All Is Grace_ A Ragamuffin Memoir - Brennan Manning [48]
The little girl turned and walked toward me. As she drew closer, the years flew by and she stood before me an aged woman. She said, “You know, I messed up a lot when you were a kid. But you turned out okay.” Then my old mother did something she’d never done before in her life, never once. She kissed me on the lips and on both cheeks. At that moment I knew that the hurt between my mother and me was real and did matter, but that it was okay. The trusting heart gives a second chance; it is forgiven and, in turn, forgives. I looked at my mother and said, “I forgive you.” She smiled and said, “I guess sometimes you do get what you ask for.”
Dad, Mom, and me
A WORD AFTER
I stepped into the path of Brennan Manning late in his life. Those I have talked with who knew him in his prime have consistently said, “I wish you’d have known him then.” I wish that too. But I didn’t, and maybe if I had, my assistance on his memoir would have been biased or skewed. It’s hard to know. I do wish I’d known him then.
His brother-in-law, Art Rubino, told me, “If I had a dollar for every life he’s touched, we’d all be sunning in Acapulco.” Art’s right. The overwhelming testimony to his ministry is best summed up in that evening when he stood before a crowd and could not remember what to say. The people stood and applauded the man whose patchwork pants and ragamuffin life had become exterior symbols of the inward gift, the grace greater than the sum of his sins and their own. Yet that evening also represents the “glass darkly,” for while Brennan preached and taught of God’s furious longing for us and the joy that comes from the Abba experience, that message often seemed elusive to his own grasp. I have no doubt there were bright mornings and luminous afternoons for Brennan, but there have also been many, many dark nights. I suppose the preacher always preaches the message he needs most. I believe that is true of my friend Brennan. That his message has been the one we needed most too is something extra. Or to use one of Brennan’s favorite Cajun words, lagniappe—compliments of the house. Grace.
The older you get, the more you sense that much of life is about timing. I have mentioned that word to many influenced by Brennan’s life, proposing that his message came along at the right time, the kairos. They have all immediately nodded, as if that was something they’d felt but not verbalized. In that regard, Brennan has played a role much like a midwife, helping Christ be born in us today or back when you first read Abba’s Child or during that life-changing Young Life retreat. His consistent banging on the drums of God’s unconditional love sounded at a time when many of us had about “had it up to here” with religion and church and, probably most importantly, ourselves. We were the tired, poor, self-hating huddled masses yearning to be free, and along came a patchwork preacher who grinned and said, “You already are. Abba loves you. Let’s go get some chocolate ice cream.”
Brennan loved to read, and as such, filled his books and talks with stories he’d found along the way, stories that always gave texture to the invasion of grace in our world. And in that spirit, I’d like to share with you a scene from Kent Meyers’ novel Twisted Tree; and although he has never read the novel, I believe it honors the essence of Brennan Manning.
The scene finds Caleb coming upon an accident, a car lying upside down in barbed wire. Three patrolmen are standing near the car; someone is lying between them beneath a tarp. Caleb is tempted not to stop, but does. Caleb used to be a priest before he fell in love with a woman and lost his collar. Now he is just a rancher.
A Native American woman was thrown from the car, not wearing a seat belt. One patrolman says an ambulance will arrive soon, so Caleb turns to go because there is nothing more he can do. As he turns