The Greatest of These

A rendition of 1 Corinthians 13.

I wait. I sit. I stand. I pace. It’s a race, against time, against my illusion of falling short. I can’t wait any longer. You do what I want, when I want, how I want. Never soon enough. Never good enough. Stop wasting my time. It’s mine, not yours. Still pacing. If it’s not now it must not be right. Have to fight the wait or I might burst. Urgent. And then you say that. Do that. Like this. Have that. No way. I can’t approve. Is that what moves you? I turn away. A pace of frustration. Hard heart of condemnation. Hands in my pockets, key to my eyes, shut, turned, and locked it. Won’t see you right now. No time to crouch down and examine the grounds you walk on or offer a shoe made of a better compound. It just can’t be me.

But It says no, you have it all wrong. When you have to wait long, isn’t it worth it to hear the end of the song? The crescendo of completion, the final resolution, the awaited transformation. How much better, It coaxes, when you take off your watch, time is lost and your brother is found. Not abandoned or condemned. Not rejected or shed. Not wasted but drowned in It. Found worth the extra minute. With It I can sit again and wait. With It I have words that open, tend, offer, ease. I can see what is there and do what needs to be done. No longer pace, but smile on my face because it’s not falling short- It is a force that changes the game, changes the need, changes the end, and changes me.

I want. You have it. I don’t. And what’s more, I deserve it. I’m entitled, qualified, justified. It was handed to you. Inheritance. Talent. Personality. Luck. What a waste. Squandered. Distaste. But I work hard, I want what I earned. What I should have, could have earned. Used. Correctly. Don’t you see me? Haven’t you realized my worth, my status, my lifestyle, my intelligence, confidence, obedience, and innocence? I’m at the top, well at least over you. What I could do with what you have, what you feel, what you’ll be. The world would be different. Brighter. And at the center would be me. Atop piles of respect, appreciation, accreditation, admiration. Because let’s face it. You’re full of mistakes, heartaches, you make your own choices and choose the wrong the paths. You may have a brain. A friend. An extra dollar. A taste of success. But you don’t have a future. Not like me. If only I were free to take it.

Not It. Wouldn’t take it if I had It. The right It. The It that applauds from the sideline. The It that cheers what isn’t mine. When you're atop of the mounds, It is nowhere to be found. But when you're on the ground It might stick around. If you use It to see the good in others. The gifts of others. The grieves of others. Because you’re not who you say you are. And haven’t I gotten to where I am now because of It? It builds up and doesn’t tear down. It gives high fives instead of letting them drown. It shows me my scars so I can see theirs. Stop blinding your eyes, It beckons, and see the image of unity, diversity, commonality, and necessity. You have it, I don’t, but with It, I am still thankful for you.

I watch. Fall after fall. And I don’t care. He probably deserved it. The next time I’ll encourage it. Maybe I’ll push him myself. Someone has to do it. Prove it. Reveal it. Disguise it. Avoid it. Whatever it takes. Besides, if it makes me better, why not? If it makes me mightier, why not? If it moves me up, why not? No rules. A school of thought where others falling and failing and crashing and burning are no longer tragedies, calamities, absurdities, or worries. Now they are trophies. A token to me- I’ve stumbled but don’t drop, I trip but I stop before hitting the ground, before the ultimate plop. Or maybe I fall, but it no longer matters. Mischievous, I flatter myself with rationalization, dramatization. Desensitized. Unresponsive. I used to push, but now I pull. From the inside. Because who cares? There are worse things in life than to fall. Worse things. I’m not the worst. I’ve fallen- no longer the best, but as long as I’m higher than one of the rest, I can’t be in trouble. Of It I can still profess.

Or can I? Because It wouldn’t push and It certainly wouldn’t pull. Not when it comes to bridges, oceans, and holes. The real triumph in life isn’t the ladder. It isn’t the tower. It isn’t the power. The real triumph in life is when It multiplies, without penalizing or jeopardizing. A conquest, It embarks on, to promote integrity, veracity, authenticity, and benign justice. It celebrates something worthwhile, profitable, and freeing. The bondage of falling is broken by It. The lies of failing can’t endure It. The wounds of breaking are soothed by It. The defense of inability is inferior to it. Fall after fall, and because of It, I care. I care a lot.

No other armor is better than It. Swords thrust. Bullets ravage. Armies approach. Rains pound. Failures threaten. Desires linger. Desolation hovers. Lies caress. But It overcomes. But It never falters, dissipates, weakens, cracks, runs, or hides. The past is pacified by It. The present is guided by It. The future is enlivened by It. No other armor can protect such a frail body. No other armor can retain such a wayward spirit. No other armor can sustain such a ravenous heart. Metal corrodes, greenery wilts, word expires. And It isn’t even done yet. Even in this capacity It has yet to be perfected. This extravagant armor is simply a fierce cross-section of what I wait for.

I have confidence because of It. I have conviction for the rest of It. I am content in the midst of It.

And It is Love.