Tied To Your Apron Strings

He didn’t have to do it. In fact, I wonder if he was allowed to. But he did, anyway. The young orderly appeared without warning in the surgical unit of the hospital, where an elderly couple sat waiting for a room to open up. The husband was hooked up to a variety of tubes and monitors as he struggled to breathe, his wife sitting by his side in one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs that came with the hospital in 1962, or thereabouts.

When it came time to move the patient to his room, the wife gathered her few belongings and asked how to get to the new location where her husband was being taken. A distracted nurse standing nearby pointed to an elevator, and then proceeded to rattle-off a list of directions that clearly was not landing with the worried wife: “Walk down this hallway here until you see the next set of elevators – don’t use them; turn right at the gift shop; take the third elevator to the fifth floor …”

The orderly, watching this scene unfold, gently touched the woman’s arm and whispered: “Come with me. I’ll get you there.”

And so he did: through the bowels of the hospital, down long tunnels to secret elevators that were meant only for medical staff and patients on gurneys. He walked beside her, offering his arm for support as he pushed the husband with his other arm.  He asked about the man’s health, if they were from the area, and if they had any family. He even was kind enough to pause when he could see the wife was struggling to make it to the elevator.

Eventually, when they all arrived safely to the fifth floor, the young man in the green scrubs wheeled the husband into the room and then gently assisted the woman to a chair by the window. “You were so kind to take me with you,” she said, as she patted his arm. “You didn’t have to do this for me.”

“I wanted to,” came his reply.

I wanted to.

It is striking to me in this Gospel account of Luke’s that there are many missed opportunities of grace: servants who were not vigilant; a household owner who didn’t expect the thief to come in the night; stewards who missed their master’s cues, resulting in his anger and disappointment. Everyone was too distracted, too drowsy and too caught-up in their own pursuits to catch the things that really mattered.

Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? How many times a day do I miss moments of grace breaking-in all around me? How many times am I not ready to receive the kingdom?

Jesus isn’t pulling any punches here; His message is clear and direct: Gird your loins and light your lamps. Meaning: Stop dilly-dallying. Get to work. Tuck in your robes, kiddos, and make sure you have enough spiritual oil in those lantern flasks. Discipleship is not for the lazy, and the Kingdom is only found by those who want (and work) to find it.

Do you want to? Really take a long hard look at that question this week ahead; wrestle with it, in fact. Are you living your life in such a way that one thing becomes crystal clear: I want to see Christ’s Kingdom both now and in eternity. I want holiness; I want to be a saint.

Saints did not come out of the womb with halos. They struggled like you and me. They doubted and carried heavy crosses. Some wanted to despair and give-up on God and faith. 

And yet, they didn’t: they kept girding loins and lighting lamps by going to Confession and receiving Eucharist. They found peace and courage in attending Mass. They prayed daily, even when it seemed dry and pointless. 

And they did one more thing, something so humble that its true and lasting power cannot be measured this side of heaven: they put on aprons.

It’s a detail easy to miss in the story Jesus tells about the master returning from a wedding. Did you notice that for those servants who actually stayed awake for his return, the very first thing the master did was put on an apron over his wedding attire and begin to serve them? Who in power does that, especially these days? How incredibly rare is it for the one who has control to humble himself before those who depend on him for their very livelihood!

And yet, that’s the very thing God does for us, his beloved daughters and sons: he put on the apron for us, and then challenges us to do the same: “As I have done for you, so you must also do.” Sound familiar? These very words spilled forth from our Lord at the Last Supper, the night before He offered his Body and Blood to his disciples, and then poured out his very life on Calvary in order to save us and set us free. Holding Peter’s foot in his hand, Jesus told Peter: “Go do the same.”

Find the Kingdom in the poor and hungry and then feed them, care for them. Help build the Kingdom through mercy and forgiveness. Heal the sick by offering your time and your compassion. Pick up the crosses of others, and then keep uniting it to Calvary. Serve the ones no one else will. Love the ones that no one else sees or cares about. Be a voice for the voiceless. By your own apron, help others put on aprons, too. 

In the end, that is what it’s all about. That’s why Peter himself asks Jesus: “Is this parable meant for us or everyone,” meaning: do only the church leaders have to follow this? Is this only for the ones who are in the inner-circle of power?

Peter, Peter: it’s not about who’s in and who’s not. It isn’t about us versus them. We are all servants of the King, servants who must gird our loins, light lamps and put on aprons. We help others do the same – that’s true servant-leadership, and we are all called to it. No exceptions.

I want us to be the ones who stand at the ready for the Master’s coming, not just at our death or at the end of time, but here and now. I want us to see Him in the breaking of the Bread and in our neighbor. I want us to find Him in the countless ways He breaks into our lives and world each and every day, because He does. He can’t help Himself.

Jesus Christ is the true “Thief” of Hearts, and I don’t want to be the householder caught off guard when He appears to ask for mine. I want to stand there at the door, holding out my poor heart to Him: “Here it is; take it. It is all yours.” I’ll only be able to do so if I gird my loins, light my lamp and put on the apron.  That’s the faith life hoped for, and the longing for the Kingdom we all cling to.

As the orderly left the hospital room that night, he turned around at the door and walked to the large window that framed the one side of the room of the man struggling to breathe. “Look, you can see that beautiful bridge to Jersey from here,” he said, “and the sunrise from this room is incredible. I can’t wait for you to see it.” 

In that moment, the young orderly in the green scrubs not only made sure his apron was on, but he offered light and faith to an elderly couple who needed to know they weren’t so alone in this world. The Kingdom broke in that evening on the fifth floor of a non-descript suburban hospital for three servants of the One who shows us all what it means to stay vigilant for the Kingdom by putting on aprons for one another. 



It is the only way we get back Home.