Faither o' Lichts

Today, I was sitting in church, expecting the usual shallowness and questionable theology.  In front of me was a young man who was obviously disabled. His parents were on either side and doing a great job of lovingly regulating his lack of attention.

I've always had a soft spot for anyone weak or in need. So I exchanged a few smiles and a nod or two with him and began to pray for him throughout the service. I wasn't praying for healing necessarily, but for whatever he needed, whatever his parents needed, and that he would be a blessing and blessed like the blind man I wrote about last.

I couldn't help thinking of the mad laird from George MacDonald's book Malcolm. This character is similarly disabled and quite rejected. But is drawn to understand in what way he can, his purpose and destiny. At one point in the book the laird learns of God as the Father of Lights and latches onto the phrase. Eventually the laird sneaks into a church service where he is not wanted and can't help crying out this name of God. Not knowing where the sound comes from, it creates quite a stir and starts a sort of revival.

The laird repeats the phrase to his death as the only expression of faith he can make. The phrase resonates with me as one who has had many times when words fail. I kept hearing it in my head as I contemplated this boy.

At the end of the service, the pastor made a rare move for him and spoke prophetic encouragement to the congregation. I don't mean some kooky thing, but rather directed truth at us, saying each of us were directly chosen for a purpose, which is a departure from his usual academic expositing style. In the moment I was having, this jumped at me.

Just then, the boy in front of me shot his hands in the air grasping upward. He had not been so dramatic in his movements prior. At that moment, the phrase Faither o' Lichts, in the Scots, reverberated in my mind and I nearly yelled it myself.

The boy's Dad quickly grabbed his arms and lowered them to head off a scene he thought might be coming, and the boy returned to his quiet fidgeting.

But I didn't. I couldn't. I was stifling sobbing heaves and trying hard not to have to walk out of this conservative church with tears streaming down my face.

I made it to the car and broke down. God showed me for the third and most powerful time this week that he is truly everywhere. Nothing escapes his notice or his care. Even when we think we're doing the right thing yet actually stifling him. Even through this young man who no one perceives as capable of teaching us anything. Even in spite of the layers of manmade church crap piled on top of us in attempts to create the experience of greater reality we all need. This boy who is physically incapable of controlling his impulses shames us all in his understanding, and pierces the spring of my dry rock heart in the process.

Faither o' Lichts!!!