He is able to deal gently with those who are ignorant and are going astray, since he himself is subject to weakness. (Hebrews 5:2)
Last night, as choir rehearsal let out, I collected my teens for the trip home. I found Olivia exactly where she should have been, minding the little urchins who had been left in child care through the evening’s various activities. Thomas, however, proved more difficult to locate. I searched everywhere for him and called home, but he refused to be found.
Eventually, after Olivia and I decided to go for a soda to cool our–okay, my–frustration, Thomas called. It seems that, despite the presence of both me and my perfectly good car at the church, he had finagled a ride home. The girl who drove him, first had to deliver a girl in Grain Valley, five miles east of the church. Then she brought Thomas en route to her house, five miles west of the church.
I might have been a bit snarky when he called. Some comment about being abducted by pirates came out of my mouth. As I headed home myself, I planned my actions. First, I would smash Thomas’ phone, which he apparently can never answer when we need him, with a ball peen hammer. Then I would ground him until after the London Olympics.
By the time I got home, I’d moderated my plans. Calmly, I explained how frustrating I found the experience and what I expected him to do in the future. The ball peen hammer never came into play.
Anger is easy, but it’s not terribly productive. Thomas made a mistake, something I can easily relate to. If I didn’t make mistakes myself, then I guess I’d be in a better position to stand all high and mighty over him. But I can make mistakes. I do them regularly.
Jesus, during his life on earth, didn’t make mistakes in the sense of sinning, but I have to think that he stubbed his toe or feel asleep at inopportune moments–like in a boat during a storm. Today’s verse assures us that Jesus was subject to weakness. That’s the nature of man. Thomas got the benefit of my realization of that fact last night. I enjoy the benefit of Christ’s mercy, a product of his human years, every day.