Legacy

Some thoughts on "Legacy"
Written by: Nichole Nordeman

There are a couple of words in the English language, or more specifically in the Christian language that sort of make me squirm. They are words, usually spoken from the pulpit, that imply direct responsibility on my part, or even worse, expectation. They are not friendly, live and let live words like say.. fellowship. Fellowship is a nice word. It makes you want to go share a doughnut with someone in the foyer before Sunday School. That I can do. But the squirmy words are the ones like... discipleship. A word that begs the question, "How are you actively helping your brother or sister really grow in Christ?" Oh, and here's another one.. accountability. Ew. I just got a shiver when I typed it. Accountability is the kind of word that's right up in your face saying "WHERE IS THE PERSON IN YOUR LIFE WHO IS ASKING YOU REALLY HARD QUESTIONS ABOUT YOUR CHOICES, YOUR MARRIAGE, AND YOUR THOUGHT LIFE?"

Pardon me for a moment while I head back to the foyer for another doughnut.

But the word that has always held the highest squirm factor for me is the word "legacy."

Only the topic of leaving a legacy can reduce my normal 5'8" frame to about 3 inches in a matter of seconds. The reason is obvious. "Legacy" conjures up larger than life people. Billy Graham. Mother Theresa. Martin Luther King. Heck, even Bill Clinton gets a library named after him. These are people whose names will be splashed across our history pages for years and years. Remembered for their achievements. Regarded for their service. Respected for their contributions, which were significant enough to warrant a great deal of attention even if that particular contribution was less than honorable... (ahem, see above Clinton reference).

The point is, when people talk about leaving a legacy it makes the rest of us average Joes and Sallys feel insignificant. It makes us want to look in the mirror and say, "Who cares?" Literally. Who? Who does care that you just made your son's sack lunch for the 145th consecutive school day in a row? He sure doesn't. Who cares that you took a second job to pay for your daughter's braces? Not her, obviously. Who even notices that you get to church an hour early to hand out bulletins and greet Sunday morning worshipers? The pastor has never even thanked you personally, and frankly an extra hour of sleep on Sunday morning would be real nice right about now, thank you very little. You know the routine. Nothing I do matters. No one notices my minor contributions to the lives of people around me, probably because they are just that...embarrassingly minor.

Here's my answer to the who cares question. Check out the life of Jesus. I'd reference a particular scripture here, but to be honest, if you randomly opened your Bible to any page within the four gospels you'd find the same thing: Jesus honoring those who were servants. Saving the coveted seat on his right for the most unlikely and probably unlovely dinner guest. Overcome with joy at one who washed his feet with her most rare and costly perfume. Overwhelmed at the selfless offer of a drink of water from a well on a hot and dry day. He tells stories about good Samaritans. He specifically calls twelve guys with pathetic lives, very few skills and a host of interpersonal issues to be his closest brothers and companions. And who inherits the kingdom in His Beatitudes? The meek. The merciful. The pure in heart. Find me one place in the New Testament where Jesus holds up the over-achievers and says to the crowd, "Strive for this! Acquire more wheat to store in your barns! Then build bigger barns! Be learned! Be refined! Be accomplished and revered by many!!"

Not once.

In fact, the people who fit that description can usually be seen in the background, slinking away with the rich, young ruler in Matthew 19.

That's the bottom line.

The world still screams, "Achievement!" And the Gospel yells right back, "Service!" Matthew 20:27 lays it out pretty clearly

"...whoever wishes to be great among you, must first be your servant..."

Still not convinced about leaving a legacy? Check out the checklist God leaves for Jesus in Micah 6:8. It's fairly simple.

"And what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness and to walk humbly with your God?"

My husband and I live in a loft in downtown Dallas. It's an eclectic area with luxury high rise buildings wedged right in next to houses that should have been condemned ages ago. There's an old school little barbershop that shares a storefront with a new agey/holistic health shop. It's sort of a picture of humanity... all of us stuck together in the same little space, regardless or whether we actually fit together or not. We love it. Right smack in the middle of our very contemporary and 30-something neighborhood is a very old, very beautiful, very large cemetery. I have to drive past it dozens of times a day. And I used to wonder...whose bones lie in that dirt? Some of the headstones are so old and weathered that the names and dates are gone forever, as are the people who used to visit them, most likely. What brave war General rests there? Which scientists? What highly regarded philosopher or respected professor or fiery politician is laid to rest there? And who continues to benefit, grow and bear fruit because of their inspiring earthly work? I used to wonder that.

Now instead, I find myself wondering.. whose mother? Whose Sunday school teacher? Whose little league coach? How many people were lowered into that dirt with the least amount of fanfare? Who among them couldn't even afford the most simple of headstones? Who did justice? Who loved kindness? Who walked humbly? And how did it feel when those same people stood before the creator, shoulder to shoulder with the Nobel Peace Prize winners and the Hall of Famers and heard those coveted words that we all hope and pray are on the tongue of our Maker upon our arrival at long last.

Well done.

Well done, lunch maker, bill payer, diaper changer, crossing guard.
Well done, piano teacher, hotel operator, plumber.

Well done, legacy leaver. You indeed were faithful.