Wow What a Day
So. Church. Church is good. My church is awesometastic. I had a friend who's an atheist comment that he's skeptical about people needing other people to tell them what to believe, and though, in open-minded(ish) Seattle, if one needs such a crutch that's ok, it's pretty clear that's what he thinks it is, a crutch. But that's not it.
Ya see, in "open-minded Seattle" it's hard to be a Christian. It's a constant struggle to show love and the true heart of God when most everyone around you thinks you're A. Insane, B. Deluded, and/or C. A hate monger. Frankly, it's exhausting. Since my teens I've hung out with the lost, the confused, the pagan, the atheist, the homosexual always trying to shine light in dark corners. When I was younger it was instinctual, untrained and unfocused. But, oddly, I find 20 years later, fruitful nonetheless. Now I act with more deliberateness, more training, more focus. This doesn't mean I'm a "Bible thumper", quite the opposite. This doesn't mean my non-Christian friends are "potential converts", they're my friends and I love them. And I very deliberately love them. "Preach the gospel daily, use words when necessary." Love is an action, not just an emotion. My Christian friends I treat likewise. We're all on different parts of the path. There's no division in my mind between those I love, should they believe or not. As I once told my beloved baby brother over a pint as a family member lay dying, I couldn't love him any more if he were a Christian, I don't love him any less because he's the only one in the family who isn't. He is my brother and my love for him is unconditional and my respect and compassion for his struggles unlimited. Honestly, I have received some of the most unconditional love, good advice and solid friendship from people who are not Christians. Those who truly, honestly, genuinely have room even here in "open-minded Seattle" for me show a capacity to look past their own prejudices and accept me as I am. Frankly, I am awed at their capacity for love in such a dark world without divine help. I am not capable of such.
But sadly, those are the exception, not the rule. Even among the "Christians" here I find the "mixed multitude". The combination of beliefs from all over and rarely a true, honest, educated, seeking, love for God. It's an exhausting minefield to tread. Since breaking up with Kelly and the all knowing FaceBook transmitting that broad and wide the wolves have been circling. More than a few of them have endevoured to convince me that our belief systems match up. Frankly, I'd much rather spend time with an atheist who doesn't try to bend things. The twisting of my beliefs to convince me of their suitability is far more offensive.
So "I am tired. I am weak and I am worn." I go to church not to be told what I believe. Like a Bureian I do my best to study and compare and seek God and find the Truth - if I agree with my pastor or not (and sometimes I don't!) I go to church so I don't have to be guarded. I go to church to be upheld by friends who are coming from the same place I am in their hearts and souls. I go to church to be in a community where I can freely speak, be loved and talk to people who help me sharpen my mind, my heart, my goals; who double check me. And hug me. And support me. And who understand completely that though I had to break things off with Kelly and cut off all contact with him that doesn't mean that I am not still very concerned for his well being. I go to church to relax. To drop my guard. To be weak in safety knowing no one will take advantage of it. I go to church because my shepherd (pastor) loves me and looks out for me. I go to church because I have no father, no husband, no brother nearby - I am a woman alone, and all the more so since leaving Kelly where hope dared spring - and at church I have strong brothers who love me and don't fear me or my sexuality but just support me. Sisters too, who know my tender heart and my mourning and are not confused at my ability to rejoice while I weep. I go to church because it's ok to cry and be comforted. And be strong and hold my ground. And be certain and rejoice in hope that this is for a time and there is a future, though I know not the shape of it.
A crutch? As much as allowing other people into my life and trusting them with my heart is a crutch. As much as allowing myself to have a heart and hope beyond all evidence of this twisted world that people can love each other is a crutch. No - not a crutch. A limb, if you'll allow me to stretch the analogy. Not an artificial construct of support but a natural part of myself, of humanity. The ability to come together and form a group where one can find safety and solace.
And so it was today. Two serious things happened. The sermon and something else. Emmaus Road follows the Lectionary. At first I found that rather off-putting after being raised a Conservative Baptist and then attending Calvary Chapel where they go "line by line, verse by verse." But my pastor doesn't read it and let it sit. He delves and it is good. He's a good speaker and a solid learned man. Though really I'm not sure I heard much today beyond the scripture readings themselves. My heart grabbed them, applied them to me and I cried.
I Kings 21:1-12 and Luke 7:36-8:3. Widows who's only sons died and were miraculously brought back to life. I am not a widow. I have no son. In the time period these women were truly bereft and had no financial support or ways to interact in society without their sons or husbands. I have a good job, can take care of myself, my material and social needs are met without these things, unlike these women. And yet... And yet. It amazes me, Old Testament and New the heart of God for the woman alone. The tender personal concern. His fierce hatred for those who take advantage of the vulnerable, the frail, the neglected. In the Old Testament and in Jesus' own speech in the New there's a recurring theme that He is watching and to take advantage of the weak is something that will be paid for dearly.
I am vulnerable. My heart is tender. I feel very alone. I have recently sidestepped a number of traps laid for me. It's hard for us in this modern culture to identify sometimes with David and his psalms about the enemies who seek his life. Few of us have people literally trying to kill us. But then Paul tells us not to fear those who can take our physical lives but the one that can damage our souls. And those abound. There are dangers. Should we acknowledge the preciousness of our own hearts, the value that God places on them, we suddenly can see the attacks, the soul killers, those who would take from us that which is more precious than our very lives. Our "us".
And should we be weak, should we be weary, should we stumble, God sees those who would trap us. And He cares. And does not hold our vulnerability against us, for does He not know where is came from and how in this place of arrows it was formed? No, He is angry at those who would use our very wounds against us. And there shall be retribution.
Now lest you think I am angry, which I am not, or that this is aimed at any specific individual, it's not. 'Tisn't mine to judge how others act out of their own needs or their own wounds garnered by walking in this world. I have not the wisdom. But to this I cling, He sees, even if I don't. He cares. He intervenes. The way is long and hard and fraught with dangers and I am sometimes blind, sometimes willful and sometimes weak. But He is not. He sees my heart when others misunderstand my motives. He sees the hearts of those around me when I have not the discernment. Though I may feel overwhelmed, adrift, abandoned, forced to make hard choices to avoid the soul death I know will come if I do not, there is a future. My sacrifice of tears and allowing others to misunderstand me are not in vain. They are not unnoticed. They are not misunderstood. It is enough to know I am seen and understood.
The second thing that happened today was that Kelly made it to church. He had gone last week, then had a panic attack and left before I got there. This week he made it through the whole service. He sat on the opposite side from where I was. Few people saw him except me. After we took communion I was crying so hard I stepped outside for a minute not to be a distraction. As I was leaning against the wall sobbing he walked out past me. He just said, "Ouch." without pausing and then headed downtown.
I'm glad he made it. I cannot help him. That doesn't mean I don't want him healed.
Ya see, in "open-minded Seattle" it's hard to be a Christian. It's a constant struggle to show love and the true heart of God when most everyone around you thinks you're A. Insane, B. Deluded, and/or C. A hate monger. Frankly, it's exhausting. Since my teens I've hung out with the lost, the confused, the pagan, the atheist, the homosexual always trying to shine light in dark corners. When I was younger it was instinctual, untrained and unfocused. But, oddly, I find 20 years later, fruitful nonetheless. Now I act with more deliberateness, more training, more focus. This doesn't mean I'm a "Bible thumper", quite the opposite. This doesn't mean my non-Christian friends are "potential converts", they're my friends and I love them. And I very deliberately love them. "Preach the gospel daily, use words when necessary." Love is an action, not just an emotion. My Christian friends I treat likewise. We're all on different parts of the path. There's no division in my mind between those I love, should they believe or not. As I once told my beloved baby brother over a pint as a family member lay dying, I couldn't love him any more if he were a Christian, I don't love him any less because he's the only one in the family who isn't. He is my brother and my love for him is unconditional and my respect and compassion for his struggles unlimited. Honestly, I have received some of the most unconditional love, good advice and solid friendship from people who are not Christians. Those who truly, honestly, genuinely have room even here in "open-minded Seattle" for me show a capacity to look past their own prejudices and accept me as I am. Frankly, I am awed at their capacity for love in such a dark world without divine help. I am not capable of such.
But sadly, those are the exception, not the rule. Even among the "Christians" here I find the "mixed multitude". The combination of beliefs from all over and rarely a true, honest, educated, seeking, love for God. It's an exhausting minefield to tread. Since breaking up with Kelly and the all knowing FaceBook transmitting that broad and wide the wolves have been circling. More than a few of them have endevoured to convince me that our belief systems match up. Frankly, I'd much rather spend time with an atheist who doesn't try to bend things. The twisting of my beliefs to convince me of their suitability is far more offensive.
So "I am tired. I am weak and I am worn." I go to church not to be told what I believe. Like a Bureian I do my best to study and compare and seek God and find the Truth - if I agree with my pastor or not (and sometimes I don't!) I go to church so I don't have to be guarded. I go to church to be upheld by friends who are coming from the same place I am in their hearts and souls. I go to church to be in a community where I can freely speak, be loved and talk to people who help me sharpen my mind, my heart, my goals; who double check me. And hug me. And support me. And who understand completely that though I had to break things off with Kelly and cut off all contact with him that doesn't mean that I am not still very concerned for his well being. I go to church to relax. To drop my guard. To be weak in safety knowing no one will take advantage of it. I go to church because my shepherd (pastor) loves me and looks out for me. I go to church because I have no father, no husband, no brother nearby - I am a woman alone, and all the more so since leaving Kelly where hope dared spring - and at church I have strong brothers who love me and don't fear me or my sexuality but just support me. Sisters too, who know my tender heart and my mourning and are not confused at my ability to rejoice while I weep. I go to church because it's ok to cry and be comforted. And be strong and hold my ground. And be certain and rejoice in hope that this is for a time and there is a future, though I know not the shape of it.
A crutch? As much as allowing other people into my life and trusting them with my heart is a crutch. As much as allowing myself to have a heart and hope beyond all evidence of this twisted world that people can love each other is a crutch. No - not a crutch. A limb, if you'll allow me to stretch the analogy. Not an artificial construct of support but a natural part of myself, of humanity. The ability to come together and form a group where one can find safety and solace.
And so it was today. Two serious things happened. The sermon and something else. Emmaus Road follows the Lectionary. At first I found that rather off-putting after being raised a Conservative Baptist and then attending Calvary Chapel where they go "line by line, verse by verse." But my pastor doesn't read it and let it sit. He delves and it is good. He's a good speaker and a solid learned man. Though really I'm not sure I heard much today beyond the scripture readings themselves. My heart grabbed them, applied them to me and I cried.
I Kings 21:1-12 and Luke 7:36-8:3. Widows who's only sons died and were miraculously brought back to life. I am not a widow. I have no son. In the time period these women were truly bereft and had no financial support or ways to interact in society without their sons or husbands. I have a good job, can take care of myself, my material and social needs are met without these things, unlike these women. And yet... And yet. It amazes me, Old Testament and New the heart of God for the woman alone. The tender personal concern. His fierce hatred for those who take advantage of the vulnerable, the frail, the neglected. In the Old Testament and in Jesus' own speech in the New there's a recurring theme that He is watching and to take advantage of the weak is something that will be paid for dearly.
I am vulnerable. My heart is tender. I feel very alone. I have recently sidestepped a number of traps laid for me. It's hard for us in this modern culture to identify sometimes with David and his psalms about the enemies who seek his life. Few of us have people literally trying to kill us. But then Paul tells us not to fear those who can take our physical lives but the one that can damage our souls. And those abound. There are dangers. Should we acknowledge the preciousness of our own hearts, the value that God places on them, we suddenly can see the attacks, the soul killers, those who would take from us that which is more precious than our very lives. Our "us".
And should we be weak, should we be weary, should we stumble, God sees those who would trap us. And He cares. And does not hold our vulnerability against us, for does He not know where is came from and how in this place of arrows it was formed? No, He is angry at those who would use our very wounds against us. And there shall be retribution.
Now lest you think I am angry, which I am not, or that this is aimed at any specific individual, it's not. 'Tisn't mine to judge how others act out of their own needs or their own wounds garnered by walking in this world. I have not the wisdom. But to this I cling, He sees, even if I don't. He cares. He intervenes. The way is long and hard and fraught with dangers and I am sometimes blind, sometimes willful and sometimes weak. But He is not. He sees my heart when others misunderstand my motives. He sees the hearts of those around me when I have not the discernment. Though I may feel overwhelmed, adrift, abandoned, forced to make hard choices to avoid the soul death I know will come if I do not, there is a future. My sacrifice of tears and allowing others to misunderstand me are not in vain. They are not unnoticed. They are not misunderstood. It is enough to know I am seen and understood.
The second thing that happened today was that Kelly made it to church. He had gone last week, then had a panic attack and left before I got there. This week he made it through the whole service. He sat on the opposite side from where I was. Few people saw him except me. After we took communion I was crying so hard I stepped outside for a minute not to be a distraction. As I was leaning against the wall sobbing he walked out past me. He just said, "Ouch." without pausing and then headed downtown.
I'm glad he made it. I cannot help him. That doesn't mean I don't want him healed.