got it all together” saddle. But what it has done is force me on a near-daily basis to look to something other than myself or my  public acceptability for affirmation and identity. I belong to God. So do my children. Whether those around us understand us or judge us in the end doesn’t matter. God understands. That's what counts.