A Reckoning

Lent begins today, with Ash Wednesday, A time of reflection, of repentance, of grieving and a time of giving. A time to give up some things. A time to take on others. It honestly feels like, in this last year of dealing with a worldwide Pandemic, with civil, political, social and racial unrest all around us, that there is nothing left to give, nothing left to take on. We have already had to give up so much just to get through day-to-day life. We have had to take on things we never dreamed would become routine, just to survive. So as I approached this season, my initial thought was, "Maybe just skip it this year, Sherrie." But then my next thought was that perhaps, in the midst of so much weariness, we should be all the more diligent to draw near to the One who is above and beyond all of this, while still dwelling with us in the midst of it. It feels particularly important this year. And even though it feels a little daunting to me right now, I think I need the focus and consistency that Lent can bring.

Grieving. Repentance. Grief feels like a constant companion for many of us right now, doesn't it? We've lost people we love, we've lost jobs, we've lost relationships (or for some, they feel strained beyond healing), we've lost connection. Add apocalyptic levels of unveiling that the last few years, and especially this last year, have brought within the church in America, and within my own heart, it is overwhelming at times. Yet, I do not want to grieve as one who has no Hope. I do not want my repentance to be a false contrition, but instead a legitimate turning from those things that offend God and harm others. 

As Brian and I have moved toward Anglican/Episcopal traditions, one of the more meaningful things we've come to appreciate is the common confession. Confession, both individual and corporate, is practiced every time we gather. Scripture is replete with examples of God calling for, and the people responding with, corporate confession (some of these examples are confessions voiced by those that had not physically committed the sins they confessed, yet still bore communal responsibility) - yet we have all but forgotten this as a practice or a need. There is much to reckon with, both corporately and individually. Lent provides extended time to wrestle with this and make ourselves available for God to speak.

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We are guilty.

I am weary from the onslaught of new unveilings of what Church leaders have willingly hidden (one particularly troubling investigation revealed just this last week). These often take me beyond weariness to rage, as men continue to choose to hide known sin, to believe and protect serial abusers, rather than their victims, all in the name of some sick, misguided, demonic attempt to protect (they say) the reputation of their institutions. The watching church attempting to give any justification for the silence and suppression of these heinous deeds testifies clearly that we are blind to the fact that the world is watching and mocks our self-righteous attempts to make it sound less horrifying than it is.

I am saddened by how many teachers and leaders I once held in high regard I no longer trust or respect. The vast numbers that have relinquished their witness for a seat at tables of power, those that manipulate with fear rather than lead with love, those that have abandoned a call to live the cruciform life exemplified in our Savior. We have spent decades growing a culture of celebrity (both the big "C" church celebrities and within our own small communities), of setting our leaders on pedestals. We accept blindly the fear many of them peddle, we forsake (at their instruction) love of neighbor in exchange for protecting our "rights." Perhaps this has always been so and I was naïve enough to not see it. I am beginning to see this as the case. My naivety is gone, replaced by frequent battles with cynicism.

I'm horrified at what we do and say to each other, the horrific things we are willing to justify or ignore, while waving Jesus Saves flags and rarely missing a Sunday at church. The oppression we are willing to turn a blind eye to because it does not affect our lives, because it doesn't harm our children, or worse yet because we may benefit from the oppression of others. The silence we encourage and even enforce in the name of a false peace, an artificial unity. The often complete abandonment of seeing the imago dei in each and every person we are brought into contact with.

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I am guilty. 

• I have spent my life in a larger church culture that would have me among those that lean toward believing the abuser and casting doubt on the victim. I have distinct memories of hearing rumors of abuse and my initial, trained, instinct was to believe the accused and doubt the victim. 
• I have willingly slumbered peacefully while others suffered, unwilling to give up my peace and comfort or my willful ignorance, for the sake of others. 
• I have traded peacemaking for peacekeeping, I have not listened to the cries of those who try to tell us they are suffering. I have instead listened, without question, to leaders in the larger Church culture, and even at times in the local bodies I've been a part of. I have listened to those who look like me, who have lived like me, and translated that to universal truth. I have chosen who to listen to based on what will require the least amount of sacrifice or change on my part.
• I have not loved my neighbor as myself. I have chosen accumulation, scarcity mindset, ease and convenience rather than listening and then holding loosely to what is "mine," so that I might use it to benefit others, to work for the flourishing of our world. I pray that this season will bring me a full awareness and clarity of new ways to release my resources for the good of others, for the building up of new ways of being together in this world. 

I have been complicit in all these things. I am certain there are days I am guilty still.

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The Church is losing a large part of an entire generation. Many of them have seen through the whitewash we keep layering on, many have been harmed by abuse or unchecked authoritarian and patriarchal rule, many are sick of watching the exchange of character for power, or the making of nationalism and political parties as markers of spiritual faithfulness. We like to blame it on all manner of "worldly influences," but the responsibility for that loss is primarily ours. I count myself among those responsible for this mass exodus. I have no doubt there are things I have done and said, didn't say and didn't do, things I did not question out loud (due to my own fear), but should have, my own self-righteous certitude, have contributed to some close to me wandering or walking away completely. I can blame it on "the world" or I can own it, repent, learn better and live differently.

This is hard to write. It is hard to reflect on. I would guess it is hard to read. Our natural inclination is to push back, to offer excuses, to distract ourselves with the busyness of our job or family or ministry (all good things). Or we offer a brief, cursory apology, without serious reflection on the harm our forefathers have caused, that we allowed to perpetuate, and then became perpetrators in our own right -- without working toward how best to repair it and avoid it in the future. I pray that instead of all those things, we will see this reckoning for what it is. It is an apocalypse, an unveiling, of a systemic sickness that has pervaded the church in America for far too long. God is allowing the cover to be ripped back for the world to see. We have allowed the creation and continuation of institutions, churches and para-church organizations that elevate celebrity, that broker in fear and the creation of enemies, that perpetuate culture wars rather than foster enemy love. It is ugly. And we need to see it and face it for what it is. 

Instead of circling the wagons and grabbing for cover, instead of blaming and shouting excuses, instead of once again making this an "us vs. them," instead of simply saying we're glad that's not our church or not our leaders... that we would corporately repent of worshipping an institution more than Jesus, holding more tightly to our perceived reputations than to truth and justice, of loving power, money, comfort and acclaim more than faithfully serving the least of these. To be fair, this may not even be a conscious choice for some of us - I would say honestly, that for a long time it was not conscious for me. I was simply marinating in the juices of these structures. At some point though, we become responsible for what we marinate in, responsible to those this system harms, even if we did not actively help build it. 

We can claim that discussing these things "gives Jesus a black eye" or "harms the reputation of the Church,"  or "just stirs up division," but these are excuses. Jesus does not need us to defend Him. And NOT talking about and facing these things is what is destroying our witness before a watching world. We must make a choice to tear it down and build instead that which is truly good news, the gospel, for all people, as Jesus has commissioned us to do. Even though I am more aware now, the tendency to want to back up, to go back to not knowing, to go back to sticking my head in the sand, allowing "them" to make the rules and I just follow along, is strong. I must daily repent and choose to walk in full awareness.

I recognize this sounds super depressing - and it is. I am thankful that Lent teaches us that seasons of grief, of facing hard truths, are necessary and need to be faced on the regular. There are faithful teachers, leaders, pastors. There are men and women that live openly, transparently and faithfully. There are those giving up power and acclaim and popularity to serve faithfully in their homes and their small groups and their cities and churches. The faithful are here. They are serving to be agents of Christ to restore what has been broken. They are far from perfect, but they are indeed faithful. And I am thankful to be a part of one of those churches.

The truth is that none of that good in the midst of the hard negates our need to repent corporately, one and all, for what we've settled for, covered up, approved, even worshipped. We need to both individually and corporately repent of all that has nothing to do with Jesus. I am praying fervently that this season of Lent will lend itself to bold, courageous facing of truth, no matter how hard that is. For me first - and then for all of us.

Because on the other side of the reflection, the grief, the repentance?

Resurrection.