Curiouser and Curiouser

When you've been in the church as long as I have, you've heard a lot of sermon illustrations. I don't always remember what they were intended to illustrate, but I often remember the stories themselves--they sometimes stick with me for years, enduring parables that serve to explain and articulate many different ideas and events I encounter along the way. This is one of my long-time favorites.

There was once a married couple who had been together many years. Beginning from the first night of their marriage, their nightly practice was to go to the kitchen just before bed, and share tea and toast. While the wife prepared the tea, the husband would make toast for both of them. On their 60th anniversary, their children hosted an enormous party for them. They celebrated into the night with all their friends and loved ones, and finally, after all the guests had departed, they retired to the kitchen, exhausted but happy, for their usual ritual. But as the husband prepared the toast, the wife noticed that one of the pieces was the heel of the loaf, and he'd placed that piece on her plate. In the exhaustion and emotion of the day, she burst out with frustration and anger. "I can't believe you gave me the heel of the bread again! For 60 years, you've been foisting off both heels of every loaf onto me! You are the MOST SELFISH, INCONSIDERATE MAN I HAVE EVER KNOWN!"

Her husband looked on, silent and bewildered. And when she had finally finished, he said, confusedly, "But honey--the heel is my favorite part!"

There has been a lot of talk on Facebook in the last few days that has made me think of this story. In our country right now, so much is happening that is making it obvious that we do not understand each other. The presidential inauguration, celebrated by some and protested by others, has been the subject of much of this talk; the Women's Marches participated in by millions of people around the globe have been another. In all of it, and in the brutal election season that led up to it, I've seen a disturbing commonality, which is this. When people fail to understand the reasons behind the behavior of others, they leap to conclusions and judgements about not just that behavior, but that person; and their conclusions are rarely favorable. Words like "idiot", "loser", "crybaby", "thug", "snowflake", "libtard", and many, many others, including many insults far more offensive and personal, have become commonplace in the national conversation.

The thing is, these conclusions seem to most often be drawn by simply observing the behavior of others, and then interpreting it through the lens of our own priorities, beliefs, and preferences. Unfortunately, that process will almost never bring us to a point of understanding, because what is a delectable delicacy to someone else may be to us an undesirable crust of bread that we cannot comprehend how anyone could want. And the only way to tell the difference is, when we see something that we don't understand, or that raises strong feelings of disagreement or disapproval in us, to investigate--to ask, and then listen. To reflect, both on what we hear from others and what we find in ourselves. But instead, too many of us have opted for shouting insults in anger. We are so busy talking, talking, talking, about what is wrong with everyone, that we haven't made the space, the quiet, for this kind of inquiry.

Author Shauna Niequist, in a recent interview, put it this way:  "A friend of ours who is a counselor.....one of the phrases he uses with everyone is 'be curious, be curious about that' when you notice your response to something, or your emotions rising or your anger flaring up, whatever it is, be curious about it. And so I think silence is a place where we are curious about our feelings, our desires, our longings, our broken-heartedness, and a lot of us avoid silence because of that."

Avoiding the silence is easier. Strident criticisms of others keep us from having to wrestle with the possibility that viewpoints we don't like or agree with may nevertheless be worthwhile--and that even if they aren't, the people who hold them still are. Pointing a finger allows us freedom from the necessity of facing any inconvenient truths about ourselves. But for any interpersonal relationship to be successful, the willingness to attribute positive motives to the other person is an important component, or at least the willingness to suspend judgement while we find out. It's difficult, I know. Other people are complicated. Our own way always seems like the right way, the reasonable way. But no marriage, friendship, or work relationship will be able to survive long if each person consistently fails to give their partner the benefit of the doubt, but instead always assumes ignorance, foolishness, wrongheadedness, or even malicious intent on the part of the other.

I believe this is also true on a national level. I hear a lot of talk on every side about unity, about healing, about moving forward. But maybe healing our country will require the ability to do this for each other. As a nation, maybe we need less talking, less shouting, less criticism, more silence. I'm not sure that either healing or unity can happen for us until we learn to listen to each other, and hear each other; to ask the right questions; to be curious both for each other and for ourselves. I hope, for all our sake, that we can begin soon.

Who's Your Daddy

"Jerusalem, Jerusalem, who kills the prophets

and stones those who are sent to her! How often

I wanted to gather your children together, the way

a hen gathers her chicks under her wings,

and you were unwilling."    ~Matthew 23:37

The recent days in America have been difficult ones. Last Tuesday's election results plunged a good portion of the nation into a fog of disbelief, fright, and mourning that is proving difficult for the other half of the country to understand and, failing understanding, to sympathize with or even tolerate. On social media and in other forums around the country, phrases like "crybaby", "whining", "sore loser", and "suck it up" have begun to loom large in the national conversation.

For Christians, this has looked slightly different. (Although, unfortunately, not as different as one might rightfully expect.) A bit less name-calling has happened, but instead there have been repeated admonitions to remember that God is on the throne. For the most part, I've heard these delivered with what I believe to be the best of intentions--reassuring those who fear, and comforting those who mourn. But there is an underlying assumption here, and it concerns me. The implication is that to be angry, afraid, or sad in this situation demonstrates a spiritual weakness; that if Christians really believed that God is in control, if they were truly placing their trust in him, there would be no place for their grief.

To be honest, my household has been struggling with the election results, and for me, the outcome has been cause for immense disappointment and sorrow. I don't believe, however, that a lack of trust in God can be blamed. It seems to me that for Christ-followers, a devout faith may actually be the basis for those feelings.

Many people and groups who have been historically (and are still) at risk in this country have found in our President-elect someone who causes them to fear for their safety, their welfare, their families, and even their lives. In this last week, they have not been consumed with political disagreement, but with the questions, "Am I safe? Are my children safe?"  The call of the church is to be the hands and feet of Christ to just these people--the forgotten, the marginalized, the disenfranchised, the stranger. Christ has charged us with the task of being his ministers of reconciliation, and he tells us that it is our love, more than any other characteristic, that will be our testimony of him to the world. The church has embraced Donald Trump, for many and varied reasons, and some even reluctantly; however, the fact of that embrace means that all of those reasons have been judged more important than his demeaning, threatening, and endangering those that we are supposed to love, defend, and advocate for, and this failure to put love for others ahead of our own concerns has undone me. Here are some of the reasons I grieve.

For people who call themselves followers of Christ to have so failed to love according to his example has done perhaps irreparable damage to our credibility as a church and our testimony for Christ. My sadness is great that, far from carrying out the ministry with which we've been charged, we have most likely driven many away from the church, and even away from Christ.

My heart breaks for those who have been embittered, disillusioned, shocked, and angered by the actions of a church they believed was there to love and support them. Even for those outside the church, I think this expectation existed, but for those within the church, the betrayal has been particularly sharp. Someone has attacked their personhood, placed them in imminent danger, and we, their brothers and sisters, have not risen to their defense--have not even considered it a dealbreaker for doing business.

Most of all, I have mourned for a church who seems, in some respects, to have lost her way--to have traded her spiritual birthright of eternal purpose for the earthly trinkets of power, comfort, and privilege. We have become inextricably tangled in the web of our own desires, priorities, and self-interest; we have ignored the call to stand apart and be witnesses to a separate truth. Honestly, I did not realize we had come here.

The reactions that were sparked in about half of you on reading that last paragraph are yet another reason for my grief. This election has shown that we are not only a country, but a church sharply divided. (And white Christians, we must be honest here--when 90% of our black brothers and sisters have voted against someone that 80% of us have voted for, we cannot continue to talk blithely of racial reconciliation and being one body in Christ, and pretend that this division is not a gaping chasm along racial lines.)  The kingdom of God in which every tribe and nation worships together in harmony is a promise of the future, but those of us who have opened the door and accepted the invitation to walk through should understand that it is meant to begin among us right now. We are intended to be living in that kingdom, but we are so far away.

 

And I believe this, all of it, grieves the heart of God as well--our pain and struggle, our failure, our fallenness, our foolishness, our contentious disunity. I do not doubt for a second that he is in control, as always. But he is generous with grace, adamant about free will, and we have chosen our own path, one that brings harm to ourselves and others, all of whom he loves. And like all of humanity, all the fallen creation, I long in earnest for a better world. My heart suffers together with every other in the agony of childbirth, as we look with expectation to a day when what is broken will be made whole again, and we lament with inconsolable grief for the time and distance we see still to cross.

So yes, make no mistake--my Jesus is King. But he is a king whose fatherly heart has been broken by the grief, fear, oppression, and self-destructive faithlessness of his people since time before time. Don't make the mistake of shaming those whose hearts, however briefly, follow his example.

On Politics And Promises

I have a favor to ask. But before you get nervous, don't worry, what I have to say may not apply to you. For the moment, I want to speak only to my own faith community, to those who consider themselves Christians of any denomination, and are therefore my spiritual family. Brothers and sisters, this is for us.

I try, so hard, not to talk about politics. But this year, things are different. They have escalated to the point of being unavoidable, and there is something I really need to ask. It's about the way we are talking during this election season.

You may be voting, or not voting, for any political candidate for any of the following reasons:

• National security 
• Globalism or nationalism 
• Constitutional interpretation 
• Tax policy 
• Education 
• Military spending or deployment 
• Fiscal conservativism 
• More/less expansive role of government 
• Second amendment issues 
• Border security 
• Healthcare 
• Supreme Court concerns

I'd like to ask you to remember, as you speak publicly about your choice, that all of the above are political issues, not spiritual ones.  There is no Scripture anywhere that dictates a stance on these matters; they are subjects of liberty, not of doctrine. They are important issues, to be sure, and your opinion on them is important also, but it is just that--your opinion. Be intentional about making the distinction.

Also, when you talk about opponents of your candidate, or you disagree with others who support a different candidate, please do so with a respect that is becoming of you, whether or not you think it is deserved by the person you're speaking of or with. Choose substance and compassion over insults and mockery. Avoid name-calling. Don't openly revel in things that cause harm or pain, even to those with whom you disagree. Be intentional about using language that shows your allegiance to your King, not your candidate.

You may be wondering why I think I can ask you this. And as a sister in our shared faith, I would have ample grounds to implore you not to jeopardize the reputation and integrity of the church, by binding her to such concerns, or doing so with loose and unbecoming talk. But the reason I am asking is actually much more personal.

You see, you are helping me raise my children. You are the community of faith with whom I have surrounded them, the models I have given them for growing up to be faithful men of God in a broken and hurting world. We are a team, you and I. This business of raising them is hard work, and I can't possibly do it on my own; it really does take a village, and you are the village we live in. And what I want for them is to be strong and healthy, to be independent and mature. I want to raise men who think deeply and carefully about the important things, and consider all points of view. I want them to know that there is sometimes more than one right opinion to have about things, and there is always more than one worth understanding. I want them to learn from you, not what to think, but how. I want them to use the language of love and respect, not the language of hate and fear.  I want them to cling, tenaciously, to the essential truth of the Gospel--which means knowing that the way of Christ is grace over law, compassion over dogma--and when what they're hearing isn't Gospel, I want them to know the difference.

They will learn these things, not just by looking to me, but by looking to you. When you conflate political opinion with spiritual wisdom, you confuse and mislead them. When you talk to and about others in ways that we would correct and discipline in the classroom or the schoolyard, you invite them to do the same. These are the ways we break their trust, let them down, lead them astray. We cannot continue.

I understand it is a lot to ask, for both of us, but this is our responsibility to each other. This is what you promised me, what we promised each other, when we accepted each other into this family, this body of Christ. When I stood there before you as a new mother, hopeful and terrified, with my babies in my arms, I asked for help for a task that was beyond me, asked for a host of mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, to nurture and teach and raise my sons in the faith, and the preacher asked for the ones who would watch over this child, and all of you answered with one voice, "We will." You pledged yourselves to me, and I trusted you with my little ones, who are little no more. Please, church. Keep your promise.