The Least of These

Editor’s note: Continuing a series of stories and articles written by the late Pastor Tom Goetz, with the support of his wife Jeanne Goetz of Odessa. Jeanne Goetz is working to get the items published in book form, but for right now, interested readers can read his work in the series of articles that continue in this issue of The Record.

The “Least of these” is a term used by Jesus to describe people who are normally considered unfortunate and deprived. The naked. The hungry. The outcast. They are the ones to whom we give, not from whom we receive. That they are able to bestow upon us unique and valuable gifts never occurs to many. As a recipient, I know differently. In ways so subtle and subjective they are difficult to describe, our son, one of the least of these, has taught me some of the most profound lessons I’ve learned.

Treg was born on the 4th of July, 1974. Jeanne and I adopted him when he was six days old. He was our first and after waiting ten years for a child, we were so thrilled and in love with him that we never noticed what was obvious to others. He wasn’t developing like other children his age and was in fact a brain-damaged child.

When we first heard the diagnosis, we determined to do everything we could to make his life as full and happy as everyone else’s. We wanted to affect his life in a positive way; to bring him to his fullest potential. Little did we realize how much that small, vulnerable boy would affect our life and challenge our potential. We began learning from “the least of these.”

From the very beginning it was clear that being different is an insufficient reason for not enjoying life. The things that would interest most children his age wouldn’t interest him at all. His interests were more limited and tended to isolate him from others. They still do, but they don’t keep him from enjoying himself. Because he is, for the most part, unaware of the opinions of others; he is also free from them. Peer pressure is an unknown force in his life.

In a day when being a committed Christian makes a person different, we need that same freedom. One thing that often keeps us from sharing our heartfelt joy of the Lord is fear of being considered different. This fear keeps us from another joy as well, that of sharing Christ with non-believers. Fear of man is truly a handicap. It limits our potential, stops spontaneity and robs us of many of life’s enjoyments. I haven’t conquered it totally yet, but I have a good teacher who’s showing me that it is possible.

I’m also learning that vulnerability is not to be feared. All children are vulnerable to some degree, of course, but a retarded child even more so. Being unable to reason or adequately express needs or desires makes him defenseless in many situations. This has been one of the hardest things for me to handle as his father, but I’ve seen the positive side as well.

I’ve watched people I know have greater than normal vulnerability respond to Treg. Because he, too, is susceptible and thereby not a threat, before long their defense system is put on hold and the real person begins to emerge. They identify with his defenselessness and feel safe as well as protective. Some, who find it difficult to express their love, find themselves disarmed and responsive to his open display of affection.

In light of this, I’ve been the beneficiary. I’ve seen the positive results of openness too often to fear its risks as much as I once did. I’ve witnessed its awesome ability to dissolve barriers and heal emotional blocks, to set free those in bondage to their loneliness. I’ve learned to value it, to treasure it, to seek it for myself. I understand it in a new way, but of course, I’ve had a good teacher.

Another lesson relates to an area we all have to learn, how to let our spirit rule over our mind. By trying to analyze situations or the ways of God we frequently miss the message our spirit is trying to give us. It seems at times as if our spirit is incapable of overpowering the other elements that make up our being. By observing my son I’ve seen that this is not so.

I first became aware of his spiritual sensitivity when he was only two or three years old. We would place records on the stereo and he would climb in his favorite chair to listen. Frequently, the records would be Christian music done by a variety of artists. Some of them would be by people who had a genuine anointing on their music. I began noticing a pattern.

Each time one of the anointed albums would begin playing he would immediately go to his chair where he would sit rocking through the entire record. If the next record was also anointed, he would stay and listen to it as well. If it wasn’t he would go elsewhere to play. As soon as another anointed album would begin playing he would return.

Intellectually, he had no way of knowing one album or artist from another. His only guide was his spirit and in almost eleven years he hasn’t missed once. This has convinced me that our spirit is a far more powerful force in our life than we imagine. When it isn’t hindered by the mind and intellect, it can make us aware of the true spiritual condition of a person or situation easily and quickly. There aren’t many teachers who teach that by example, but I’ve been lucky. I found a good one.

We have a standard joke around our house that explains another thing I’ve learned from my son. It goes like this: Marcus (our other son) gets the toy; Treg gets the box. Parents know what I’m talking about. We’ve all experienced the frustration of shopping for just the right toy for our child only to see him express more fascination with the box that held the gift itself. This is especially true when the child is very young. When he gets older, of course, this changes to the point that he is content with the new toy only until the next commercial comes on TV. Not so with Treg. He’s still content with the box.

Watching him play contentedly with a toy of his own making or a small piece of paper torn from the “TV Guide” reminds me that satisfaction comes from within, not from the latest gadget or style. It reminds me that peace is not found in possessions but in simplicity; that covetousness and greed are their own punishment. His contentment makes me restless with my own lack of it. It haunts me and makes me wonder how far I am from God’s ideal. It’s a good lesson, though, and I’m thankful he’s been there to share with me.

The last area I want to mention is perhaps the most important. More than anything else my son has helped me see that true value is found not in productivity but rather in being. To an age enamored with super-stars and intelligentsia, his existence is a slap in the face. To a society that considers the removal of the inconvenient and non-productive as a right, he is a warrior. He is a stinging reminder to a world that’s lost its senses and knows nothing of genuine worth and dignity. His life is a statement from heaven. He stands as a prophet in the midst of moral chaos and proclaims the heart of God. Who could ask more of a son? Not I. My wish is that I might stand by his side and do the same.

That’s my son. The world calls him handicapped and decides that he will never produce much of value, certainly, that he will never teach another. But that isn’t true. I know that God chooses the foolish to confound the wise, the weak to shame the strong, and the vulnerable to touch the hardened. I know that, if we choose, any of us can learn from those Jesus calls “the least of these.”