So He Got Up

Written By: Erin Richer

It was well after midnight and I was on a very delayed flight back to Virginia from Guantanamo Bay when I heard a rustling in the seats in front of me. I sat up slightly and realized the pre-schooler in the seat catty-corner and to the front of me had vomited all over himself, his seat, and the aisle. His mom whisper-screamed a curse word and I looked at her and smiled—a peace offering, an acknowledgment that I’m a mom and on her side. She ignored it, but came back and sat in the seat next to me. She was in emergency mode, and she was holding her shirt over her nose.  

Hannah sat up slowly and looked at me in horror from across the aisle and waved her hand in front of her nose. I looked at her over the shoulder of the child’s mother and silently pleaded with her to stop making these awful faces for fear she might see. I felt for this mama and didn’t want her to be embarrassed. Strangely, I couldn’t smell anything. 

My heart was soft toward this woman because I was in the midst of my own mess.

Hannah’s arm broke the week before and the x-rays revealed she had a tumor. She and I were on our way to the Naval hospital in Norfolk for a bone biopsy. It was no coincidence that two weeks ago, our chaplain asked me to speak that upcoming Sunday about beauty in brokenness. I was set to share my testimony of how God had proven my faith to me through my pregnancy and subsequent loss of my fourth child, Lydia. The talk was set to take place on what would have been her 6th birthday—completely not planned, of course. Hannah’s arm hadn’t broken when Chaps asked me to speak on Sunday morning; we didn’t know there was a mass in her bone when I agreed to testify about God’s faithfulness.

Just before the young boy threw up, Shane and Shane’s Psalms were playing in my ear and tears were pooling in my eyes as I pondered whether I’d be able to say, “God is good” at the end of this road. Whether I’d be able to take the lessons of God’s faithfulness and His “enough-ness” that I learned while carrying Lydia and accept these truths no matter the outcome of Hannah’s biopsy. If I had to watch her suffer. Could I carry my eleven-year-old daughter outside of my womb as she passes into Jesus’ arms and still keep my eyes unwaveringly fixed on the Kingdom to come? 

It’s clear now that my thoughts were providentially interrupted. I pushed back against the wall of the plane and watched this woman strategize what to do next. In the meantime, I was performing my own mental calculations—a cost/benefit analysis. Hoping that the staff of the plane had some miracle solution for vomit everywhere, I told myself over and over that I was not going to participate in clean-up but the deep down parts of me revolted. I knew what was coming; I had just spent the last few hours considering Christ… who He is and what He’s done; how to live faithful in times when all is out of my control.

And the Holy Spirit whispered, “This is how you’ll keep your eyes unwaveringly fixed on Me. Serve.”

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I remember this story when I read the words:

“So he got up,” in John 13:2-5.

“Now when it was time for supper, the devil had already put it into the heart of Judas, Simon Iscariot’s son, to betray him. Jesus knew that the Father had given everything into his hands, that he had come from God, and that he was going back to God. So he got up from supper, laid aside his outer clothing, took a towel, and tied it around himself. Next, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet and to dry them with the towel tied around him.”

It was the messiest time of Jesus’ short life on Earth. Judas’ betrayal was in motion. The bloody beatings and crucifixion were imminent. His days in His man-body would draw to a close within hours. He knew what was coming, and it was “out of His control;” a big plan was in motion and He was surrendered and committed to an eternal and final act of sacrificial love. Just as, from a human perspective, everything would have felt out of control, Jesus got up to bow low and wash the disciples’ feet.

Why did Jesus get up to get low and serve in that moment? Because Jesus knew who He was and where He was going.

So He got up and washed His beloved fellow man’s feet like a servant. Knowing His time was short compelled Jesus to love His brothers with all of His heart, to interact with their mess in the most humble way before He went to be with His Father.

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In the end, they provided cleaning supplies for Mom and she headed toward the muck. Against my will, my body stood up and I heard myself say, “Can you get me some gloves, too?” My flesh cried, “What am I doing??” But God’s Spirit won; so there I was, on my hands and knees cleaning up some random child’s vomit. I would never see this kid again and no words were exchanged except that Mom managed to whisper an unnecessary thank you. 

I did share my testimony of God’s faithfulness in the chapel on Lydia’s birthday.  We were still waiting for Hannah’s biopsy results at the time I spoke.  A week later we found out there was no cancer.  But often I have found myself thinking about the solidarity I felt with this mom, both of us in the midst of our messes. What crazy peacefulness washed over me, what joy it was to love in the midst of my mess, to enter into the messiness of life with another human, to bow low, and to serve. It’s worth remarking: I never did smell the vomit.

As the world feels sometimes like it’s spiraling out of control, I’ve been pondering this lesson.

Let us be a people who know who we are and to Whom we are going in these times.

May we be reminded that our Father is in control and let it compel us to get up, get low, and enter into love with our fellow man. Prepare us to be a people willing to give our lives for the glory of God.

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