A Christianity of Boxes

I used to think that there was one right way to be a Christian. In my mind, there was no room for theological differences, or even differences in some preferences. No nuance, no sliding scales, no sometimes or maybes. Simple black and white. My whole childhood was black and white, everything fit into neat, tidy boxes. I remember well the discomfort in high school when I bumped into people with different beliefs; I didn't want any conflict, but they were wrong. I went to a college that was linked with my childhood denomination, and though that school officially agreed with what I had been taught my whole life, I met Christians from different backgrounds. Sure, we agreed on more or less most of the same things, but there was a hint of Christian diversity in my bubble for the first time.

My experience leaving college was messy and painful, and it pretty much destroyed any part of me that was still consciously hanging onto that black and white framework. I had seen too much to believe neat, tidy boxes were the way to sort my faith. As I spent the next years trying to put my life back together and figure out how to navigate as an adult, I found other people of faith who taught me great things. I discovered blogs and books and regular people just doing their best to love Jesus.

I grew up believing that rigidity was the mark of a true Christian. Now I believe that the best posture I can take is one of openness. I know full well that just as I've discarded many things I held onto dearly in the past, one day I may let go of beliefs I hold strongly now. I am more comfortable with uncertainty; I embrace it, in fact. I find great relief in admitting that I don't understand a lot, and there are so many things I don't know.

Sure, there is a part of me that still like rules. I like the tidiness of knowing what's right and what's wrong. But the messy uncertainty of learning to love freely is infinitely more rewarding than checking off boxes for good behavior, even when I know I'm falling short of loving well. The more I discover others who are throwing out checklists in favor of radical love, the less alone I feel, and the more excited I get about the love of Christ. That's when it feels magical, which is the unspiritual way of saying that I think the Holy Spirit likes it when we chase love and share love and revel in love.

Intellectually I have it all sorted out (as much as you can ever sort things out). I know what I feel in my heart, how I want to love and be loved and not feel as if I have to earn love. The reality is that I still have the echos of my childhood rules flitting through my head, so sometimes (OK, a lot of the time), I still feel as if I need to check off all the boxes even though my brain tells me the boxes are no longer helpful for me or even good for me. Often I am able to help block those echos by reading authors whose work speaks to the part of my heat that loves rather than the authors who like lists. Authors like Sarah Bessey and Glennon Doyle Melton make me feel like the only box I need to check is the one that asks if I am trying to love people (including myself). No caveats, no followup questions, not even a perfect response or completion. I like to remind myself that generally everyone is just trying to do the best they can, and that means I need to accept that my best probably doesn't equal perfection, but that's OK because nobody's does.

Why Christian?

I've been trying to figure out how to talk about the Why Christian? conference I attended a few weeks ago without sharing every single detail, because the details matter less than the big picture. I chose to attend the conference because I had been greatly impacted by the writing of the hosts of the conference (Rachel Held Evans and Nadia Bolz-Weber), plus WX15 was in my backyard (aka Minneapolis), so it was logistically possible to attend.

Big picture: the Holy Spirit was moving in St. Mark's Cathedral. Every woman who stood before the crowd shared her story, shared her love for Jesus. To see strong, female leaders of such diversity was something I had never seen, and it was, quite simply, a thing of beauty. To hear from women of different denominations, different ethnicities, different sexual orientations, different lives all share the one thing they had in common was so powerful. It makes me think of Paul's words in Gal 2:28, "There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus."

So often in Christianity it feels like we are talking about how we're different. How we're different from the world, how we're different from those Christians over there who are doing it wrong, how we're not like THOSE people over there. It was so life-giving to celebrate our commonalities instead and have our differences fall to the wayside in light of truth of who Jesus is.

Jesus chose to inhabit a human body. He lived among regular, ordinary people. He was the recipient of judgment, scorn, and violence. And yet he loves us. His love is so much bigger than I can even dare to imagine. One of the most powerful moments of the weekend for me was receiving communion. At my churches we've always had a pass-the-plate or go-get-your-elements-and-then-take-it-to-your-seat-so-we-can-take-it-together sort of approach to communion. Taking communion at St. Mark's was different. I was looked in the eye and told that Jesus broke his body for me, that he shed his blood for me. For ME. It was intimate and personal in a way communion has never been for me, and so different from the shame and guilt that often leaves me not participating in communion at my own church.

I spent so much of day two (Saturday) in tears. Part of that was grieving the loss of my aunt who passed away that morning. Part of it was simply responding to the stirring in my soul. When redemption and grace showed up in the form of Amazing Grace played on the trombone, when I was told I am worth Christ's sacrifice, when my soul yearned for a kingdom where our pain and hurt will be no more and our sorrow is turned to joy, I couldn't help but weep. And let me be clear: I am not a public cryer. I think I've only cried in front of my therapist twice in the six and a half years we've worked together. It's really a testament that I felt safe enough even among strangers to let my heart flow through my eyes.

That weekend was the first time I'd ever heard gay, bi, and trans people share their stories in person from a place of wholeness. My whole life I have been told that first and foremost gay people are sinning. That's always what the emphasis was. At Why Christian? gender and sexual orientation were not the emphasis. Sure, people talked about them as they pertained to their own stories and the church in general, but the emphasis was love and passion for Jesus. How Jesus loves us as we are. How God created us and it was good. It was such a beautiful reminder to see the dignity in every human being, to call out and respect the Imago Dei in each of us. I felt so deeply in my soul the importance of loving others well, especially the people we don't understand, the people on the fringes, the people who are hurting. I felt the importance of loving myself, of recognizing God's love for me even when I feel my sin disqualifies me from being worthy of love.

Love God, love others. This is how I've been describing my faith lately. I just don't know about so many things, but I know that I believe in love. I truly believe that the love that was shown among the conference speakers and attendees was a sliver of a taste of what God's kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven will be like. It was such a sacred, moving, healing experience. I was reminded of why I choose to be a Christian even when I doubt, even when I face unspeakable loss, even when I am in the depths of despair and when my friends let me down. I cling to the hope of love like Christ showed, that he laid down his life for us. Love is powerful. That's what keeps me hanging on for dear life in the depths of my soul even when I feel like I'm drowning. It is an addicting, intoxicating love, and even when I can't feel it or even believe it fully, I have the hope that it's true.

I am so grateful for the stories shared, for the grace extended, for the unity displayed. I was changed at WX15 and so very encouraged. God is love, and love wins.

Fear vs. Love

I struggle to love people. Let me clarify: I struggle to love people who are different from me. I struggle to love people who I perceive are more holy, prettier, more accepting, or just all around better than me. I struggle to love people who I perceive are less holy, less smart, less considerate, or less well off financially than I am. Sometimes, when I allow myself to acknowledge these flaws, I really hate myself. Because I know that's wrong.

Jesus said to love your neighbor as yourself. And I think the problem I have adhering to that idea is that I don't love myself very much, so I feel like I have to fight to be loved. I judge myself very harshly, so I tend to judge others pretty harshly as well. That also means I constantly assume I am the recipient of other's judgment. I worry that they're judging how I look, what I eat, if I'm funny, if I'm attractive. I worry that they talk about me behind my back, that they secretly only tolerate me. That last one is less of a concern now, but that was one of my biggest fears in high school.

In high school I was part of the Drama Club group, but I always felt like I was on the outer edge. I had two amazing friends with whom I felt I could be myself, but when I was around the rest of the group I felt like I had to be perfect. That was largely due to the fact that I heard how vicious they were about some other people, and I feared that any show of how I really felt would result in being ostracized.

In junior high I was still homeschooled, but I experienced a similar thing at youth group. I remember one girl in particular that everyone made fun of. She was never really accepted. And it's not that she ever did anything; people just didn't like her. I was always super uncomfortable with how people treated her, but I was terrified of being rejected by the only friends I had, so I just kept quiet. There have been times when, as an adult, I think of that girl and wonder what happened to her. I wonder how her life has been. I weep for the mistakes I've made, for how awful she must have felt, and I pray that God shows her some amazing love.

All of this is to say that fear is very powerful. Fear has kept me quiet when I should have spoken up. Fear has kept me from telling people the truth about what's going on in my life. Fear keeps me trying to push certain people down so I can feel superior. Fear keeps me desperately trying to be deserving of God's love. When I hear how someone has made a mistake in their life, I'm relieved that the spotlight is off of me, and I feel superior that I'm doing better. Because if I'm better, I'm more deserving of love. I sense that there is an attitude of, "If I can reject that group/person first by making them feel inferior, then they can't reject me and make me feel inferior." I grieve for the people who live life constantly on the defense.

The Bible says that perfect love casts out fear. When you love someone, when you understand then, it's harder to be afraid of them. There are a few patients at work that I was wary of at first because they are different, but now that I've interacted with them a few times, I find them interesting, and I enjoy when they come in.

I hope that I can learn to love instead of being afraid. I hope that I can learn to appreciate who I am and in turn appreciate the uniqueness of others. I hope that I can learn to speak up for myself or others without fear of the consequences. I hope that I can start to live the faith I've claimed since I was a child. I still think there is right and there is wrong, but instead of using that as a weapon against others, I want to extend love and kindness. I want others to be loved whether or not I think their actions are right.

Fear has dictated so much of my life. I read recently that man's greatest fear is that God will abandon him, even though throughout history God's people were the one to abandon God. That's my greatest fear. I hope that as I continue to spend time with friends who love me, who encourage me, that I will begin to release fear and embrace love. Maybe it doesn't matter if God loves me if I won't accept that and choose not to fear. I'm not sure how to do that, but I'm working on it. Being a part of such a wonderful church community has certainly helped. I have never had anyone reject me when I've shared part of my story. I still tend to hold part of myself back out of fear, but I truly believe in the heart of my church.

Last night while I was at a worship night at my church, I felt compelled to jot down some thoughts. I immediately knew I wanted to share those thoughts on my blog. At first I thought the two things I had were unrelated, but as I thought about it, the two things fit together.

Here's the first thing I wrote (the quote is a song lyric that we sang that jumped out at me):
"Every crown no longer on display" We don't need to shine up our trophies and show off our accomplishments to impress God. We can enter into His presence just as we are because Jesus shed His blood for us. Because of God's great grace, we can enter the very throne room of heaven and praise the God who saved us.
Romans 3:22-25
(We're going through Romans in my Bible study and last week we were on chapter 3, so I knew how perfectly those verses backed up my thoughts.)

The second thing I wrote:
Sometimes I feel like Esther. She was chosen by the king, she had gained his favor, but she still feared for her life when she came before the king uninvited. Despite knowing I am God's chosen and that He loves me, I am still sometimes afraid to enter into His presence.

It can be really easy to think that we have to approach God the same way we approach everyone around us: look our best, act our best, prove we're important. But God doesn't work like that. He knows our darkest, dirtiest secrets, and He decided that He still loved us enough to send His son to die so we could be redeemed. And when we screw up again, which we will, because we're human, God loves it when we run back to Him instead of hiding from Him.

Seeing the Parade Differently

Every now and then I have a moment when I see the world a little differently. This happened to me tonight.

One of the cities my church has a campus in had a parade tonight, and I walked with a bunch of other people in the parade. We had a truck pulling one of our trailers, a banner, and we all wore gray (grey? I can never remember.) t-shirts. We had candy buckets, and we walked along a 2-mile parade route passing out candy and waving.

Overall, it was tons of fun. I met people from Substance I didn't know before, and the kids were a lot of fun to watch. But there were a few moments that made me want to cry. Walking in the middle of the street, looking down at the lines of people stretching into the distance, I thought of this blog post on Stuff Christians Like. I started to wish I cold walk up to every person there and tell them, very sincerely, "Do you know how much God loves you?" I kept thinking, "That little girl is God's favorite. That older gentleman is God's favorite. God sure does love that dad over there." For a few moments I got a taste of how much God loves those people, how much he wants them to come to Him.

After the parade we met back together for a bit. As people drifted away, I went and sat in my car. And I cried. Sometimes when I have those moments of seeing the world differently, I push it aside because it hurts too much; it's too big of a feeling. But tonight I just let my heart break for Fridley the way God's heart longs for those people. I may not have had words to pray, but I was praying for them just the same.