Cole-Arnal, Oscar

English

Wilfrid Laurier University

ConsensusVolume 20Issue 1 A Ministry Miscellany Article 105-1-1994Where is the ServantOscar Cole-ArnalFollow this and additional works at: http://scholars.wlu.ca/consensusThis Sermons is brought to you for free and open access by Scholars Commons @ Laurier. It has been accepted for inclusion in Consensus by anauthorized editor of Scholars Commons @ Laurier. For more information, please contact scholarscommons@wlu.ca.Recommended CitationCole-Arnal, Oscar (1994) "Where is the Servant," Consensus: Vol. 20 : Iss. 1 , Article 10.Available at: http://scholars.wlu.ca/consensus/vol20/iss1/10Where is the Servant?Oscar Cole ArnalProfessor of Historical Theology,Waterloo Lutheran SeminaryText: Isaiah 42:1-7It was exhilarating! Back in Paris again—to continue myresearch on the worker-priests. They were my models of theChristian life, these Catholic clergy who earned their breadin the hard toil of factory life. Their sacrifice, their courage,their trade union militancy touched me deeply. For me, theyembodied what the anonymous Isaiah meant when he talkedof “the servant of the LORD”. His words cross the centuries:Here is my servant whom I uphold, my chosen in whom my souldelights. I have put my spirit upon him. He will bring forth justiceto the nations He will faithfully bring forth justice. He will notgrow faint or be crushed until he has established justice in the earth.For me, this passage described the worker-priests, and hereI was, back in Paris, ready to re-enter their lives in France’surban ghettos. This was not just research. It was my mission—to tell their heroic story and to draw strength from their radicalcommitment to Christ’s gospel.I viewed Sunday mornings in beautiful Paris as my goldenwitnessing opportunity, for it was at that time that I regu-larly attended an adult Sunday School class at the AmericanChurch in Paris. And what a church it was— situated on thebanks of the Seine and fianked by the embassies of various na-tions. There, in its hallowed precincts, worshipped America’scorporate and military elites. So there I went, justice messagein hand, filled with the rage of the righteous, a David withcarefully-selected stones, bent on challenging Goliath—that is,until Robert threw a monkey wrench into my well-organizedagenda.108 ConsensusRobert was a young man, about nineteen—sensitive, brightand good-looking. And he had cerebral palsy. When he movedin his awkward, even grotesque way, I felt mortal and vulnera-ble. Internally I rebelled against him and his presence becausehe reminded me that I was dust and would die. But I didn’treject him—until he opened his mouth. His long and labouredconversation took up so much time—time I craved to speak outabout radical justice, time that he was using up. No matterthat he was expressing views that paralleled mine. And addto all that, I had to concentrate to understand him. It took somuch energy. And to make things worse, he liked me. Thatjust made me feel all the more miserable. I acted out of dutyand pity toward him—successfully, I think, hiding my rejec-tion, my fundamental feeling that I did not want him around.One Sunday morning the teacher asked us, “How do you feelwhen you see a poor person?” Robert leaped right in. He said,in laboured tones, “I f-f-fffeel v-v-vvulllneraBLE.” And thetears rolled down my cheeks. In one sentence Robert had shownme the solidarity of justice not only “for” but also “with” thebroken. He had shattered all my defences and touched myheart. Gone was my pity; gone was my sense of duty; gone wasmy resentment. His twisted gait, his laboured painful words,had touched my vulnerability. Robert had freed me to feel, tohurt and to love.He was Isaiah’s servant bringing justice to me: “A bruisedreed he will not break, and a dimly burning wick he will notquench.” So gentle he was. His body was broken, and mine waswhole. But I was the bruised and broken reed that he touchedand opened to flower—ever so tenderly. He took this justice-pounding sledgehammer and brought it to flower in a singlepainfully articulated, “I feel vulnerable.” He could have beenhandsome, but cerebral palsy had distorted his physique aswell as his voice. And here is how the deutero-Isaiah describesGod’s servant:He had no form or majesty that we should look at him; nothingin his appearance that we should desire him. He was despised andrejected by others, a man of suffering and acquainted with infirmityand as one from whom others hide their faces. He was despised andwe held him of no account.That was Robert, in my eyes, until the witness of all hewas (body, faith, words) transformed him into Isaiah’s ser-vant: “Surely he has borne our infirmities and carried ourServant 109diseases....He was wounded for our transgressions, crushed forour iniquities. Upon him was the punishment which made uswhole, and by his bruises we are healed.” Thank you, Robert—for being God’s servant of justice to me!This anonymous justice-bearing servant of the prophet is anelusive creature. Who is she? Who is he? The entire covenantpeople? “Yes! Called to bring healing to all humanity!” Or aremnant group, a tiny portion of the covenant people, called tobring justice and light both to God’s special people and to thewhole globe? “Yes! That too!” Or a single redeemer mandatedto undertake and complete this task? “YES!” Any and all ofthese—at different times, in different places.But whether an individual, a tiny remnant of the covenantpeople, or all of God’s flock, the task and style are one andthe same: justice for the oppressed and broken—peace, heal-ing and restoration. How? Not by success, but rather throughbrokenness, through persistence—from underneath, from re-jection and failure. From vulnerability. Our roadblocks to beserved and servant are our talents, our skills, our successesindeed every area of competence and comfort. The words ofDorothy Day underscore that:It is with the voice of our contemporaries that Christ speaks. Withthe eyes of store clerks, factory workers and children that He gazes;with the hands of office workers, slum dwellers and housewives thatHe gives. It is with the feet of soldiers and tramps that He walks,and with the heart of everyone in need that He longs for shelter.And giving shelter or food to anyone who asks for it, or needs it,is giving it to Christ We can do it too. We do it by seeingChrist and serving Christ in friends and strangers, in everyone whowe come in contact with— Christ made heaven hinge on the waywe act toward Him in His disguise of commonplace, frail, ordinaryhumanity We don’t need the goad of duty to prod us to serveChrist. This is not our duty. It is our privilege.^We do not bring Ghrist to these broken ones. Rather it isin them that we meet Christ. There we encounter Isaiah’s ser-vant. Dorothy Day knew that. So does Robert. So also doesanother Robert—Joseph Robert, a worker-priest in northernFrance: “Je ne suis pas evangelises les pauvres,” he testified.“Ce sont les pauvres qui m’ont evangelises.” (“I have not pro-claimed the gospel to the poor; rather it is the poor who haveproclaimed the gospel to me.”)no ConsensusNotes1 Robert Ellsberg, ed., By Little and By Little: The Selected Writings ofDorothy Day (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1983) 94.

Where is the Servant

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