Tomorrow, my husband and I will gather people on our property, hoping to connect the hospital folks with the church folks with the non-profit folks. We will wear black. We will speak truth and hope, to our kids and over our country. Let freedom ring.
While there has never been a local mask ordinance where I live, the grocery stores have very clear signs posted out front, indicating that masks are required to shop. Nearly every time I’ve shopped for food over the last two years, I have seen someone from my church unmasked. One was even wearing a hoodie with our church’s name and logo on it. I feel a little gross writing about it here, so many months later, unable to say I made peace with it or even addressed it with people.
I’m still new here. I’ve only known pandemic life here. For many at my church, my work at the hospital represents an agenda that feels scary and threatening. I am not sure how to form deep, meaningful relationships with Christians here fast enough to earn the relational equity required to run into someone at the grocery store and say, “Hey, friend. I notice you don’t wear a mask, at church or anywhere else. But they’re required here at this store. Did you know we are down 60 staff at the hospital this week? Please, follow this grocery store’s simple request for the sake of your community. I know you probably think you don’t need one or you hate wearing one and faith over fear and all of that… but my actual skin is breaking down from being in an N95 ten hours a day and I have faith that you can cover your nose and mouth for a grocery trip or an hour of worship. Please.”
Forget vaccines. Don’t worry – I don’t want to talk about those, either. But I do not understand folks who claim Jesus and won’t wear a mask, when asked, during a pandemic. I will continue to love them and serve them and worship alongside them, but I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to the make the connection between following Jesus and refusing to follow a local business ordinance.
The science has never promised that wearing a mask will keep me safe from disease, but that masks keep me from hurting others. This has been proven time and time again, an argument only strengthened as we drag on through a second winter with record low cases of flu, head colds, and stomach viruses. Who wants to bring those bugs back? Not me.
I cannot find evidence in Scripture for defying a public health mandate, ordinance, or even small business rule. I don’t see a single example of Christians maintaining control or influence of a region. In fact, the first church was underground, in the era of Roman empire. I see both Jesus and Paul reminding Christians over and over again that this world is not our permanent home and we are to live in it as harmoniously as possible. This video both did and did not surprise me, as hundreds of CPAC attendees cheered for personal liberties and property rights, and then booed when asked to don a mask out of respect for personal liberties and property rights. Imagine Jesus getting halfway through the beatitudes in Matthew 5, and the crowd boos as he tells them to go an extra mile when compelled to walk one. Who knows? Maybe it happened. Jesus’ words were often received as scandalous and nonsensical.
I wrote most of this a year ago and unfortunately, it still holds true. I’m not as angry or shocked as I once was, but I still regularly find myself disappointed and confused. It’s getting harder and harder to recognize the Jesus of the gospels in the Christians of America.
I could simultaneously laugh and cry at this voice note I found, tucked away in my phone. One clear observation: my southern accent goes from subtle to ready-for-the-big-stage when I’m tired; I must have been really, really tired when I recorded this. I also find it amusing that I mentioned scaling back, when in the years to come I would birth another kid and go to grad school and move across the country. Only God knows. But the sentiment still stands, and my heart still sings amen to a lot of these thoughts, whispered into my phone’s recording app all those years ago. The woman pictured above has been pruned and refined and hurt, and she’s made it work. I’m proud of her.
“Sometimes, people ask me how I do it all and it leaves me a little bit confused. I don’t know what else I would be doing with my time, if I wasn’t filling it up with all of the things that I currently do. But that’s kind of how everyone is, with whatever they’re going through, whatever stage of life they’re in. I do feel the Lord telling me to step back and reevaluate this new year. There’s going to be a little bit more on my plate than in years past, and I feel like the Lord really wants me to do a few things well instead of a lot of things without heart or passion. So I might be able to pull a lot of things off, but that’s not what He’s called me to do. Just because you’re good at something, or just because you get the job done, does not mean that’s what God’s called you to do. And then there’s also the idea that I do a lot of the things that I do because I don’t have a choice. My family has to eat. My marriage has to thrive. My children have to flourish and bloom and learn and experience and my heart has to be tended to and my spirit has to be nourished. I’ve gotten a lot of those things wrong over the last few years. A lot of the priorities wrong. A lot of the effort was there and the intentions were there and everything else just kind of got out of whack. I really want 2013 to be the year that I, not that I get it right, because I’m never going to, but I want 2013 to be the year that I learned how to make it work for my family. That I leave this next year feeling like I pruned a little bit and I refined a little bit and I hurt a little bit to make it all greater at the end.”
When I’ve said the same something in conversation with multiple people multiple times over multiple months, it’s usually time to talk about it in a more public forum. It’s not my lane of expertise and I’m still a Church girl for life. But after thirty years as a church member and twelve as a staff wife, and after the experiencing 2020 with the rest of you, I think I’ll honor the Bride of Christ more with my words than with my silence. I believe we are seeing the 1990’s model of the seeker-sensitive megachurch collapse beneath its own weight, without the foundation of the gospel to hold it up.
There was richness there, where I met Jesus. I’m forever grateful for my parents and the body of believers who introduced me to the lifesaving good news of the gospel. But there were large gaps, too. I learned to invite friends on Sunday, not to read my Bible on the days between services. I learned to consume church programming, not to sit in contemplation or suffering. I learned one way to vote, not the many roles the Church has/should play in hot button issues. I learned salvation, not sanctification.
I came of age as large churches began to de-program their robust schedules, opting instead to encourage its members into small groups that met in homes throughout the week. Even still, I don’t look back and see discipleship as a focus. The model was based primarily on discussing Sunday’s sermon or a Sunday school-style lesson, as well as finding friendship inside the megachurch. We’d share a meal, watch a video, and then superficially discuss until it was time to leave. It also added another event to an already-full calendar, only to be spent in insulated community with other believers, not in missional relationship with neighbors and coworkers.
This feel-good, numbers-focused model raised an entire generation, myself included, to grow an inch deep and a mile wide. I remember party after party, event after event, worship service after worship service. But I don’t remember any one-on-one meetings or small groups that taught the basic spiritual disciplines of following Jesus. I remember being told that if I lay down with dogs, I’d get up with fleas, and that I should be careful with the friends I chose. I don’t remember any lessons on missional living. I don’t remember any lessons on how to be in the world and not of it. I loved church growing up, but for the most part… we showed up, checked the Jesus box, and went about our lives.
Even as I entered adulthood and married and started a family, I found it difficult to resist the allure of a church that boasted how many baptisms they’d performed on Sunday but never invited people to learn the discipline of prayer and fasting on Monday. Thanks to be God, I eventually saw the light, and we have since been a part of very different church families that focus on spiritual formation and teach both discipleship and its cost.
To this day, I still prefer a large sanctuary with hundreds of people and loud music and yes, even a light show! Currently, we work for a church that offers none of these things. What is it that keeps me committed to the local Church, you ask? The message preached from the pulpit, the same one lived out during the week by the people who call it theirs. The Body of Christ who has counted the cost of following Jesus and still chooses it anyway. The impact witnessed and felt and experienced by the surrounding community, as a result of authentic and sacrificial mission. We’ve served at several churches over the last decade and the ones who embodied these elements have truly felt like home. I’m so grateful.
But at the risk of overgeneralizing, an entire generation of kids who said yes to Jesus at summer camp and reached for purity rings after burning their secular cd’s is now grown and in crisis. We’re working, marrying, and raising families in a pandemic.
We can’t get our weekly worship fix or even find our footing. We’re floundering. It’s no wonder we’re falling for conspiracy theories and resorting to sinful self-preservation at a time like this.
We are an entire generation of Christians taught to see God as copilot, only to realize we were never flying the plane to begin with.
And we never really took the time to get to know the real pilot. As the world spirals out of control, we’re missing the tools needed to navigate life in a faith-filled and healthy way.
I don’t believe a single person or theological idea or denomination is to blame. I think we were deceived, not unlike Eve in Genesis 3. I think we got off track subtly over the course of decades. I think we mistook influence for power. I think we twisted the Great Commission into a numbers game, like any good business would. But we aren’t a business. We are the Body of Christ. And I pray that the reckoning of our severe lack of discipleship leads the Church to a place of repentance and revival like the world has never seen.
politics & leadership the whole & simple gospel
I feel a lot of things about the future, but fear is rarely one of them.
I’ve had several conversations about fear lately, with folks who have different political views from me but share a similar faith background. I try to end these discussions the same way each time… I feel a lot of things about the future, but fear is rarely one of them.
These talks usually include what-ifs and worst-case scenarios, and they usually end with Christians being persecuted or at the very least, moved to the minority and the margins. Are you paying attention? See this slippery slope? Doesn’t this scare you?
I’m all for using the language you want to use (see this post), but I’d like to argue a case against this type of rhetoric. For a Christian to live in a constant state of fear, or even to encourage dialogue that lands on fear instead of pointing back to Jesus implies two things. First, it says that you don’t trust God. Second, it says that you feel your job as a Christian on earth is to advance God’s kingdom through force, in both the law of the land and in culture. Both of these notions are ineffective at best, destructive at worst, and sinful regardless.
Do I want to be restricted or persecuted for following Jesus in the United States? Of course not. Unfortunately, it’s one of the only things I’m promised in Scripture, along with God’s presence and comfort. John 15 and Matthew 5 are great examples. If Jesus was treated poorly for who he was, we are guaranteed similar treatment from time to time. Are we to storm the gates of whatever person or institution we feel is at fault? Are we to fight back? Nope. Matthew 5 and Romans 12 are very clear on that. We are to pray for those who persecute us. We are to serve and love and submit to leaders. We are to live in harmony with one another, despite our circumstances.
Do I anticipate restriction or persecution for following Jesus in the United States? No. Our country was founded on religious liberty, not religion itself; many laws were written into place to protect that. Remember, we are not currently a Christian nation by law, we never truly have been, and we never will be. That being said, I can’t tell the future. It’s just nice to know that the Constitution already addressed this hundreds of years ago so I don’t have to.
Do I fear persecution for following Jesus in the United States? Still, no. In countries where Christianity has never been mainstream or even legal, the Church is alive and well. It is flourishing. We could only hope to have a vibrant, selfless Body of Christ in the United States like some I’ve seen across the ocean. Acts and Romans give us an excellent template, should we ever have to “go underground.” While I’m at it, I’d argue it’s the original template for the Church in general; perhaps we’ve grown uncomfortable with it because we’ve strayed so far from it.
But I digress. Back to fear. In sickness, in death, in hardship… the Church will always have the potential to thrive and grow. We were never promised a building or a majority or a seat at the table “in the room where it happens.” My hope and my home are in heaven. I have experienced devastation before, and I will again before I finish this life. But I’d like to spend the time I have left being at peace, not afraid.
Anyone else find themselves regularly tempted to water down their words? Me! Me! Me!
When I first started hanging out online, I was fearless. I remember waiting the endless seconds and minutes for our dial-up internet to connect, and then it was off to the races. I wrote about my feelings. I wrote about people. I wrote about my day. I wrote about topics on which I had no business presenting myself as an expert, but I didn’t care. The world wide web was my oyster. What changed?
Over the years, I have been corrected about my words both privately and publicly. I have been snarked about on anonymous forums, and I’ve faced pushback in my comment sections. But I have also been a recipient of well-meaning tweets and direct messages and emails. I have pulled my words when they harmed. I have edited my words when they didn’t translate like I’d hoped. Although I don’t agree with the permanent exclusivity and shunning associated with today’s cancel culture, I very much appreciate the long-overdue attention needed to careless and damaging words and actions. For me, the problem lies in the temptation to censor myself. This is what I call the watering down.
There is beauty to correction and knowing better so one can do better, but there is danger in allowing one’s self to get lost or tucked away or hidden for good. There is power in wisdom and discernment and council, but there is also strength in courage to speak. From opinions to pleas to vulnerability, we must hold space for our words and the words of others. As a Jesus follower, I believe the enemy of my soul wants nothing more than to shut me up for good.
When I say something, it’s usually because I very much mean it. I’m also quite comfortable changing my mind along the way. Sometimes the safest place to be is in the uncertainty of something. These things, meaning what we say and changing our minds, are normal behaviors. It’s time to behave as though they are. I will stay careful forever, but I’m ready to be done second-guessing everything I say and write. I want to take back my language, both online and in face-to-face interactions.
Busy is defined as having a great deal to do. Sometimes, I’m busy. To be indulgent is to be overly generous or lenient. I hope I’m indulgent to myself and others when it matters. Black lives matter is a theologically true and sound statement. Woke is now defined as being alert to injustice. I certainly want to care about the things God cares about.
When I allow words to become hijacked by culture, even Christian culture, I allow the enemy to sideline me. And my short life here on earth is far too precious for that.
I see the world in one giant connected picture. Everything is linked to everything else, both in my brain and in the way I communicate. Sometimes I let things build before I pour it all out, in a waterfall of sorts, for my husband or a friend or a coworker. This could be a happy waterfall, or a frustrated one. But it usually involves a string of thoughts that make a whole lot of sense to me, and may be difficult for others to track. My counselor recently advised me to take the person on an artistic journey with me when I talk, where all of my thoughts are like pieces of a big painting and eventually, if we all hang in together, everything makes sense in a cohesive way. It’s been so helpful! And it happened the other day, as my husband and I did the dishes.
Maybe it was those heavy-hitting words from Galatians I’ve been reading for the last couple of weeks. Maybe it was the worship playlist, where song after song invoked miracles and breakthrough and big moves of God without mention of the daily disciplines associated with knowing his voice. Maybe it was the racist video shared to a friend’s social media feed, posted by a leader in her church. Maybe it was the look-back at the multiple churches we’ve served throughout the years, each with its own ideas on reaching the lost and taking care of the found. But suddenly, I was ready to say a lot of the things about the Church’s influence today. It boils down to a feeling not unlike the parent in a stare-down with her kid. I’m not mad. I’m just disappointed.
I came into 2020 fully expecting the usual election year fanfare. I was ready for the divisive conversations, the gut reactions, the echo chambers, the emotional heat, the conspiracies, the apathy, the pride, and the self-preservation. Believe it or not, we’ve been here before. I see it and feel it and fight it myself, every time I gear up to vote. Although we’re told this election matters every two years, this one feels particularly historic for multiple reasons. First, there’s the current context. We’ve got a global pandemic, mass protests, and even wildfires. I don’t remember an election season where candidates couldn’t campaign. Second, social media looks different than any election past. This President is the first to maintain a personal online presence during his term. It’s also the first Presidential election cycle since Instagram launched its stories feature, which enables and encourages us to process in real time.
So while none of these problematic dynamics come as a shock to me, I am unsettled by professing Christians’ participation in them. I am discouraged by the hyperbolic inflammatory and militarized language, leveled against people and positions. I am frustrated by the notion that American Christians are persecuted or oppressed, an affront to our brothers and sisters overseas who are jailed or killed for their faith. I feel irritated by sermons that spend more time arguing against social justice movements than they do exhorting congregants to take care of their hungry neighbors. I get defensive when I watch influential people give interviews, write books, and post about God and politics but never mention Jesus or his work on the cross. I feel conflicted when Christians I know and love rush to applaud and promote those voices. I am worn out by the extremeness of it all, on any side of any topic on any given day. I am saddened at the realization that the yuckiest conversations I’ve had this year have been with fellow believers. On an encouraging note, some of the most generous and fruitful talks I’ve experienced have been with people who previously wanted nothing to do with faith. I’m not mad. I’m just disappointed.
Politics actually energizes me. Beyond the civic duty element, I enjoy learning about and following along with current events in our nation and beyond. I stay hopeful about the direction of our country. I do not feel the sky is falling. I will not buy into that narrative. I believe that as a Jesus follower, I am in this world and not of it… so I shouldn’t act like it.
Of course the world is on fire. It’s been falling apart since Genesis 3. Of course people hurt each other, and choose themselves over their neighbors. Of course we’re battling racism, global warming, poverty, human trafficking, greed and corruption, an unstable economy, and and and. But! There is good news! Believers have an answer to these painful realities. His name is Jesus. And with his gospel as our foundation, we can work toward practical solutions to those problems. However, it’s difficult to move on to topics like missional living and disciple-making and world peace when the Bride of Christ is still confused about the definition and implications of the gospel. I’m not mad. I’m just disappointed.
I love the Church. I think she’s beautiful and bright, despite her brokenness. I know she will survive 2020 because she has survived for thousands of years, in times just as dark and heavy as these. More so, I believe she will thrive and grow and be a blessing to the nations. But the people within the Church? The people who call her home? We’ve got to remember what home looks like. It’s not America, or the church we attend, or the political party that promises to support our issues. Home is the kingdom of God, and it’s time to get upside-down.
To follow Jesus is to go last. To love Jesus is to lay down rights and preferences. To follow Jesus is die to self. To love Jesus is to use freedom to serve neighbor. To follow Jesus is to walk away from idolatry and hatred and discord, and run toward peace and patience and kindness. This is the Biblical definition of a Christian. It is counter-cultural. It is inconvenient. It is costly. It is worth it. In Jesus’ name.