She has great worth and dignity in your sight.

Last Tuesday, my family and I spent an afternoon and evening in a waiting room at the University of Nebraska Medical Center. Grandma Ann had fallen down the day before, and she was having surgery to repair her broken leg. The doctor had said that it might be a good idea for family members to be around for the surgery because, well, they didn't really know how things would go. So, when I got off the phone with my dad we packed the kids (and all of their associated "equipment") into the van and headed for Omaha.

With our rushing around and a liberal definition of the term "speed limit," we were able to see Grandma Ann for a few minutes before she was taken to pre-op. She didn't recognize any of us, though she did seem to appreciate Elsie Louise's middle name. She told us that she didn't know why she had to stay in this bed and that it was not comfortable. She also asked us a few incoherent questions before they rolled her bed out into the hallway.

Grandma Ann has Alzheimer's Disease. She has lived with my Aunt Annette and Uncle Phil in Omaha for a few years now because she has lost the ability to take care of herself. She is unable to carry on a conversation, she has difficulty following even the simplest instructions, and sometimes she gets angry with the people who love her the most, who are trying to take care of her.

When I first heard that she had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's, I wondered if seeing my grandmother be destroyed by an awful, merciless disease would change my opinion on what we euphemistically refer to as "end of life issues." It is easy for me to oppose euthanasia from an academic or biblical standpoint, but I wondered if witnessing my grandmother's suffering might overwhelm my logical, black-and-white position.

This internal debate is still with me, and it crept back into my mind as I sat in an uncomfortable chair waiting for news from an operating room a few hundred feet away. Wouldn't it be easier, even for Grandma, if her frail and battered body didn't "make it" through surgery? What does she have left to live for? Her husband has been dead for more than thirty years, and her memory is so decayed that she doesn't know any of her children or grandchildren any longer. We passed the point of letting her "die with dignity" long ago, as she can't even use the restroom without considerable help. Her dignity has slipped away with her mental faculties. Of course I love her, and I wanted her to be alright, but was "alright" really possible, considering the damage Alzheimer's had already wrought on her mind? Hasn't the Grandma Ann I know been gone for a long time?

Grandma did make it through the surgery. She returned to her same room, but this time as the proud owner of a titanium rod and several screws. Unable to remember that she had just undergone surgery, Grandma made sure we all knew that she wanted to get out of bed and go back home to Fremont, though she hasn't lived there for some time now. We had to restrain and distract her so that she wouldn't tear her IVs out of her purple and yellow arms. As she yelled at me for trying to feed her a spoonful of Jello, I wondered how Phil and Annette could continue to care for her, month after month.

My question was answered not more than an hour later, when Phil prayed over Grandma before heading home to try and get some sleep before another long day began in the morning. "Lord, we know that Grandma Ann has great worth and dignity in your site…"

That was it. That was the truth I had neglected. I had allowed myself to be deceived by what my eyes could see. When I looked at Grandma Ann's life, I saw a feeble and frail body, worn away by time and disease. How quickly we confuse appearance with reality!

On Sunday, Bart taught in our Adult Fellowship Community. His message was from John 11, the story of Lazarus dying and then being brought back to life by Jesus after four days had passed. In John 11:5-6, the ESV reads that Jesus' love for Mary, Martha, and Lazarus was his motive for waiting around for a few days instead of going straight to Lazarus to heal him when he became sick. Both Mary and Martha couldn't understand why Jesus hadn't come sooner, with both of them saying to Jesus, "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." They were right, of course, as Jesus could have come immediately and preserved Lazarus' life. But, he didn't.

Our Lord waited two more days, and proclaimed that this illness "is for the glory of God, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it." In our health-and-wealth gospel times, it strikes us as odd, or even improper to suggest that God could be glorified through an illness, and even death. We believe, as our thoughts and actions betray, that Jesus came to save us from our sins, of course, but also to make us rich, healthy, and popular.

And then Grandma Ann comes down with Alzheimer's. What do we do with that? Do we go to Jesus and scold him, indicting him for not performing the tricks we expect him to? Do we wonder if he's asleep at the switch, either incapable or unwilling to take away our poverty, our sickness, and our shame?

Or, maybe it's that he has different priorities than we do. Maybe the Kingdom of God is bigger than our comfort and convenience. Maybe Jesus came to do more than just heal lepers and feed thousands. Maybe he came not to conquer Alzheimer's, paralysis, and leprosy but to triumph over death itself. The Jews were looking for a Messiah who would kick the Romans out of their land and restore the throne of Israel. They wanted a king who would feed them well and give them a place at the international table. We look down our noses at them for being unable to see that our suffering Savior was in their midst, and then we shake our finger at him when he doesn't turn out to be the Messiah we think he ought.

Grandma Ann will be relieved of her suffering and disease someday, perhaps soon, when she finally goes to be with her Redeemer. But, until then he may continue to use her life to teach us and refine us, to bring glory to himself. Perhaps we will learn by her life how to serve sacrificially, or to love the unlovable, or to cry out to God for his mercy in the midst of suffering.

Frail children of dust, and feeble as frail,
in thee do we trust, nor find thee to fail;
thy mercies how tender, how firm to the end,
our Maker, Defender, Redeemer, and Friend.
- O Worship the King, Sir Robert Grant (1779-1838)

UPDATE: I corrected the spelling of "sight" in the post title. I can't believe I had it as "site" for about a week now. Google Spell check doesn't check for stupidity, just proper spelling. Anyway, it's right now (or is it write?!?).