God is Joy?

"The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law." Gal. 5:22

"We should, to begin with, think that God leads a very interesting life, and that he is full of joy. Undoubtedly he is the most joyous being in the universe. The abundance of his love and generosity is inseparable from his infinite joy. All of the good and beautiful things from which we occasionally drink tiny droplets of soul exhilarating joy, God continuously experiences in all their breadth and depth and richness.” ~ Dallas Willard

My sense of what God is like has not been static. I can think back through my life to several different versions of God in my imagination. For lots and lots of years, He was primarily angry. In word and theology, I believed He was love, but in reality, He was too holy to even look upon our sorry, wormy selves and it was only through the sacrifice of Jesus that He could bare to cast His gaze on us. Angry. I shed that vision quite a long while ago. I spent a lot of years after that stage in the practical belief that He tolerated us - again, because Jesus. I have gradually come to believe that He loves me - in word, in theology and in reality.

As I read the above quotes in my Advent readings a couple of weeks ago, I was stopped in my tracks by the thought of God as full of Joy. This is a thought I seldom consider. God "full of joy?" I believe He loves me - I don't remember ever doubting that - but I rarely think of God and Joy simultaneously. I readily believe He is the source of my Joy, yes - but thinking of Him as exuding Joy? No.

As I've spent the days since trying to spend some time in intentional meditation, scribbling down random thoughts on this, I've asked myself, "What do you, in practical, lived reality, believe is God's disposition toward you? toward us?" -- And here's what comes to mind, if I'm being honest (and there's really no point in anything else) -- I feel like most of the time my most readily accessed thoughts about God's disposition is that He's ticked off with us because we are just so. stupid. so much of the time. Or that He's very serious, stone-faced, even. He's the stern but faithful Father - you do not doubt His love, but you also are not wrapped in warmth in His presence -- perhaps more standoffish than likely to run in for a hug. Still, my thoughts go to - "if not for Jesus"...  And I know some of you are probably getting really "but what about substitutionary atonement" right about now and getting worried that I'm diminishing the work of Jesus on the cross. This is not that, so not to worry. (Though I will go down a brief rabbit trail and throw in a little freebie here: I have in the last few years come across "Christus Victor" atonement theory. It is not new, it's as old as our faith, it's just new to me - and guys -- to the point that I've come to understand it, it has given me a much fuller view of what Christ accomplished at the cross.  This post is not about that - but, if you haven't, you should so do some reading on it. N.T. Wright is a fabulous place to begin. Now, back to the point.)

I feel like this might be an important thing for me to continue to consider. What did my Christian tradition teach me about God's disposition? What has life taught me about what love looks like and how has that formed my view of God? Do I need to shed some of that as an inaccurate, or at a minimum, imbalanced view of who God is? How does not thinking of God as full of Joy effect my view of God? my place within Him? my own general disposition as I live and move throughout life? the ways I interact with others?

I pretty easily think of Jesus laughing, teasing his friends, loving on kids - but I do not think of God in this way. Our scriptures tell us clearly that Jesus is the exact representation of the invisible God (Col. 1:15), yet as a practical life theology, I rarely think this way. Jesus is the fun parent. God is the not fun parent. And this is an easy one for me to grasp as I've spent most of my adult life being the "not fun" parent. My kids have never expected me to be the one that was spontaneous, that came up with ridiculous adventures, that encouraged risk for the sheer Joy of it. That ain't me. Brian would, more often than I care to admit, have to tell me, "Maybe just go inside and don't watch," when the kids were taking risks and reveling in the Joy of it all. I probably missed some outrageous laughter and Joy because I am always so tied to the "shoulds" and the "whatifs." I am trying to break away from that person as Mom to adult kids and as Lolly to a new generation.

As I've meditated on God as Joy the last few days, I've begun to make connections between my view of God as ticked off and stern to the ways I interact with those I disagree with. I have too often connected their performance to how I will choose to relate to them. If someone is not doing "it" the way I believe is best for them (even if I can chapter and verse "prove" that my way is obviously also God's way - please read in the much needed sarcasm font), I feel myself distancing myself from them, living with an underlying anger or sternness that I know bubbles to the surface in how I treat them and speak to them. Not ugly, but certainly not Love. Not Joy. I too often have a sense that my primary job is to make sure they know how harmful, dangerous, self-destructive, others-destructive they are living/speaking/acting - and certainly if I interact with them with Joy, they will never learn! Will they? But also, what I'm seeing is that what they more likely see and learn is that they are not accepted, not fully loved. And how likely is someone to change that feels unloved? that feels like a perpetual disappointment?

How does God teach us? By beating us with sticks? By squashing us like bugs? By killing us with His scathing rhetoric? By reminding us that we are a perpetual disappointment? I know some like this picture of God and it's become increasingly popular in our polarized society - a warrior ready to squash out dissent - but I do not. It is the cruciform Christ that we are told is God wrapped in flesh. (John 1 & Philippians 2) It is the Kindness of God that leads us to repentance (Rom. 2:4). We see this in Jesus. Going back up to the very top of this page - it is in the displays of His Spirit within us and around us, in the actions of others toward us when they allow these fruits to flow out of them, that we are pulled to the Kindness of God. He is so good to us. I want to believe that just as He is Love, He is also Joy. He rejoices over me with singing (Zeph. 3:17). He is saddened with my sometimes rebellious ways, yes. He is angered by the ways we treat others unjustly, and tolerate the unjust treatment of others, clearly. We see Jesus speak hard words in the gospels, but even then, He is, at the same time, dining with "sinners." He is always moving in closer, while still giving space for repentance. I want to live and move in ways that reflect that - even and especially, toward those I disagree with. Just as God allows us to bear consequences, just as Jesus spoke truth to power, there will be times that boundaries need to be drawn, truth must be spoken, consequences allowed to unfold. But that never negates Love. 

God, for reasons that are not hard to grasp, chose to describe Himself in ways that are wrapped up in father and mother metaphors. For many of us, this is a concept we get. We get what it means to love a kid with your whole entire being. We get what it feels like to have all the ranges of emotion as we watch them live and move throughout their journeys. But we're also so fallible, so fragile. Our vision of a full and complete love is diminished by the pain and trauma we experience here. Our imaginations are stunted by broken versions of Love that have been presented to us in family dysfunction, in toxic churches, in institutions meant to care for us. I do not want to lose sight of the fact that my picture of what someone "should" be may be marred by my own brokenness. And also, it is not my job to fix anyone. It is my privilege to love them - to make sure they know I delight in them. If they're willing to hear my terrible voice, I may even sing over them.

Today, I'm learning more of what His Joy looks like and it's giving me a fuller picture of His love for me - a more vast understanding of who God is. I want to allow that to change my relationship with Him. I want to fully grasp that He's not mad at me, not irritated with me, all the time. He's not looking down His nose at my failures. Even in my failures and frailty, He is patiently guiding me to wholeness, while at the very same time, smiling and cheering the places of growth in me.  He will allow me to face the consequences of selfish choices because this is how we learn and be right there by me when I'm ready to embrace His Kingdom way rather than my own. He laughs, He sings. He enjoys me. I want the God who is Joy to change the way I live with others. Do people believe that I really enjoy them? Not just love them, but enjoy them, right where they are, today? 

Learning what the perfect Love of God is like will be a life long journey for us. I don't ever want to think I've finally got it down. It will always be bigger than I can imagine. Better than I can envision. I want to live in the belief that just when I think God can't be any better, any bigger, any more wonderful than I've been able to comprehend, He will show up and shatter that paradigm as entirely too small.

Some Reflections on The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill

"When I hear people urge us to talk about all the good that came out of Mars Hill, asking why we can't just focus on the redemptive aspects of this story, I want to invite them to sit with Levi, Anderson, Lindsay or Michelle, and ask them the same question. I want to remind them that Jesus leaves the 99 for the one. Which means that these stories of loss, of disorientation and shattered faith matter just as much as the encouraging stories we can tell about the churches planted in the aftermath. And sometimes, if I'm being honest, when I'm in a particularly dark mood, I'll tell them that they sound like Job's friends and encourage them to talk less and join those who are sitting in the ashes and just weep." ~ Mike Crosper, from The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill

I finally finished The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill a couple of weeks ago and it's still circling around in my gray matter. If you've never heard of it, it's a podcast series put out by CT Magazine's podcast arm and can be found here.  Throughout the course of the series, I have experienced the full range of emotions. I've laughed out loud in utter disbelief at some of the things said and done under guise of "the gospel." I have raged, literally shouting to the heavens, with anger. During the final episode, I simply wept. I wept for those I know - those I love - that are sitting in the same kind of wreckage, in too much pain. too much betrayed trust, too much loss, to find their way out. I wept for those that continue to hear all the trite answers, prayers and memes that try to diminish or explain away their pain, yet only serve to drive it deeper.

If you listen to this podcast, and all you leave with is relief that Mark Driscoll is not your pastor or that you escaped Mars Hill Church, I believe you've missed the point. If we do not hear and search our hearts for the ways we have been Mark Driscoll (whether we pastor or not) and repent of and seek repair of, anything revealed; if we do not reflect on ways our own church environments currently are, or could easily become, the type of place that allows damage to hearts, lives, families; if we do not evaluate seriously the types of theologies we may be following unquestioningly without realizing the blind spots and damage they create; if we do not take seriously the level of pain so many coming out of these toxic environments are facing - then we've definitely. in my opinion, missed the entire point and wasted a lot of hours listening.

I do not personally know anyone that attended Mars Hill Church or one of it's satellites. I do not know anyone personally that was directly hurt by Mark Driscoll. I do, however, know a lot of people that have been hurt by the ways our church cultures have created pastor celebrities that are entirely, or almost entirely, out of reach of criticism, that value a toxic form of masculinity and/or authority structures (going so far as to name it as "biblical") that leaves untold numbers in their wake, that worship the certitude of their theologies while sacrificing real human lives that dare to voice doubts or speak out. I know people that have left the Christian faith entirely because of places like this. I know still more that have held on to Jesus, but continue to struggle to find a place to belong after either being officially forced out of their church, or left with such a loneliness that they felt no other option but leaving. This pain is real. Brushing it aside as "that one bad space" or that "one bad pastor" brings more pain for those still reeling from it. The sheer numbers tell us this is not a one-off issue. The Church, by the nature of our calling, is interacting with people at their deepest hearts, their most vulnerable wounds, their core values, their greatest trust. How could we think that a space that should be the safest in the world, yet abuses at these levels of heart, soul and mind, could be so easily brushed off? That it's as simple as brushing the dust off their feet and just "go find another one" that won't do that to them? This level of pain, betrayal, abuse, toxicity goes to the core of who we are as human. Five line memes won't fix it. "Our church isn't like that," won't fix it. 

The Church has some soul-searching to do. We need to grapple with the responsibility and weight of what we carry when human souls entrust themselves to a space that claims to walk as Jesus walked. Even when we are doing this as best we know how, the responsibility should always weigh heavy. But when we see it failing so spectacularly all around us, when we find ourselves complicit in harming others as we choose worldly power or fame or structures or ideologies over the cruciform way of Jesus - even more so then, we need to grasp the havoc we are creating in lives and hearts. We need to be willing to sit with our mouths shut and listen. No excuses. No theology rants. No passing the buck. Listen to their pain. Sit down in the ashes and weep with them. Love them.

We can choose not to. We can circle our wagons, we can blame it on what must be their own waywardness, we can explain away the numbers in ways that bring no personal responsibility. We can. Just as Herod thought he could wash his hands and be innocent of his choices, we can try that route as well. We will be just as wrong and just as responsible. 

All Saints Day

Today is All Saints Day. This is not a day I ever considered until about six years ago, when we began to follow the Church calendar. It is a day set aside to honor the Saints that have gone before us. At our gathering yesterday, Stephen and Karen encouraged us to honor and remember the Saints that have impacted our own lives and we spent the morning doing that - listening to stories from friends there, of those that have gone before them, that impacted who they are today...the ways they did that both in their faithfulness and in their brokenness. As they spoke, I was struck with how much those people I've never met are now impacting my life through my friends that loved them.

I've spent a lot of time since thinking about those I love, those that have impacted me, that have passed on before me. My first thoughts went to my grandparents, the ways they impacted my life, the stories, the memories, the kindness and love they gave freely. I thought of the ways they shaped my parents, who in turn, have shaped me. And how I've since shaped my children. They've all been gone for many years now, yet their lives continue to impact even my grandkids.

My thoughts also went to three different people outside of my biological family I've loved that died much younger than we typically think of as fair. None had lived the "long, full life" that we want spoken of when we're giving our final goodbyes. With each of them, it was too soon. And their lives had much pain. There was trauma, physical illness, mental illness, heartbreak. There was also joy, love, belly laughs and connection. In their pain, they sometimes hurt those they loved the most. They also enriched those same lives, and many others, in ways we will likely never fully grasp. They sometimes frustrated me. And they also taught me love in ways I had not before imagined.

This is life. We heal and we hurt. We nurture and we damage. We mess up and we begin again.

The biggest thing that struck me as I thought through all these messy, beautiful lives that changed who I am today is the consistent presence of Jesus. He never ceased to love. They never ceased to love - even when they could not find ways to express it in healthy ways, they still loved. 

And Jesus loves us - our entire messy, beautiful selves. I do believe He will consistently pull us toward healing and wholeness. His love is not an excuse to wallow in, or harm others, in our brokenness. But neither is it ever a condemnation in our brokenness. We are fully and completely loved.

I pray that I will learn to see people this way more often. Beautiful and broken. Life is hard and sometimes the levels of brokenness will require safety and boundaries. But I pray I will never lose sight of the humanity of those God loves. I pray I will never lose sight of the fact that the imagi dei in every single person, and the ways I treat that, impacts who I become. I pray I'm becoming more and more like the love of the One I follow and that it will be that love that leaves the biggest impact on those coming behind me.

Loved. 

No matter what. 

Love is always the first thing. 

And always the last thing.

Those Who Have Left

I've been thinking a lot the last few days about those who have left the Church in the last few years. Some have held on to Jesus, but have lost all confidence in the institutional Church in America (or at least within driving distance of their homes). Some have left the Christian faith entirely. I know and love people in both of these categories. There are a multitude of reasons - many, many of them valid.

I grieve for the loss, both in the vast numbers and in all the individual lives. For we have lost much in the gifts and love of those that are now gone. We are a Body and losing any part of us should be painful. We should feel gaping wounds. We should weep and mourn, looking to ways we were and are complicit in discouragement and pain so great they felt no other option than leaving. Instead we too often look for ways to lay the blame "out there" and sooth our consciences with our tidy, buttoned-down answers.

I want desperately for those I love that have walked away to see Jesus in our Churches. Not the Americanized version of Jesus. Not Republicans. Not Democrats. Not culture wars. Not liberals or progressives or conservatives.

It is not our perfectly laid out theologies, not our valiantly fought culture wars that will bring them back or prevent others from leaving. Not our perfectly planned and aimed shaming or shouting. Not our power moves or our cancelling. Ultimately, it will be our repentance from all the ways we have misrepresented Jesus.

Jesus. For it is His love that compels, it is His kindness that leads.

It is Jesus.

Revel in the Journey

I've wrestled much the last few years with my relationship to our Christian scriptures. I have so many questions. Many of them are questions I've had for, quite literally, as long as I've been reading scripture (that's a really long

time). I have never stopped being moved by the words of scripture, never ceased to believe that life is found here, but the down-pat answers to every single question simply were not leaving me with the peace that I think was intended. If I didn't know, it was simply a matter that I hadn't studied enough. I never felt like I was in an environment that I could voice my questions without my faith or devotion to Christ being brought into question. I felt safe to have generalized doubt related to suffering, but doubts about the nature of God or the Bible or cherished doctrines...not so much. The couple of times I did scrape up the nerve to ask a question, they were dismissed with a well practiced answer that did not actually answer the question. So I stopped asking. I fell in line. And I stayed in line throughout decades of church, nearly two of those decades as a pastor's wife.

Until I couldn't anymore. 

I've spent the last several years reading a wide array of teachers, finally asking my questions and actively looking for actual answers. I still don't have all the answers, but I've learned and grown and found some peace in being open to different approaches. Hearing for the first time theologies that were never even touched on in all my years deeply involved in churches, only to find out that they are not new at all. They just weren't, apparently, okay to explore in my tradition. But they're coming from faithful, Jesus-following, Bible studying teachers. They don't all agree with one another. I don't always agree with all of them. What I love is no longer being afraid to explore and question and discuss and engage with different thoughts and perspectives and cultures. 

I'm currently reading N.T. Wright's, Simply Christian. I've heard quotes of his for two decades, but never read one of his books until last year. This is my third, and so far my favorite. Part of the book is discussing doctrines of escatology and how they impact our lives practically that make so much sense to me and do not operate out of fear and doom. But in all the fascination with, and emphasis on, end times theology I grew up on, I never once heard these teachings.

This podcast series I linked is giving me so much ---hmmm, hope, maybe? The whole entire podcast is fabulous, but the current series is looking at how the Bible was formed and how we're actually meant to use it. Again, there is so much here that was never spoken of in my circles. It is beautiful and it is opening my eyes to why I've likely been frustrated for such a long time. I'm really looking forward to digging in deeper. 

I am incredibly thankful for a husband that has walked every step of this journey with me, letting me ask him a million questions, asking many of them with me, as we explore together. And cheering me on as I explore others on my own. I am exploring contemplative prayer with a couple of other friends and finding exactly what I needed right now in this new space. 

After years of thinking I could not rest until I had all those questions answered, I have finally realized that I do not have to know all the answers. We're exploring the God of the universe. And God won't be contained within our man-made systems. A whole lot of humility is necessary when we're making attempts to explain God. "I don't know," is sometimes the best answer we can give, or get. I'm finding that much Joy is found in embracing the mystery and being okay with not knowing. 

I am so thankful for a community of believers that hash this all out together, safe to ask all the questions, admit the doubts, disagree and still love, explore and learn and re-learn together, challenge and be challenged. A place where the leadership isn't afraid to stir up some dust and embrace new thoughts, listen to the questions and raise some of their own. A place where we're willing to hear hard truths, even when those truths mean we need to repent and go another direction. Because we're never really done. This is where I want to live. 

As I was listening earlier today to the podcast (I'll link it in the comments), this thought struck me... This way of engaging with God and with my community feels like taking great huge gulps of fresh air when you've been under water too long, or after you've been breathing smoky, stale air for far too long. God is huge and invites us to revel in the journey of exploration. I won't ever go back to any other way.

Shalom

 Shalom

If we reduce it to one English word, we would typically use "peace." And because we inherently tend to reduce things to their most simplistic form, we may be prone to believe that peace is simply the absence of conflict. 

The word shalom goes much deeper. Deeper than most of us are comfortable with. It encompasses taking what is broken and restoring it to wholeness. Taking many complicated, moving parts and putting them together as they're meant to be. Complete. As originally intended. 

It is not simply ceasing to be at war or to simply "lay down arms." It is not even an absence of disagreement. It is not saying, "I'm sorry," or even asking for forgiveness, though those things are important. It is more. It is deeper. It is taking action steps to restore what is broken to wholeness.

Jesus has called us to be peacemakers. With a deeper understanding of shalom, this is much more than a peacekeeper (which seems to be the more popular understanding of what we should be doing as Christ followers). We are not called to silence disagreement. Again, peace is not simply the absence of conflict. We are called to do the hard work of restoring what is broken to it's originally intended purpose. To wholeness.

This work of peacemaking takes listening. Learning about all those complicated, individual, moving parts and how they work together. It takes understanding what is broken and how it got that way. It takes compassion and empathy. It takes a willingness to be wrong, to be unsettled. This work cannot be done without being teachable, without discomfort, without hard conversations, without repentance, followed by restorative action.

Attempts to silence those who have been harmed by the brokenness we live in, (and that our very brokenness has created), is peace*keeping*. It can feel better, because if we are successful (and clearly we often are), it appears no one is complaining (when in truth, they've likely either just left the metaphorical building, or never entered it in the first place because it is not a safe place for them). It *appears* to be peace, but it is actually oppression. We do this on a myriad of ways. Hiding. Ignoring. Manipulating truth. Legislating. Shaming. Blaming. Name-calling. The list of tools in our peace*keeping* toolbox appears endless. 

Jesus-followers, peace*keeping* is not our calling. I could name specific instances we are prone to this, but I am forcing myself to refrain from that. I do not want this to become either a "yeah, but" or a way to excuse ourselves because we've never actively participated in "that" - we do it in a myriad of circumstances. I would challenge you (me,...us) to begin to look with new eyes. Are we peacekeeping or peacemaking?

"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God." (Matthew 5:9)

(Side note: Most of my word study related to this has come from The Bible Project. You can find them online and they are fabulous.)

Stop

 "It is not hard to find, it is hard to stop running from."

I'm thinking about how often God feels silent,

The skies shut up and far from me.

But I wonder: Am I so busy "running,"

doing all the things I've been instructed will prove 

my faithfulness

or His existence,

rather than just. stopping,

that I do not see? Do not hear? Do not feel?

God IS here.

In the fluttering butterfly,

the breeze that allows me to be outside, even in this late September heat wave,

in the sweet silence of two babies resting,

the singing cicadas, reminding me that Oklahoma is not quite finished with summer. 

If I will stop, just STOP, He may indeed be silent, but He is not absent.

Resting here, I can learn that it is okay to not have answers.

It is okay to doubt.

He is much better than my doubts, and fully surrounds all of this in His love. 

Not a squishy love that needs constant propping up, defending, reassurance.

Not a harsh "truth above all, your feelings be damned" love either.

A steady, constant, shalom kind of love.

"He spares us from nothing, but sustains us in all things."

This world is hard.

It is harsh.

It is unknown

And we cannot be spared.

In the midst of this reality, He is with me. WITH me.

Look for Him in the ordinary, the beautifully mundane spaces around me.

STOP

A Life Devastated

We have been walking slowly through the latter half of David's life in the lectionary readings the last few weeks. I find the story of David's life to be one of the saddest of the Old Testament. He starts well, but the latter half of his life is utterly devastating for me to read. We begin with a young man, not perfect, but one whose singular purpose is to love and serve God and lead well. I do not believe he ever stopped loving God, but it becomes evident that his primary focus changes. This last weekend we read the story of his son, Absalom, and how his life ended. It nearly brings me to tears every time I read it. It is a lengthy bit of reading. This week's reading is in 2 Samuel 18, but to get the full context of the story, you need to back all the way up to chapter 11. Here we find David beginning his descent. He takes what is not his - Bathsheba - and forces her to become first his mistress, and then his wife. He has her husband killed to cover up what he's done and many others are killed and injured in the process. When confronted, David does acknowledge his sin and repent, but he, asking with his family and his subjects, spends the rest of his life living with the consequences. In a cruel twist, we arrive at chapter 13 and find one of his sons (Amnon) raping one of his daughters. David knows this has happened and does nothing to bring justice for his daughter. He is angry, we are told, but takes no action. The rest of the story unfolds with the anger turned vengeance of another of his sons, Absalom. In the void left by David's unwillingness to bring justice, a rift opens up between Absalom and David that will never be healed - ending in the death of Absalom.

We can be sure that the devastation began with David's decision to take what was not his, for his benefit and at the expense of many others. His desire to possess another person, to have more than he could possess righteously, led to the destruction of his family and life long harm to many others. We need to take careful note here: Many people, generations of people, were hurt by David's sin. His repentance did not change that fact. Many people that bore no guilt in his sin bore long term consequences because of his choices. 

I was struck by the consequences of David's failure to act after he repented before God. We see Amnon, his son, following in his footsteps, taking what was not his for his own pleasure and benefit in raping his sister. Did David follow-up his repentance before God with repentance to his family? We are not told. But I have to wonder - did he fail to pass on to his children what he had learned from his own catastrophic failure?  Did he fail to repent before them for what they had witnessed and then seemed to emulate? We are told that he does not take action after the rape of his daughter occurs. He is angry about what happened, but he does not act to bring justice. Perhaps he saw glimpses of himself in the actions of his son and rather than face it all head on, he did nothing. We do not know the reason, but whatever it was, it crippled him with inaction. The consequences of his inaction further devastate his family and bring pain and separation with his fighting men. Absalom, in his anger and desire for justice not given, resorts to vengeance. Once again another son follows his father's example of trying to take by force  what is not rightfully his (in this case, the life of his brother, the loyalty of his father's men and the throne). And David, once again, with opportunities all along this devastating journey to change course, to right wrongs, to seek reconciliation, does nothing. 

David did repent, yes. But his failure to follow through and to act with justice and righteousness and reconciliation afterward continued to devastate his family and his country for generations to come.

How often am I grieved by my sin, but do not follow up to repair the breach with the people my sin has harmed?

How often am I angered by the injustice I see around me, but am unwilling to take action to bring justice when action is within my power?

Am I crippled by inaction because I fear losing what I believe to be "mine?"

Does my ongoing guilt stifle my ability to live fully as God would desire me to live? Am I carrying around baggage that is ultimately harming others because I refuse to deal honestly with what is happening?

I pray I will learn from the pain and devastation the end of David's life exemplified. Rather than repeat it, that I will pursue full healing and restoration with those around me, that I will pursue justice in whatever ways it is within my power to act.

Living Into the Tension (Part 3) - Criminal Justice

 I've spent some time the last couple of days praying for a loved one that is spending their birthday in a prison cell. Even in the midst of terrible overcrowding, except for their cellmate, they are almost totally alone. A situation that is unimaginable to begin with has become even worse during COVID. Most of us cannot imagine living under these conditions. And most of us rarely think of the thousands of people that do live that way. "They made their bed," is our general philosophy and that makes it easier to forget about them. In this particular situation (and thousands others like it), the crimes committed, non-violent crimes, are rooted in trauma, in abuse, and addiction. None of those things have ever been dealt with in any way as they've sat "paying their debt to society." Lots of bad choices were made. No one forced them to commit their crimes and they will bear the consequences of them for the rest of their life. Long after they've theoretically "paid their debt," they will continue to be held down and back from pursuing the same freedoms we enjoy every day. The system is set up, in the vast majority of cases, to create further punishment and recidivism rather than rehabilitation and return to society.

Loving someone living through this is one of the things that sent me down the rabbit hole of our criminal justice system and it's history. Our society and it's systems, the systems that the majority of us accept as right and good and fair, literally end up creating criminals.  We are content to blame and shame, okay with ignoring the roots of poverty, racism, abuse, addiction, mental illness, at least until it reaches close into our home. Then we want those most harmed by these things we've ignored locked up out of our sight. It helps us continue to ignore systemic issues that we have the ability to address, but do not. I can safely say all of this, because it was me, it was my people. Loving someone harmed by all of those things throughout their childhood forced me to look at things from the other side. The roots of much of our systems were created within racist ideologies. Civil rights laws have not changed that - it just forced it to morph into different verbiage. It has ravaged black and brown communities and has stretched into those living in poverty from every category. Being poor, and especially poor and black, has become one of the single biggest hurdles to overcome if you've been caught in this system. I was blind to this, content to believe "justice is blind," until I took the time to read, to talk to people most effected, to walk through it with at least one. Our justice system, at all it's levels, is not blind. It sees color, it sees class, it sees wealth and poverty and it punishes, or does not punish, accordingly.

We know that innocent people are executed, yet are content with capital punishment (and church folk continue to support this at much higher rates than the general population). We know that innocent people still sit on death row, yet do not advocate for their release. We know that absurd numbers of people are held for months, years even, awaiting trial for the simple reason that they are poor, yet we do not care. We know that poor, black and brown communities are targeted, arrested, tried, convicted and sentenced for drug use at much higher rates than white and wealthier communities (though the incidence of drug use is almost identical), yet we do nothing to see this system changed. It is extremely difficult for the formerly incarcerated to get decent jobs, yet get them they must, or they will go back to jail. They are taxed with exorbitant fines, classes they must attend, drug tests they must submit to (that are often only offered during regular work hours, requiring them to miss work). All of this endangers their difficult-to-get livelihood. If they lose their job, they cannot pay their fines. If they cannot pay their fines, they go back to jail - until they can pay their fines (and to add insult to injury, while they're there, they continue to rack up MORE fines). And the cycle continues. It is a modern day poor house that those living in poverty almost never escape. Do you see how easily people with middle class to upper class wealth can step out of this system at almost any point? It is designed to punish those in poverty. We know many of these things, yet we continue to say there is nothing inherently wrong that should be changed. 

We can, as a society, continue to ignore this. On my more cynical days, I believe that is likely to be the case. Too many people benefit from the system as it is and therefore have no motivation to work to see it changed. Too many people have no motivation to work for change in areas that do not effect them or their own personal lives. But the Church? What exactly are we here for if it is not to bring the Good News, in all it's various forms, to the society God has placed us in? To bring healing, release, freedom? Is this not our calling? Even at the cost of our own personal comfort? It is NOT to build buildings, grow ministries, amass ungodly amounts of wealth. The Church, and it's individual parts, should be on the front lines of fighting for change, supporting those being consistently oppressed by systems our forefathers created and we now sustain. This is uncomfortable. Even though we claim to follow a Christ that offers grace and forgiveness to all, we have been indoctrinated in the ways of retribution and punishment in our interactions with those different from ourselves. We have to be willing to live in the tension of learning new ways - ways that I believe more fully reflect the Jesus we follow.

Are we content with what is happening around us as long it doesn't directly harm us, our families or those we love? If we are unwilling to support those who are oppressed, why is that? If we are unwilling to educate ourselves about the harm being done or the ways we could alleviate that harm, what is our motivation for status quo? These are questions we need to take the time to consider, take to prayer, ask God what our role is in the culture we live in. 

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“When people were hungry, Jesus didn’t say, “Now is that political, or social?” He said, “I feed you.” Because the good news to a hungry person is bread.” – Bishop Desmond Tutu, Anglican bishop and social activist.

Living Into the Tension (Part 2) - LGBTQ Journeys

My last Musing spoke of learning to lean into the tension that life naturally brings, learning to be okay with, "I don't know." If you haven't read it, it may help to stop here and go back and read it first (here). The Church's teaching on LGBTQ issues was one area that I would not allow even the smallest space for doubt, for questions or differing or shifting opinion. I had firm answers on all the LGBTQ issues that came up. Repent. That's it. Be kind, but still, a call to repent. Simple, right?

Then I moved in closer. I met and loved LGBTQ people. LGBTQ Christians. This journey has been a long one for me, from completely on the "it's all sin and cannot coexist in relationship with God," to... whatever it is now. I hesitate to label anything anymore, but here in all the messy unknowns, is where I find myself.

I've spilled a lot of both real and virtual ink privately over the years trying to process my thoughts, beliefs, questions and prayers on this particular subject. Because the pushback can be so harsh from all sides around this issue and because I still lived in a space of feeling like I had to have every single answer before I could speak at all, I have failed to speak out when I witnessed what I knew was bringing pain to others. Out of fear of rejection, I have been silent for much longer than is fair to those LGBTQ folks that I love. I'm becoming more comfortable with every single doctrine not needing to be buttoned up tight before speaking up or engaging on hard subjects. I also know that, because I have been so quiet, there are many of my people that will have lots of questions. What you are reading now is my feeble attempt to document my journey, so thank you for being patient with me as a stumble through.

I know people that have been driven from their church because they are gay and are now left unsure what a faith forced from the Church looks like. I have friends that are gay, yet are not Christians. They are made in the image and likeness of God and my life is better for their friendship. I know LGBTQ Christians that live in and demonstrate more deeply the fruits of the Spirit in their lives than a whole lot of straight Christians I know. I have worshiped with, taken communion with, laughed with and learned from wise, thoughtful, Spirit-filled believers that are gay. In the midst of this tension, instead of shutting down the possibility that there might be more to this, instead of shutting these people out of my life, I listened. I read. I studied. I prayed. And I witnessed God at work in the midst of this tension.

If you are reading this from a non-affirming position, you are likely readying yourself to give me all the scripture, reasoning and Church history that tell me I am wrong. I know all of them, believe me. There are just a handful of verses in scripture that have allowed us to develop volumes worth of words on this subject throughout the centuries. I know most all of it - I've said it, believed it, taught it. Then I spent time listening to and reading credible, intelligent, faithful, Christian teachers translate/interpret those few verses differently. I am intentionally not going into a great deal of detail on the hermeneutics here. If you're truly interested in listening to a variety of voices and studying it for yourself, I can get you a list of good places to start. That is not the point of this post. It's taken me years to get here and you don't have to agree with where I've landed. Here's my point: there are people that still hold to a "high view of scripture," that love and follow Jesus, that take their faith seriously, and do not believe that a person being sexually attracted to someone of the same sex, or even acting on that within the bounds of a covenant relationship, is a sin.

There is still much I do not understand. What I do understand is that there is enough, both in our growing understanding of science and biology as well as credible differences of opinion in translations and interpretations of scripture, that I will land on the side of grace and love. For me, it boils down to this: Do I believe Jesus reflects a God that, for reasons completely out of their control, for the way they were created, would require someone to choose between never having a spouse and never having children or eternal judgment? I do not. For all of us, our sexual orientation is about much more than "the act," yet we've boiled it down to almost exclusively that for these folks. The prophets of scripture, the apostles, Jesus Himself, had much more to say about a whole host of sins that the Church has no problem looking mighty lightly on (i.e., divorce, gluttony, lying, greed, anger, failing to protect the oppressed, neglecting the poor, caring for the immigrant, etc.) yet we sling the few verses we've got at folks both within and outside of our communities when it comes to the LGBTQ community as if there could be no more heinous sin than this. We do not question people at the door, excluding them from full participation, on any of these other actions. We often look the other way entirely (or give full-throated support) when even some of our leaders proudly bear these sins as markers of their character. While I can personally no longer say being gay is a sin, I do not understand how even among those that do, why this is the litmus test of the faithful? While others characterized by sins spoken of more often and with much greater detail on how much God hates those particular sins, are given grace, given respected space in our churches and ministries and families.

We reject these folks from our Churches or refuse to allow them full participation. We relegate them to a pew where they can sit and listen and give us their money, but that's about it. Should we then be surprised when they reject the God that we say rejects them? Should we be surprised when, being rejected, cast out and shamed, they abandon faith and pursue what we consider to be "godless" lifestyles? (I am honestly stunned at the number of LGBTQ Christians that continue to hold on to their faith and continue to follow Jesus in the midst of the treatment we've historically given them - this alone is a huge marker of true faith for me.) The statistics of LGTBQ kids and adults that are pushed out of the church, disowned by Christian parents, not supported and loved, forced into "conversion" therapy, are unspeakably sad - the chances they will attempt suicide, escape into drugs or alcohol, or become runaways (leading to a whole host of other unspeakable pain) are astronomical.

I still hold a lot of tension here. I hold a pretty conservative sexual ethic. I deeply believe sex is a sacred gift for us to be able to share an intimate love with someone we've made a covenant to spend our life with. It matters and I believe much pain has come from trivializing our sexuality (I also believe we've created much pain by over emphasizing sexual sin at the exclusion of so much more and creating a purity culture that leaves people, especially women, living with unwarranted shame, but that's for another time perhaps). I also know that being gay or straight is about much more than sex. We are expecting those who are gay to do what people who are straight would never be willing to do, or require of any other straight person: to be celibate, alone and single for their entire life, simply for being who they are. (Or to ask them to deny completely how they've been created and marry someone of the opposite sex anyway. The pain that is caused to both partners in these marriages is very often a burden we should be ashamed for asking anyone to bear.) Yes, there are straight people that choose to remain single and celibate for their entire lives, but it's not because they're straight and it's not because they've been told that they have to. It's not because they've been told there is something innately wrong with them that would force their singleness. It is a choice for the straight person -- as I believe it should be for our gay brothers and sisters.

The truth is, the vast majority of us truly believe we are right - when we no longer believe it, most of us change. My desire is that we not cast out, judge, and alienate someone for strongly held beliefs. Just as we desire to hold our beliefs and receive the respect we deserve, we must be willing to give the same - even if and when we strongly disagree. Two thousand years of church history stand mostly on the side of the non-affirming crowd. I'm wrestling with much of the Church's teachings on this issue, but I get the resistance. Most of us resist letting go of anything we've always been taught is truth, much less overnight. Many in the affirming crowd used to hold these same beliefs and yet have no tolerance whatsoever for others that still do. It appears easy to forget where we came from, and the journey (often a long one) that took us to a different place. I am not talking about tolerating hate, exclusion or violence in any form. But there must be space for those who are holding to what they believe to be a faithful understanding of the biblical text, while still treating all people with love and respect.

I'd also ask this same level of respect from the non-affirming crowd - begging you not to alienate, not to label as unfaithful, those with a different understanding of scripture. Above all, do not try to force someone to change who they are - the results are disastrous, life-shattering and do. not. work. 

I do not know all the answers and likely never will until Jesus one day gives them to us face-to-face. I'm sure at that point, we'll all be astounded at the things we've gotten very wrong. What I have decided is that in the midst of the tension, while I don't have all the answers, I'm going to choose grace. I'm going to choose friendship and community. I'm not going to determine someone's standing with God based on this one issue. A person's standing with God is between them and God. I'm going to choose family. I have friends that stand firmly all over this spectrum. Some believe deeply that a person cannot be both gay and Christian and that to preach anything less is not truly love. Somewhere in the middle, are those that believe it is a sin, that it is a result of the Fall and while they should be loved and accepted, it is not God's ideal. At the other end, some believe that this should not even be open for discussion, any belief other than full-throated inclusion is labeled as hate. I don't have all the answers, but what I'm not going to do is cast someone away over an issue that has valid, thoughtful, educated believers on both sides saying opposite things. God can sort this one out.

What I will no longer accept is that including LGBTQ Christians into every aspect of the Church is the equivalent of abandoning scripture. Advocating for their full inclusion and all the rights that entails into our workplaces and communities is not somehow unfaithful to God. Rejoicing with them in their joy and weeping with them in their pain is not somehow condoning sin. 

A story of moving in closer: 

One of my more difficult memories from many years back: sitting knee-to-knee with my precious friend, tears in her eyes, as she laid her soul bare in front of me, and bravely asked (when I know she likely knew the painful answer), "If I one day marry a woman, will you come to my wedding?" In that moment and at that phase of my life, I could not look her in the eye as I told her I did not know the answer to that. I did not know if I could stand with her on the happiest day of her life. I will never forget the years that I tried to change her (always gently, always with "kindness,") or the many times I prayed for God to take it away from her. I will also never forget that I loved her deeply, even in what I now believe to be my flawed place. I did not hate her, as some would have me believe. And I totally get that it can feel like hate to an LGBTQ person. I do not fault them for feeling that way, they deserve to be loved and accepted for the way God created them - right now. I just need you to know, as someone who has been there, it's not always homophobia or hatred that causes words and behavior that can bring others pain.

I now believe that it is wrong to do the things that I did, to say the things that I said, but I. loved. her. throughout all of it. I know that I hurt her. I know that people like me are probably part of the reason that, while she loves Jesus, she does not go to church. I believe it was a flawed love, but it was love -- I was doing the best I knew to do in the only space I'd ever lived, with the only information I'd ever had. 

I've asked her forgiveness for the pain I know I caused her. Years after that conversation, I did go to her wedding when she married the love of her life (a woman, if that's not clear at this point). I celebrated with her - and I meant it. I will also never forget how she loved me in both those spaces, even when I know I caused her pain and feelings of rejection - she loved me. Her unconditional love, her patience with my views, was a large part of what helped me see a different way. I don't blame people that are unwilling or unable to do what she did - those that can't give space for others to believe differently or can't give time for change. I can't imagine the kind of pain and rejection you're often dealing with, and holding us straight folk up while we figure it out is not yours to bear - but I'll be forever thankful for one that could, that did - she helped change me.

I still occasionally struggle with the voices of my past telling me I'm in sin as much as LGBTQ folks are for changing my beliefs, whispering that I no longer believe the Bible. But honestly, not as much as I used to. I know my own heart. I know my love of Christian scripture. I'm learning to find rest in the unknown, in the new. You do not have to agree with me. You also do not have to tell me all the ways I am wrong and in sin - I know all those things. Remember? I've taught them. Instead I pray that we will all remain open to new information, to the ways God may be bigger than we ever imagined Him to be and that we'll be open when He shows us those bigger ways. I pray we will all be open to the fact that there are likely things that have always just been the "clear, plain truth of scripture" that we are wrong about - and that we will be open to learning new things. The sun revolving around the earth, the earth being flat, the decimation of indigenous people groups and their cultures, "Manifest Destiny," the enslavement of black people being "God's plan," the subjugation of women, segregation and Jim Crow being the natural, God-given order: all of these were once the "clear, plain truth of scripture" in the eyes of the majority of the Church. And in many of these cases, it was scientists, activists and theologians who were faithful followers of Jesus, leading those charges for change, often while labeled as heretics. We see the apostles wrestle with new issues that they never imagined there would be a new way to consider (see Acts 15). The seismic shift this forced them to face is something we do not give fair consideration to when reading from our modern perspectives. But it was huge, all brand new, unthinkable (even unbiblical in the minds of the most devout among them). They were forced to look into the faces of other Christ-followers and face a perspective they'd never imagined. We don't always know what we don't know. We don't know what new perspectives God may introduce. Let's remain humble in that truth.

In the mean time, I will not be silent when literal lives are torn apart by silence and rejection. I will continue to pursue love. I will love and celebrate with my LGBTQ brothers and sisters and friends and teachers. I will make sure they know they are loved and welcomed and wanted. I'll learn to hold the tension. I do not have to have all the answers.