Inside Out

Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. . . . Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. --1 John 4:7, 11

My heart has been broken again as the United Methodist Church, choosing Discipline over Scripture in my opinion, punished Rev. Frank Schaefer for being a loving parent and presiding over a same-sex marriage ceremony for his son.

This church I grew up in, with its winsome theology of love and acceptance, has broken my heart. Again. (I am not ordained, and with this latest series of events, I don't exactly feel like pursuing ordination boldly. It would likely end poorly.)

I have many friends in other denominations who ask me why I stay. Some days, I wonder. 

But then I remember our Colombian foreign exchange student, Jorge, and the wisdom his father shared with him, and he, with us.

Jorge's father is quite wealthy in his country, a wise businessman who would do well in any country. Because he is well off, he has sometimes been fearful for his life as the FARC rebels kidnap and hold hostage those who can afford the ransom.

Jorge asked his father: Why do you stay? What keeps you in this country? Why should I stay?

His father explained that successful, world-altering change seldom comes from the outside. (There are many wars in America's history that attest to that fact. Iraq and Afghanistan come to mind most recently.)

Sure, people can take their knowledge and expertise and move to the United States or Europe, make lots of money and be successful-- but what about those left behind in Colombia? They continue to live in fear. Their lives remain unchanged, even as these successful people send money back to their families.

Jorge's father was adamant: If I love my country, if I want Colombia to be a better place for my children's children, I must stay and work for change-- from the inside. 

Unjust laws, dangerous practices must be corrected-- not by foreign countries sending aid or armies, but by Colombians who love their country enough to want it to be different. Better.

So for me, in this season, this is why I will continue to be a part of the United Methodist Church, broken heart and all. I believe strongly enough in the wonderful Wesleyan roots to stay and work towards change.

I belong to a Reconciling Ministries Network congregation. I am a Reconciling United Methodist. I choose to be a voice of love in a world that would often rather divide than unite. Pull apart than come together.

So I stay. But I do not stay silently in the shadows. You are welcome: in my church, in my life, on my journey. Please know that God loves you, just the way you are. And so do we.

Loving God, as you first loved us, guide us, lead us to love others. Amen

Pig Pen theology

Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. --Colossians 3:12-14

Yet again, my church choir experience has become the basis for thought. Imagine that: music provoking thinking.

Sunday, we sang a lovely canticle based on these verses. As I wandered through the week leading up to the actual "performance," the words followed me around.

"Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved. . . ." 

But the words began to change a little bit; "As God's chosen people, wholly and dearly loved. . . ." 

I think this morphing began because holy is such a difficult word to define. It shows up all over the place in Scripture, but what does it mean? Three years of seminary did little to help me in better explaining this word.

But wholly and dearly loved-- that, I understand. And it made me think of Pig Pen. 

Look at him. He is a real dirt magnet. I remember in one of the Peanuts specials, Pig Pen actually appears cleaned up-- for about a second and a half. His hair is combed smooth, shoes are tied in bows-- and the dirt has settled. Then in the blink of an eye-- poof. The old Pig Pen returns, disheveled and dirty as always. 

Now, imagine being Pig Pen's mother. This is the child she loves, flesh of her own flesh. Yet every time she gets him all cleaned up, steps back to admire what a handsome lad he is-- back in the muck he goes. And yet-- she still loves him. She might sigh deeply and shake her head, but he is still her child. Her beautiful, dirt-magnetic child.

Do you suppose God is a bit like Pig Pen's mother? Anyone care to admit how much we have in common with Pig Pen?

It seems as if every time we get all cleaned up and fresh again, maybe after a particularly rousing worship service, a stirring devotional period or a profound theological discussion at Starbucks, we slurp the last drops from the coffee cup, drop the cup in the trash, head out the door-- and wham. It's as if we never even had the conversation. We are back behind the wheel suppressing road rage; our need to be "first" or "right" returns, full force.

Or is that just me?

And yet. Just like Pig Pen's mother, our Creator who loves us sighs, maybe shakes his head a bit-- and loves us anyway. Sometimes it may seem as if he is taking that perfectly pressed hankie out and trying to wipe that smudge from our face ("You've got a little something r-i-i-i-g-h-t there-- hold still and let me get it!"), but we squirm and wiggle and try to avoid the touch. He may try to guide us in new directions, steering us clear of that really big mud puddle-- only to watch us slip and go splat on something someone else left in our path. 

The love the Almighty has for his children is endless and extravagant. And many days, we need every single ounce of God's loving grace. I am afraid, on the tolerance scale, I don't always measure up. 

And that is exactly why I need that grace. Because despite my best efforts, I am often a dirt magnet. 

Ever-loving, ever-gracious God, thank you for not losing faith in me, even when my faith in myself seems fragile or muddied. Thank you for seeing your perfect image planted in my soul, written across my heart-- and thank you for placing in me a desire to seek after your heart. Amen

A bit like Dumbo

The fruit of that righteousness will be peace;

    its effect will be quietness and confidence forever. --Isaiah 32:17

It happened again today.

I was having "one of those days." A friend who has listened to me whine more than I care to admit asked a question and prepared to listen for as long as it might take. 

And in that space of safety and mutual respect, my junque du jour began to unravel like a cheap sweater when you pull that loose thread on the bottom.

Before I knew what was happening, I found myself sitting spiritually naked in a deep pile of colorful unravelings. And I began to breathe normally again.

Few words were said by my friend. I didn't need words or platitudes. I needed someone just to listen, without call or comment. 

I needed presence. And I was blessed to find it.

There's that old saying that goes something like, "The reason we have two ears and only one mouth is so that we can listen twice as much as we talk." While I certainly know a number of people who don't seem to understand this (and I bet you do, too), it seems to be worth aspiring to.

Big old elephant ears. One on each side of our head, so whichever shoulder a friend leans up against, there is a listening space-- right there.

It's a skill, you know, that listening thing. So often, folks find themselves caught on a word or phrase in someone's conversation-- and we stop listening, because that word has triggered something in us that we are sure is just so important it has to be said, as soon as the other person stops for breath (or sooner).

News flash: It's not that important.

Sometimes, there is absolutely nothing that must be said. Sometimes-- no matter whom we are in conversation with-- we just need to keep silent. 

The greatest gift any of us can give to another is the gift of self. Our full, undivided attention and focus. It can be hard. Our ego wants nothing more than to communicate to the other that we know just how they feel (even though we do not and cannot). 

I believe learning when to shush is a big part of what "dying to Christ" or "dying to self" is all about. 

We take a deep breath. We try to slip into their moccasins and feel what they feel, try to fathom their hurt (even as it may seem trivial to us). What a gift-- to a friend or to a stranger.

It works with people; it also works well with the Divine. Being quiet; listening for God's desires for and in our lives; setting aside the "Wish List" and "to-do" prayers and allowing the Lord to carry the conversation now and then. 

My friend was gracious in their gift of presence. Thank you so much. May I learn such graciousness, as well. Amen.