Holy Boldness

My women's group just finished reading Theo of Golden, by Allen Levi, which has spent an amazing forty plus weeks on the NY Times bestseller list. We debated back and forth on why this story has touched so many readers.

Theo is an elderly Portuguese man who quietly arrives in the southern town of Golden. He is a bit mysterious to the townspeople but steadily endears himself to them. (We examined) What is so appealing about this stranger? He connects with the townspeople in the local coffee shop. He purchases pencil sketches of many of them that hang on the wall of the coffee shop, drawn by a local portrait artist. Then he does something quite unusual---audacious---even. After purchasing the portrait, he reaches out to the individual, and asks to meet with them on a bench in the park. He spends time with them. He gets to know them, engaging them with his sincere interest in their lives, his humor, his compassion. He then gifts them the portrait of themselves to their amazement. The shifts in their lives after such a gift freely given is heartwarming--even miraculous---to watch unfold.

Sally, in our group, exclaimed, "This is holy boldness in action!" We all stopped talking and took that in. I had never heard that phrase before. What is this? It seems to be a nudge, a spark to do something beautiful, generous, with no strings attached. Beaming the light of our sincere interest, our kindness, our caring attention toward another with absolutely no expectation for anything in return.

It feels sacred. It feels courageous. It feels like opening up the best part of oneself to treat another---a stranger even---so bountifully and lovingly.

I remember being on the receiving end of this type of generosity: I was at Sendik's grocery store three months after my son Ethan died, and I was trying to pick up a large order of lasagna for what would have been his 26th birthday. I waited in line at the deli counter for my order in a shroud of grief. When it was my turn, the clerk told me that there was no such order with my name on it. I protested, saying that it was for my son's birthday party even though he was dead, that I had ordered it several days ago (I realized later that it was likely that I never actually ordered it, though I thought I did), and it was very important that they look again because it was his favorite!! I became tearful and distraught. Then, a woman several persons behind me in the line spoke up and said, "I have a large order for lasagna that she can have for her gathering. I can order something else." I turned, stunned, looking back at her. She stepped out of the line and coming toward me said, "I'm so very sorry for the loss of your son. Please take my order." She hugged me as I stood there, flooded with gratitude.

That's holy boldness in action. I am under no illusion that the lovely woman in Sendik's felt I was special or deserving of her kindness. I believe her soul simply did what we are all prompted to do when faced with the opportunity to give grace to another. What prompts us to behave in this unusual way? I believe we are wired to be bold and holy---it is how we were created to be. C.S. Lewis writes in Mere Christianity that "God puts a little of His love into us and that is how we love one another."

When have you stepped toward someone in holy boldness? How did you feel after doing that?

When have you been on the receiving end of holy boldness? How did you feel receiving that gift?