Lessons from a Church Gypsy

Read: 1 peter 2:1-10 and 1 Corinthians3

Our family is a band of church gypsies.  The theological education of our children, the spiritual development (so much as it can be up to any mortal) of our individual members, and the devotion to and worship of our Lord God is always first and foremost in our thoughts and deeds.[1]  However, we do not have decades-long ties to any particular church in our area.  We have been vagabonds, moving through and among congregations as deftly as, well…gypsies through the countryside. 

I share this with you today because what troubles me, greatly, are the lines of division that have been carved among believers; lines that are meant to separate ourselves from each other.  Particularly as we speed toward an election that has been extremely divisive for our nation, I am troubled at the “us versus them” mentality within the body of Christ.  Denomination against denomination.  Conservative against liberal.  Sister against brother.  We have allowed our ideologies to taint the gospel, to mar the message of one body in Christ, to defame the unity for which Jesus expected us to strive.  When we are a house divided, we are easy to dismiss.  To ignore.  To refute.  When we cannot treat one another charitably, how can we be expected to be light in an increasingly uncharitable world?

I know that there is no perfect church, for each community is comprised of imperfect sinners.  And we each are (hopefully) doing our best to live out the gospel.  Thus, if a community other than yours, or an individual believer, is acting within the bounds of scripture, yet doing something you wouldn’t do or in a way that you wouldn’t do it, might I suggest you look upon them with “Pollyanna” eyes?  Find the good they are striving toward, before lambasting them and tearing down what their character or denomination or expression of faith.  Remember that you and your church are just as imperfect and therefore in as much need of Christ’s grace as they.           

Our family has been a part of numerous communities of believers in our eight plus years in rural Colorado; each like a particular bloom in my heart, that when I look back upon them all I see a garden.  A tapestry from which we have learned and in which we have grown   There have been none we left on poor terms; and we pray that each continues their ministry and grows in vibrancy.  We have simply been called to move on at different times; some are obvious in hind-sight, others less so.  But our fluidity through these communities has left a beautiful mark in me, each one something I would regret deeply to have missed.        

I’ve loved the liturgy of the mainline churches we’ve attended; and yearn for it on the holy days when reverence is what the heart desires.  I’ve delighted in the dancing of non-denominational settings, where being yourself before the Lord is greatly expected; and where the community knows you and accepts you and you don’t have to rehash your journey every 2 months.  I’ve relished delving deep into the Word, going verse-by-verse in other non-denominational (-but-we’re-big-enough-that-we-really-are-our-own-denomination) congregations.  And I’ve cherished breaking bread weekly with another community who sought to truly live out missional lives.  I’ve learned from the vitality of a small group gathered primarily to make a difference in their community.  And oh how I miss that one group of lifers who just got each other, cared for and supported one another through whatever life slung at them. 

To have missed what each community taught me, what they drew out of me, would be a great tragedy to my spirit.  I love that as a member of the body of Christ, I can move within these people and glean from them the beauty therein.  Each place literally lightens my heart when I think of it, of the people who welcomed us and loved us and taught us and worshiped with us.  I can’t wait for the coming, epic reunion in Heaven when we’ll all be together as one family…worshiping our Lord together.  What a party that will be!  Laughter I can’t even imagine now and warmth and love I can’t fathom here.  The smile on my face at the very thought is so wide my cheeks are starting to hurt.  That is joy. 

Thus, I want to encourage you, visit some churches in your area.  Go outside of your brand of worship.  Recognize that just as you are individually created to enjoy a particular flavor of service, so are others; and that we have so much to gain when we respectfully share our way of drawing nearer to our Lord.  Stretch yourself and meet your extended family in Christ.  See how they worship, and do not judge, but enjoy their expression of love for our Heavenly Father.  Listen to their teachings, and so long as they keep with scripture, learn from them.  Shake their hands, let them welcome you, as family you may yet not know.  Return their smiles.  Open your heart.  Be blessed by them, and in turn bless them.  For one day, those of us who believe, will all be set at the King’s table for a feast in honor of His Son, celebrating His Love and Grace for each and every one of us.  Thus, if it is to be so in the age to come, should it not also be now? 

Lord, may Your kingdom come here on earth,

as it is and shall be in Heaven.

Amen.

---

[1] On that note, we’re rolling out our family motto and life plan; which I’ll be outlining in the new year. 

Joyfully attending the mourners

I have spent the past two weeks examining how joy can look through trials.  And I have landed where one should, when seeking this truth in scripture: God is sovereign.  Over both the good and the bad.   

Thus today, I will end this mini-series with a note for anyone who is not in time such as I, those who are dancing in the bright and open spaces.  Those who find themselves reveling in goodness.  For them, we look at Job’s friends and we can discern how to joyfully attend one who mourns.

Read: Job 2:1-13, 4:1-6:26

source

 

In Job’s case, the mourning we see is literal.  All his family, save his wife, has died.  His fortune decimated [which in that time and without children to attend him, made him a drain on society and even lower on the social food chain than widows and orphans]; his health suddenly deteriorated so that his is physically miserable every waking moment and unable to find respite in sleep.

Job’s friends, as is likely fitting when we look at chapters 4 through 6, get a bad rap more often than not.  And with our hindsight, with our knowledge of the end of Job’s story, it is easy to pin the moniker of “bad friend” on them.  However, we must examine their actions in sequence.  One of my favorite moments in the early chapters of Job comes in chapter 2, verses 11 through 13.  Job’s friends hear about what all has happened to him.  And they are compelled to go to him.  And comfort him.  And when they see him, they sat on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights, because they see how great his suffering is. 

There is something in each of us that pulls us to our loved ones when they’re hurting.  An urgent feeling of needing to be where they are.  Not for any particular purpose, but to lend comfort with our physical proximity.  Job’s friends heed this, and go to where he is, to simply be there with him in his pain.  Once they are there, they don’t utter a word for seven days or nights.  They know there is nothing they can say to pierce this pain.  Words are too flimsy and whatever they might say at this point would only serve to undo whatever comfort their presence has brought.  Attending Job in silence is the only thing they can do.  And it is enough.    

I find that this is the mark of a good friend.  Someone who can show up, uninvited, and just be.  Someone who listens if the mourner is ready to speak, and waits if the mourner is not.  Someone who, with their physical proximity to the situation, validates the pain of the mourner; whose presences says, “This hurts.  And it’s okay that it does.”  These are the types of friends we all need; the type we should be.     

Yet there are times in life when one’s mourning may not seem as warranted.  You might find a friend mourning the loss of a dream [career, house, opportunity, fill in the blank].  And it might seem foolish to grieve, even slightly, for something they never had.  You may, in light of whatever situation you encountered, be tempted to list all the things that are right in their life at that time; trying to call their mind to blessings and set them in a spirit of thankfulness.  But we are not the arbiters of pain, of what hurts whom, nor how much.  Our duty, as friend and Christ follower, is to mourn with those who mourn; and to rejoice with those who rejoice.  To not pass judgment on what should or shouldn’t hurt, or how much, or for how long.  And to check every word that you think should come out of your mouth before you spew it.  Yes, there will be times when you can impart truth into a life in desperate need of it.  But carefully measure your words; because the ill-timed comment or the thoughtless lesson can do more damage and cause further separation [at least initially] than loving silence. 

Thus we can look to Job for our times of sorrow.  We can find that regardless, God is sovereign.  And in Job’s friends, we can see how to love a friend through their trial…and how not to as well.         

 

An Ode to the Mother of days

 
Some parenting advice, on Mother's Day:

The reason I was compelled to write this, in the waning of the day, is that in the space of thirty minutes online, I read two blog posts: one from the male, another from the female perspective, one e-zine article [female], and two very high-profile pastors' sermons [both male] for Mother’s Day.  Each covered the topic of how to be a BETTER parent! 

Yeah, because mothers everywhere need more of that.  More advice, more admonishing, more rebuking.  More lectures on what she should be doing, what she shouldn’t be doing, what she’s never even considered, but is still doing wrong, or not enough, or entirely too much.  More ways to wake up every morning, knowing that by the time she rests for the night, she will have failed her child in a million different, tiny ways.  More ways to look in the mirror and fight the tears because she’s not the mom she wants so very much to be.  More standards to which she should hold herself; more unattainable goals to reach for.  More striving to become who she is not.    

And I found myself asking, rather forcefully: When do we get to give ourselves a break?  When do moms get to get off the guilt-go-round and recognize that God (Giver of all good and perfect things, Author of life, and the Creator who made you uniquely you, and Who delights in that very creation) gave us our kids for a purpose?
Because, as the omniscient, omnibenevolent, all-perfect being, God knows what You being their mom means: what gifts you'll give, what investments through sacrifice, what perspectives and lessons you'll teach.  Not the mom in your bible study, who always has it together, not the mom who’s raised her kids so “successfully.” Not even the bloggess whose world, even though quasi-transparent, is so much more holy and perfect than your own could ever be. 

God picked you to be the mom to your kids.  You have been endowed with qualities that specifically make you, and only you, right for this very purpose.  I can’t tell you the why; though I suspect, deep down, you already know that yourself.  There is something about you, that will draw out of your children a light, a spark, an unflagging and singular character that is them.  And no one else. 

Not one of us is the perfect mom.  If ever she existed, Jesus wouldn’t have had to die.  But she, this Mom de Perfection, is a work of fiction.  A lie bent on making us doubt, making us feel unworthy, making us work to change the very things about ourselves which cause us to be the best version of mom we can be.

Find that thing, that one which makes you that Mom.  The woman specifically designed and chosen for your kids.  And don’t let anyone, not anyone, take it away from you, or tell you that you’re doing the mom thing all wrong.  Because when you inhabit the person you were made to be, and live all your life radiating out from that place, you’re glorifying the One who made you so.           

This is a clip from the movie, Evening, in which Claire Danes, a young mother, striving to live the perfect-Mom life, sings a lullaby.  I don't remember much else from the film [so this isn't a blanket endorsement], but I know that I re-played this scene over and over, finding comfort in her un-perfectness and how she abandoned the things-that-everyone-else-thinks-need-doing to be herself with her daughters.