Anti-masker.

I was an anti-masker before Covid 19. I’ve written articles, taught bible classes, submitted papers, led retreat discussions, and pleaded till I was blue in the face about masks all before we lost anyone to this horrible virus. And now I wonder if these literal masks, that we need to wear right now, are a lesson from God, albeit a sort of discipline from God for those of us who are professional mask-bearers.

For some of us, years before we ever wrapped those little strings behind our ears, we so often walked before God and others with our fake smiles and well-rehearsed “I’m fine” responses. We hid our sin, our struggles, our pain, our doubts long before we had the luxury of hiding our smiles or frowns behind three layers of fabric.

This is not a comfortable blog to write. I write these words knowing full well the masks I’ve worn and still wear. There are some things you cannot share at an open mic, you see. This is a fact that either you won’t understand if you are like me and hate inauthenticity OR you will understand and reading about it may make you uncomfortable. I have learned a few things over the last few years. In essence, I’ve learned that sometimes you need to wear a fake smile. You fake it for the sake of self-preservation and for the sake of the wounded around you. There are some pains you can’t share with the sharing circle. (And, gosh, I hate sharing circles. *Introverts in the room unite!* We need them at times…blah blah blah.) There are times when you must be selective about what you tell certain people. This is a fact. A fact that 1) you learn the hard way after someone betrays you or 2) because the grief or wound you wear is so insidious that sharing it sucks the air right out of a room of happy people. If you are in that precarious position of smiling through pain, please find someone somewhere where you can untie those strings and be you and be painfully, emotionally naked. It doesn’t have to be your church family, though I pray it is. Remember, church is bigger than the people you see on Sunday. Find someone somewhere who sees behind your mask. Please.

Do I believe God is punishing the world with Covid? (See, I knew someone was asking that.) And my answer is, no. No, I do not believe that God is punishing us with a virus that has stolen the lives of so many. I DO believe He will use this virus to mold us, change us, and draw us into a deeper relationship with Him because that is His goal, to draw us to Him. I absolutely believe that, and at least today, I considered that this mask issue may be one way of drawing us into deeper relationships with one another AND God, our Father.

So, for today, when you pull on that mask and you walk through a grocery store or at your place of work, ask yourself–what protective layer am I really wearing in addition to this little mask?

Are you ok? Because I’m not. I’m tired. I’m weary of smiling through pain. I’m weary of distrusting everyone… as if I needed a virus for help with that! Heck, I fear people who don’t have a fever and cough. I fear judgement. I fear unforgiveness. I fear the pain that comes from being in relationship with failable people. I fear others’ insensitivity. I have enough distrust for us all, and because of this, I wear a mask so I can hide those fears from you to protect myself and to protect you from me. And here I am writing all this while finding it very comfortable hiding behind layers of cotton so I can safely stick my tongue out at the rude lady at the cash register, and yet I am so tired of not seeing your smiling face. I’m so tired of this extra layer that I wear just to stay sane– literally and figuratively speaking.

And knowing that I cannot protect myself -much less you- from people who say and do hurtful things when they get a glimpse of the real us. I do understand if you want to stay underwraps. But you see, the world will always have jerks; the world will not always have you. And I need you to show your face for the sake of the rest of us who are barely treading water and feel alone. Your realness may just be the lifejacket that someone needs.

So enough. May these literal masks remind us to free ourselves from our figurative masks.

To be real, no matter how unloveable others’ may deem us to be!
To be authentic, no matter the judgment that comes roaring toward us!
To be our sinful, wretched selves whose only hope is Christ’s sacrifice!
To truly live as free men and women not for the sake of pleasing humans, but solely pleasing God!
And finally, to shake off our fear, dust off, and to try to learn to trust again!

-in love.

Quick meals.

“…to the church that meets in your home.” Paul penned those words when writing to Philemon in his letter to encourage the freedom of Onesimus. Philemon is a heartfelt letter to a personal friend for a shared personal friend. It’s about trust and love and acceptance. It’s a short letter from Paul to Philemon and the church that met in his home.

Meeting in a home is not a new thing for the church. It isn’t a trend or even a thing that only happens during pandemics. It isn’t merely what non-conformists or eccentric divisive spirits practice. Churches meeting in homes, sharing a meal, sharing the Lord’s supper, sharing scripture, and spiritual intimacy has been normal for two thousand years. What makes today different is that just our individual families are meeting together and trying to figure this out without much guidance from professionals…until all the prerecorded services hit facebook last week. But there are those who practice this out of necessity, out of a call to do so, out of desperately wanting more out of spiritual relationships.

For now, most of our friends are across town. Our loved ones somewhere else. We are all going at this alone and digitally tuning into other believers around the globe. But good things are happening in this precious time. Good conversations between parents and kids and believers from all over are happening. Questions are being asked. Answers are being pursued. Prayers are being uttered and heard by those who’ve never spoke nor heard them. Your faith is either being discovered, growing, or revealing that it needs to grow. Good things are happening for believers, likewise good things are happening for the church. Perhaps God is allowing a sabbath where we are called to remember Him. He didn’t cause the virus. Perhaps he is allowing the break. Perhaps he wants us to ask what the point of all this church stuff truly is.

Church was always more than Sunday. Church was never supposed to be a quick meal. The Lord’s Supper was not created to be fast food. It’s now. It’s time. It’s neighbors checking on neighbors. It’s buying groceries for others. It’s making phone calls and sending cards. It’s family learning about one another. It’s brainstorming together how to DO good. It’s the ache in your heart to see and hug the people you love and to look into their eyes again…to be known, absolved, and loved for who you are. It’s waking up and becoming aware that family is seated around the table laughing and sharing and there are no time constraints or quotas to be met. The church consists of relationships built upon the love of Christ that are so unique and so real and so accepting that you want to include others. I hope you have that. I hope you see that you need that and the world needs that. I hope you feel the call to add more plates when you set your table.

As you miss your people, as you dive into potentially awkward prayer with your family, as you begin to notice that sweet things happen in tiny moments in tiny groups who know each other inside and out, remember to take that with you when you go back into your congregations. And don’t let this lesson be wasted. Don’t let this call to love better be forgotten. Expect better conversations, pursue closer relationships, live out your faith through the week rather than consuming a fast food Sunday. Make life together more than a quick meal. Make church more than a quick meal.

Across the table from that guy.

beautiful christmas table setting — Photo by Kaboompics .com on Pexels.com

Today I thought about heaven again. Most of the time when I dream of heaven I dream of a perfectly temperate place full of perfect flora and fauna perfumed with lilac and the occasional whiff of apple pie. I’ve never imagined inheriting a mansion. A cozy cottage happily situated in a wood is more my speed.

But today as I dreamed of the peace place promised to me, I imagined a banquet table loaded with delights like the world has never seen. Those seated at the table surprised me, and I questioned my thoughts as one often questions how much grace God can offer sinners who don’t sin exactly like you do. I laughed at my own imagination. Seated around the feast were the warring politicians of today all smiling and peaceful passing potatoes and the like. Right, Lord. Like those two would be at the same place enjoying each other’s company, here, in heaven. Right. Surely they are stopping that guy at the gate.

As I looked around the table I noted how each guest was a scoundrel while on earth; not one pure heart was represented among the lot.

Then I realized that I was sitting right there with them sharing turkey with the villains.

As I focused in on another face, it was someone who had deeply wounded me in the past. I’ve struggled to forgive this person. Forgiveness is work for some of us. Grudges are easy. But there he was, my adversary, enjoying the ambrosial banquet.

My adversary in heaven was stripped of his failures. His mistakes were no longer visible to my eyes. He was there, as was I, in perfect form whittled down to whom the Savior intended us to be, all love, all joy, all peace. And I loved him. And I knew God loved him. And I was humbled.

Back here on earth we have our separate corners. We have our own parties, our own people, our colors, our flags, our precious opinions and hills we die upon. But in the great beyond, there are no corners. There is one shared table, one shared Savior. Will we sit down with those who we’ve hated? Will we share dinner rolls with our murderers? I believe that is more our choice today than theirs.

In heaven, a perfectly normal scene could be an abortionist seated with the man who blew up the clinic.

In heaven, a Nazi sits comfortably with a Jew.

In heaven, your party is nothing. Your Savior is everything.

In heaven, the abusers and the abused share in the same divine helping of grace and a heaping dollop of mercy.

In heaven, forgiveness melts what tore us apart. Oh, how I wish we could share in that banquet now, where all is peace and joy and love. And I suppose if we cannot come to terms to eating with the villains and the saints, then we have another choice altogether of where to sit though the seats in that abode are not as comfortable.

For if you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. Matthew 6:14

Head verses Heart

All day I’ve been mulling over the contrast between the head and the heart in disputable matters of the church and life in general. It seems the popular and more comfortable choice today is to say that love surpasses all and that the heart should be our sole motivation citing 1 Corinthians 13. Yet, Jeremiah 17:9 says the heart is deceitful above all things. So love must be the solution, but not necessarily the emotional fuzzy squishy comfortable love.

Love stops a toddler from running into a busy street. Love grabs a child’s hand before they touch an iron. Love grounds a teenager from the Xbox. Love in its nature sets boundaries. One could say love employs justice. This tells me that love also uses the head in decision-making.

But a head without a heart would never take a moment to consider the plight of a stranger. A head without the heart would probably rely on past experience or simply the functionality in decision-making. A head may lack hope if the heart is not engaged.

Perhaps, this is why Jesus calls us to love God with everything we’ve got: our heart, our soul, our strength, and our mind. Not making one more important than the other, but expecting each to work together to love completely.

Stories worth reading

I visited a tiny, one room library that was more than one hundred years old today. And while one hundred years isn’t really old compared to libraries in other parts of the world, it struck me while I breathed in musty air and admired the artistry that often embellishes antique books, how many ideas and stories are housed in that tiny place now silenced waiting for the yellowed pages to be carefully turned again. I recognized a few authors, but most I didn’t. I opened several, read a few lines, and tried to connect my limited memory of American History with the copyright dates.

A century is more than enough time for a country to radically change. Within a century families see great, great grandchildren born and with them ideas, theories, doctrines all aptly developed and soon considered old fashioned after what seems just a few moments.

My grandparents were born more than a hundred years ago, and I wish I could sit and understand them more now as I witness how quickly our life pages yellow with age.

Truly, the ideas, dreams, and stories found within mankind don’t really change at all. Sure technology advances and architecture ebbs and flows like fashion, but love is the same, justice is still required, family is still paramount to the health of a community, and the value of a person to those who love them is still immeasurable.

Our lives are merely a vapor, and it is our duty to live them well. Not for our own selfish pleasures, but lived so that when all that remains of us is a yellowed memory on a shelf, the pages of our life still speak in truths understood to the readers hundreds of years later. Did we love? Did we speak for justice? Did we live a story worth reading?