Stumbling Block

I was walking back to the office from a lunch meeting.  The meeting had been productive as well as interesting.  It was a beautiful spring day, the kind that makes you grateful to be able to breathe in the air.  I was somewhere along Lexington Avenue, I think, at about 39th or 40th street.  I waited for the light to cross and as I got to the other side, I somehow missed the curb.  I wasn’t looking at my phone, just not paying attention that carefully; distracted, I think, by the beauty and satisfaction of the day.

I tried to catch my balance for three or four awkward steps as I must have done when a toddler.  Curiously, I remember the heaviness of each unbalanced step, my foot hitting the pavement hardly and my arms flailing in unknown directions, indeed just as I’ve seen toddlers do.  I’m not sure if my effort finally succumbed to gravity or I just gave up, but down I went, and found myself sprawled out on the sidewalk.  Fortunately, I was not hurt beyond a slightly scraped-up hand, bruised knee, and very bruised ego.  Even more fortunately, I did not take anyone down with me.

My instinct, indeed my most fervent desire, was to get up and act as if it hadn’t happened, avoid eye contact (this is New York after all), and continue on my way.  It was not to be.  Instead, I was immediately surrounded by several people asking if I were alright.  One was insistent on helping me up.

With great embarrassment I replied that I was fine and declined assistance.  The young man offering to help me up, however, was insistent.  He would not take no for answer despite several attempts on my part.  Providentially, sanity and humility returned, and I extended my hand up to his outstretched in my direction.  He pulled me up advising me to keep weight off the knee.  He and several of the others asked again if I were sure I was alright.  Did I want them to call anyone?  No, thank you, I replied.  Soon enough, but not as soon as I might have liked, they went on their way and I went on mine. 

St. Paul wrote, “[W]e proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles” (1 Cor. 1:23).  Stumbling blocks are now more than a figure of speech to me.  Mine was not so much the curb at 39th and Lex as it was my illusion of self-sufficiency and pride.  That goes in part to what the proclamation of Christ crucified is about.  Paul’s words that “the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God” (v. 18) make more sense. 

In my very slight encounter with perishing, the idea of having to be helped to my feet was utter foolishness.  In the reality of my awkward vulnerability, though, it was actually a mild salvation by the power of God.  Even though I could have put myself back on my feet, admittedly with some effort, reaching for an outstretched hand allowed the love of God to be made real to me along with my need for it.  It allowed passersby to express concern and the concern to be received, whether I wanted to receive it or not.  It allowed me to appreciate what interdependence means, which is something that is a challenge for me and a concept I prefer to avoid.

Our need for each other has an awful lot to do with how God is experienced, even when we don’t want it to.

Peace,