Category: Ministry
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If America’s First, Who Isn’t?
I love logic grid puzzles. Maybe you’ve played around with these for fun (Brainzilla.com has a lot of them). If you took the Graduate Record Exam general exam to get into a graduate program, these made up the entire Analytical sections. Besides being good brain exercise, these puzzles reinforce one basic truth: Only one item (or person) can occupy a single ordinal space at a time. For example, if Alice is the fourth person in line, she cannot also be the first in line. Additionally, if that fourth space holds Alice, it cannot also hold Stephen. Only one thing, person, or value can be first.
Jesus says this. He says in Matthew, “You cannot worship both God and money because you’ll end up loving one and hating the other.” One or the other has to be first. If you look at the history of the Israelites, they got in trouble as a nation and with God when they tried to, what I call, “hedge their bets.” This was when they followed the law–sort of–and observed the high holy days but also enjoyed some Ba’al and Asherah worship, just to ensure they’d get the rain they needed for a good harvest. (Plus, the Asherah worship came with sex, so not exactly a hard sell for the Israelites.) They tried to give both Yahweh and the Canaanite deities equal footing, tried to put them both in first place.
Just like you can’t worship both God and money, you can’t worship both God and, well, anything else. Maybe you don’t think of it as “worshiping” something else, but there’s an awful fine line between “liking” something and idolizing something. I may like watching soccer, but when I skip church to be able to watch that particular match, then my enjoyment of the game has replaced my worship of God. Perhaps it’s “for the kids.” They love playing soccer, but what am I teaching them when I allow them to miss church to follow their passion? I’m teaching them that worshiping God within the community of believers isn’t that important.
If someone were to say, “I should always be number one! I should always get what I want before everyone else!” we’d likely look at them with the side eye, thinking they’re selfish. And they would be acting selfishly. The Word of God speaks against this type of mindset. In First Corinthians 11, Paul instructs the people of that church there not to take more than they need at the fellowship meal, to leave some for those who are less well off. There was a pecking order, where the higher class members got to go first through the line. If they took what they felt was their “right,” then there wouldn’t be any left for their brothers and sisters in Christ who were in line behind them.
The Bible teaches that it’s not about being first. God’s got that place already locked in. Jesus says that if anyone wants to be first, then they must be last of all. It takes humility to let others go first. Within community, we each take just enough to ensure that everyone has what they need.
So what does all this have to do with “America First”? The idea is selfish. If we are going to tout that we’re a “Christian nation” (we’re not, so don’t worry about that), but we’re acting in a way that blatantly violates the Word of God, then we are nothing but a nation of hypocrites. And if you’re saying, “America first,” guess who’s not first for you? That’s right. God can’t occupy a spot that you’ve placed something else into. Just like with a logic puzzle, only one value can occupy each ordinal spot, and if America is first, then God isn’t.
What I’ve observed the past few months is that a policy of “America not-first” has actually strengthened us as a nation. That big guy in the church community who thinks he’s all that and more and acts in selfish ways, believing he doesn’t need anyone, actually ends up suffering for the lack of community and interdependence. Sure, he may look tough and independent and strong, but he’s living apart from how God created him. On the other hand, the guy who is vulnerable and leans on people in his community may look weak by worldly standards but actually emerges as strong because he has the backing of all these other people.
We looked silly as the big nation that tried to act like it was all that. Trying to be independent means not being interdependent. Not only were we not helping other nations, we also weren’t accepting help from other nations, and this left us vulnerable. Yet, they didn’t forget us. Our allies waited and wondered. They wondered what happened to our little experiment in democracy and waited to see if we’d come back to the community. And, thankfully, we have. We don’t want to give of ourselves to our own detriment, but we also have to realize that we do need the help and support of our allies from time to time. It’s the same on the global scale as it is in each of our small communities. I, for one, feel better that we have rejoined our global community, for it is in community that things get done that hastens the coming of the Kingdom of God.
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Brushing the Dust Off Our Feet
Jesus teaches his apostles to brush the dust off their feet if they come to a town that won’t receive them or listen to them. What does that mean for us?
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Mardi Gras Reflections
Oh, what a difference a year makes! We are getting closer to that time. You know the one I mean. That day when Covid began to hit our shores, when we could no longer think about the virus being “over there” in China or Spain or Italy. When we looked at those countries being on full lock-down and thought, Thank goodness that’s not us having to do that.
But we’re not there, yet. As I look back on Mardi Gras a year ago, it’s with happy thoughts. It was a gorgeous winter day, much like today. The sun was out and it was warmer than it had been. That brought an energetic vibe to everyone we encountered. My older daughter was in her first semester of in-person classes at the local community college as part of her dual enrollment program. That left my younger daughter and me with a few hours to while away, often sitting in the library and knocking out her classes.
On this particular day, completely for kicks and giggles, she and I were wearing Mardi Gras beads that I had from a party several years ago. The day was so gorgeous that we couldn’t stand being stuck in the library after weeks of cold, grey weather. (Sound familiar?) We decided to take a walk around downtown Wilmington, going down to Cape Fear Spice Merchants and exploring various small shops in between.
I won’t bore you with every place we visited. We dropped in on a local bookseller who asked about my soap business. When I told her I was writing a book, she said to let her know when it’s out so she can buy it and stock it. I wasn’t prepared for that! I just happen to like this lady and her shop, but hello, elevator pitch–before my book was even finished! We explored a new-to-us small grocery with bulk spices and herbs and got ice cream (yeah, it was that warm). We smiled at people and said “hi.” We held hands and acted a little silly and just had a wonderful time.
As we’re home today, nowhere near downtown, we remember that day fondly. It was certainly a very different Mardi Gras from what today looks like. A lot of those businesses are operating under very limited hours. The bookshop only allows browsing a couple of days a week. By all accounts, downtown is more like a ghost town with very few people out and about on their lunch hours since so many people are working from home or have lost their jobs altogether.
Mardi Gras–Fat Tuesday–is the day before Lent, a time of sacrifice and reflection before Easter. When we’ve sacrificed so much that we used to take for granted, things like communal worship, hugs, social time, even sitting in the library to read, it’s hard to think of what else we can sacrifice. Some people have had to sacrifice family time (thank you front-line workers!) and their health. Others have lost loved ones due to the virus. When put that way, what else do we have to give up?
Instead of subtracting something from our lives this Lenten season, why not add to them? What if we were to spend Lent reading books or other materials that will serve to help us love God and others better? What if we were to add prayerful meditation to our days where we sit in silence and listen for God to speak? Or what if we were to learn how to do something that will benefit someone else in the Kingdom of God? Or, how about we pray for a different person each day of Lent, no repeats?
This Lenten season is definitely much different from last year’s. If you’re like my family, you probably felt like it was some crazy sort of hyper-Lent where you were sacrificing something new every day of Lent without intention or prayerful forethought. We will make the best of this, using the space of covid-induced sacrifices to be mindful of new ways to love God and love others.
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Sowing Seeds in Your Crap-Filled Heart
Again Jesus began to teach by the lake. The crowd that gathered around him was so large that he got into a boat and sat in it out on the lake, while all the people were along the shore at the water’s edge. He taught them many things by parables, and in his teaching said: “Listen! A farmer went out to sow his seed. As he was scattering the seed, some fell along the path, and the birds came and ate it up. Some fell on rocky places, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow. But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root. Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up and choked the plants, so that they did not bear grain. Still other seed fell on good soil. It came up, grew and produced a crop, some multiplying thirty, some sixty, some a hundred times.” (Mark 4:1-8, NIV)
My Grandpa was a great gardener. He grew up on the family farm, and when he moved the family down to a small, perfectly grid-laid town in North Carolina, he had a little plot of land where he grew a few fig trees and kept a thriving small garden. Even as a quite old man, he tended his garden from tilling the soil to harvest, and a robust harvest often rewarded his efforts, and we as his family got to enjoy the fruits of his labors, too.
As good of care as he took of his garden, though, the occasional rock would appear. He could leave it where it lay, running the risk that an animal going through the garden might disturb it, pushing it over onto a sprout and possibly killing the plant. So he’d toss it to the edge of the garden where it couldn’t do any harm to his plants.
In this parable of Jesus, he never mentions rocks in our otherwise good soil, but they sometimes crop up (no pun attended). Jesus’ focus is on the soil that receives the seed.
I have a friend named Becca (not her real name). Becca has had some crap heaped up in her heart. Now, I don’t know if you have done much gardening, but composted organic matter, whether kitchen scraps or manure, can make the cheapest, most awful soil rich and nourishing. This crap lay on top of the soil of her heart for a while. If you’ve never smelled freshly laid manure on a field, it’s a noxious, disgusting odor! That happened to Becca; that crap stunk up her heart for a while. Then something happened. The Spirit came in and worked that crap into the soil of her heart. Once the crap gets worked into the soil, it then becomes fertilizer and makes the soil rich and ready for planting.
Suddenly, instead of having a stinky, rank, malnourished heart, Becca had a heart that was fertilized and held good, rich, healthy soil. Then along came the Word. It landed on her heart and seeds began to grow. Becca decided recently to follow Jesus as her Lord and Savior. Those seeds that landed on that great soil that had one time been barren took root and are thriving. It’s early days yet, but I just know that this word is going to produce a massive harvest in her life for the Kingdom of God. It’s already beginning to multiply in her life.
Like my friend, maybe you’re feeling like your heart is worthless to God, stinky from all the crap in your life, and perhaps you’re feeling like you can’t even be present with God right now. That happens to all of us for a season, but it is just for a season. Eventually, after days or weeks or months or years, the Holy Spirit tills up the junk in our hearts, working that crap in to leave them open, fertile, receptive, and ready to grow.
Even with the best nourished heart with a lot of growth, some rocks can show up, and we have to get them out. Rocks can look like distractions, bad relationships, bad habits, or just bad choices. They’re not enough to prevent or stop us from producing spiritual fruit, but they can inhibit some growth if they stay there. So, like my grandpa would toss the rocks out of his garden, we also have to toss these rocks out of our hearts. Now, to do that, we have to acknowledge the rocks exist. We have to see them and hold them in our hands before getting rid of them. We can’t go on ignoring them, hoping they’ll go away on their own. It doesn’t work like that. But once they’re gone, our spiritual gardens are ready once more to produce abundantly.
Don’t give up on your faith journey or what God might be doing in your life because of a layer of crap or a few rocks. The Holy Spirit is bigger and more powerful than anything and everything we are dealing with.
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And Then Came Wednesday
I have been intentional about not saying anything about last Wednesday’s terrorist attack on the U.S. Capital Building. I am still in a state of numb shock–disbelieving, incredulous (I guess those are synonyms), sad, troubled, and not just a little nauseous. Call them what you will: Traitors, terrorists, bigots, White Supremacists, cult members, murderers. And that’s all the attention this blog will give to them.
Our preacher, preaching the Spirit-breathed word this morning, uttered a sentence that I cannot shake out of my head: “And then came Wednesday.”
For many of us, the year came in on a good start, a hopeful start. In fact, my word of the year is “hope.” We knew realistically that 1 January wouldn’t bring a magical end to the pandemic, nor would it prove to be the panacea to fix Washington and the ills in our society. All we knew is that we were leaving 2020 behind. We were leaving behind the continuous crisis condition of the year with its sudden pandemic, shut-downs, monstrously high death toll, and physical separation from people with whom we don’t live. We were leaving behind the grief from all those losses. We were leaving behind the senseless, violent, racially-motivated deaths of innocent Black people at the hands of White racists, both cops and civilians (though mostly cops). We were leaving behind peaceful protests and destructive riots, an extremely contentious election cycle and the false claims of invalidity and fraud by a would-be dictator who can’t accept his loss gracefully. We were seeing news about vaccines and we had hope.
We had hope that we’d see the end of the pandemic. We had hope that the transition of the presidency would bring more help to those people who are suffering so much throughout this pandemic. We had hope that we would never have to see or hear anything else from the current president after 20 January (hope still springs). We had hope that we could coast into 2021, sailing along the last three weeks of the current administration and thinking of new ways to love others.
And then came Wednesday.
Social media blew up with the news. I was teaching, just hitting the peak of our school day after a late start due to a Zoom Bible study. The day had gotten off to a hopeful start. We learned that the state of Georgia had elected two Democratic senators which was enough to flip the Senate to a Democratic majority. Only my cynical fear of two branches of our government being controlled by one party tempered my happiness and hope about new changes. I was also proud that a Black person from the south had been elected to the Senate for the first time in our nation’s history–and a preacher, at that. I thought that was enough history making for the day. Well, that, and Congress finally certifying the electoral college votes which would officially seal Joe Biden’s win. The hope for many of us was that Trump would finally accept his loss, concede and fade off into the end of his administration.
And then came the afternoon. News of a protest by a bunch of sore losing nationalists didn’t warrant any of my attention. Then things turned violent. Innocent lawmakers were being threatened. The political “sacred space” that is our nation’s capitol building had been invaded for the first time since 1814–and it was the British then. People were being hurt. One died. We later found out four more died. And all the while, the president was silent. When he did speak, it was to send the terrorists home with an “I love you.” No kidding.
While some of the domestic terrorists wanted violence, it seems their main agenda was to disrupt the certification of votes. It didn’t work. Congress reconvened later that night and worked until the wee hours of the morning to complete their task. As Wednesday faded into “then Thursday happened,” the men and women of Congress worked while we slept after surviving a frightening, nerve-wracking day.
Sometimes, that day that comes brings a whole new way of seeing life or it marks a day that we will always remember. I was thinking of some of those days.
Then Tuesday came. Tuesday, 11 September 2001. If you were alive on that day, you remember it and can tell people exactly where you were. If you’d traveled by air prior to that, you know how much it changed how we fly.
Then Sunday came. Sunday, 7 December 1941. The bombing of Pearl Harbor. This unprovoked attack got us into World War II.
Then Monday came. Monday, 23 November 2015. I was having a wonderful day with my girls when I slid down in the kitchen and dislocated my knee. That changed all of Advent for us and its festivities.
Then there was that Tuesday in August when our little we-some became a three-some as we welcomed our first daughter into our lives.
Then Friday came. Jesus had warned his disciples multiple times that it was going to happen, but they didn’t really know when, exactly, it’d happen. On that Friday, Jesus died. His disciples were terrified, devastated, heartbroken. Their lives as they knew them had changed.
Then Sunday came. Those same disciples couldn’t believe when the women came back and said that Jesus’ body wasn’t in the tomb anymore. Then they were a whole different kind of shaken up when their teacher who’d they’d see die on Friday was standing right there with them. Before they even had a chance to adjust to Friday’s new normal, Sunday’s newer normal was happening.
Before we had a chance to adjust to the newness of 2021, Wednesday happened. This shook us up. It shook us as a nation. It showed us that the seemingly impenetrable citadel of lawmaking that is our nation’s capitol is just as vulnerable as any other building. It showed us that the despotism and hate-motivated “othering” that we saw plague nations in Europe and Asia in the twentieth century could, in fact, attack us, too. I would like to think that a lot of life-long Republicans were also shaken to their very cores, as the ideals of fair government they held dear and their faith in those ideals ran right into a terrorist attack on the very building that represents those ideals, empowered and encouraged by a Republican president they’d defended and supported. They learned the hard way that they cannot have it both ways: These Republicans cannot have their ideals while supporting the very person trying to destroy them.
Yes, Wednesday came. It gave us some impressive paragraphs for future history books. It held moments of pride, moments of fear, moments of disgust, moments of sadness, and moments of bravery. I hope history will remember the Senate aides who grabbed the box of ballots and carried it to safety, as well as Capital Police Officer Eugene Goodman, the Black cop who led the terrorists away from the unsealed Senate chamber doors. (Take a moment and appreciate his undeniable courage in being the sole Black man confronting an armed and violent White Supremacist mob.) Wednesday proved to us our vulnerability, and this not only shook Americans, but our allies around the world are scared for us. (I hear the shakiness in an Irish friend’s voice whenever we speak.)
But today is Sunday. Today we wait and hope and pray. We pray for a cease to violence. We pray for justice. We pray that a smooth transition will mark these next ten days until the Biden administration begins. We pray for the leadership that has to work to mend the rift in our nation. It wasn’t a new rift. It didn’t happen in the last four years, but it was a little tear caused and perpetuated by centuries of White fear and white supremacy that the last four years made bigger.
Today we hope. Tomorrow we hope. And every day we hope for something new to begin. Let us be harbingers of that “new.” Let us share our renewed hope in Christ as the one who’ll get us through whatever 2021 brings.
As I sit here at the tail end of 2020 and look back at this rather interesting year, I have the opportunity to reflect on the lessons this year has taught me and to see ways in which I’ve certainly changed.
First, my Facebook memories reminded me of how much I was looking forward to putting 2016 behind me. I hope this isn’t going to be a trend every four years!
This year began hopeful. My teen was going into her second semester of dual enrollment and excited about having in-person classes after a semester of doing all online classes. She was busting her hiney and the days started early, but she enjoyed the vibe and energy of being in a college classroom. My tween was going to be wrapping up her life as an elementary school student and looking forward to what lay ahead of her–mission camp just for rising sixth graders, her last spring children’s program at church, and “graduating” from children’s ministry into youth. There’d be a year when both my girls would be in youth group together. (I joked to our youth minister that I’d be praying extra for him, and to let me know if I needed to make a liquor run for him.)
In late February, I finished the first rough draft of my book Finding Peace. Hours at the library while my teen was in class afforded me ample time to write and concentrated time to teach my tween, leaving my afternoons and evenings free to work (when I wasn’t working out in some way). For a writer, these were halcyon, though busy, days. Every day in January and February, I met my writing goals with words to spare.
Then March hit. We had no idea how bad it’d be. The first thing in our lives to fall was school; my teen’s classes went back to all online. It was tough. There were just some classes that needed to be in person for her optimal learning, and her English professor hosed the class over horribly. Church was the next to go. Then soccer season, dance classes, the dance recital, yoga classes, and finally, the highlight of my tween’s year–marine biology camp. We cried together over this loss.
In two months of non-stop losses, living in this crisis mode, trying to understand the pandemic and how to keep ourselves safe, we adapted to new ways of being. Counseling appointments involved long walks and phone sessions. I spent hours a week working out–walking, yoga, weight training–everything I’d been doing before the shutdown. Our hair got long, we adopted the mask life, and we emailed and wrote letters and cards like never before. Suddenly, emails and texts weren’t good enough.
But then in the midst of the losses, gains started showing up. My pastor-friend Cynthia who pastors a Presbyterian church outside of Philly invited me to join in a ladies’ Bible study via Zoom. Over the course of the coming weeks and months, I got the pleasure of getting to know these awesome ladies and learning from them. As the summer blew up with Black Lives Matter peaceful protests and Confederate monuments came crashing down across the south, my rural southern self got to share experiences and perspectives with my new urban/suburban northern friends.
As summer wore on, the refusal of people to abide by simple rules (wear masks and maintain social distance) irritated me. All these people shouting, “My body, my choice!” were overlooking the most basic, simple task of loving others by keeping their germs to themselves. I stayed away from people for the most part, getting out to go grocery shopping (masked and sanitized with handwashing and sanitizing my phone when I got home). We went to the beach where we could enjoy fresh air, sunshine, fun, and organic social distancing.
My teen and I dared to go to the beach for a weekend, staying in a new beachfront hotel. Even though hotel stays are higher risk than we’re accustomed to, we were comfortable with the owner’s Covid response. Most people followed the rules with no problems, and, hey, we were at the beach.
As school started in mid-summer, I expanded my ministry to include my tween’s best friend in our homeschool. I did it mostly to help the girl and her mom. I learned that not everyone is appreciative of what others do for them. I discovered that some people will take advantage of my kindness, and even with a successful homeschool teacher and environment, parent involvement is still mandatory for student success. Now I have a whole new appreciation for what my teacher friends go through.
With any and every ministry, it’s vital to know when to let go. It’s important to recognize when the work is done, when the helper has maxed out her resources, and when it’s time to bless the parishioner and send them on to somewhere that can grab the baton and carry them farther. That time came. My family affirmed this nudging from the Spirit as well as admitting they’re happy they’ll have more of me again.
I learned the importance of self care. I neglected myself for a few months and started feeling the effects of it. The time I’d had in the spring to walk, practice yoga, and tone up disappeared by the fall. By the time my other student went home, it was time to start making dinner.
I learned that I have absolutely no patience or tolerance for narcissistic, self-centered, attention-seeking people. As social distancing and staying at home continued, my social media streams began to annoy me. “Tell me how great I am” posts or endless selfies searching for praise and compliments made me gag. I wondered repeatedly how people can be so narcissistic. It seemed that people needed more and more affirmations from other people when I was thinking, “Let God give you your affirmations, not your social media friends.”
This self-centered behavior went offline, stepping off the screens and manifesting itself in real-life situations. As the pandemic wore on and all the cautionary steps got old and tedious, I heard more and more lame excuses for not wearing masks. One woman told me, “God will protect me from the virus” as her family and she attended church where almost no one masks. Yet, she owns a gun, buckles her little one in his booster seat, and bought a taser for her elementary-aged child “for her protection.” I guess God’s protection only happens within the walls of the church? My teen visited my parents’ church and, after observing the lackadaisical attitudes about mask wearing and safety, declared, “If I were looking for a church or new to Christianity, that would turn me off of the faith entirely.” Christians are supposed to follow the example set by Christ and sacrifice and show love to others, not violate the Torah by testing God.
I learned that I have developed zero tolerance for Christians who aren’t willing to live into Jesus’ command to “Love one another as I have loved you.” Jesus loved us all the way to the cross, but we can’t love each other enough to strap a bit of cotton over our noses and mouths to protect others from our germs.
Maybe it’s my age, but I learned I have zero fucks left to give. Then again, this has been the case for a while. There are people the thought of whom sparks joy for me, and there are people who give me an ugly feeling in my gut. I don’t have time or psychic energy to waste on users and people who are careless with those outside of themselves. I make time for people who have it all together with humility and joy, who can magnify positive energy. I can let go of the former and embrace the latter as we journey together into the New Year. Journey with me as we share love, positivity, and bless each other and those we encounter.
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How Pro-Life Are You?
The question has come up for many people lately: How can Christians, even evangelical Christians, support a president who has shamelessly broken most of the commandments, brags about having broken them, and continues to violate them without remorse, regrets, or repentance? How can Christians support a president who falls far from the Jesus mandate to “Love one another”? It’s been my observation and experience that these folks are single-issue voters: Abortion. It doesn’t matter how reprehensible or abhorrent a candidate speaks or behaves; if she or he promises to make abortion illegal, then these evangelical Christians will vote for them.
But what does it mean to be pro-life? Does it just mean to be anti-abortion? A true pro-life ethic is pro-life from womb to tomb. Let’s take a look at what that means.
- Pro-life means valuing the life of the fetus. It honors this life by wanting free or affordable prenatal care for the pregnant mother.
- Pro-life means valuing the lives of children. It wants every child to have enough nourishing food and clean water to thrive in life and school.
- Pro-life means valuing the health of all people. It believes that free or affordable healthcare is crucial to ensuring a healthier population. (Recent studies have shown that access to affordable birth control methods have led to a decrease in unwanted pregnancies, which, of course, has led to a decrease in abortions.)
- Pro-life means valuing the safety and well-being of non-Americans, too. It abhors the idea of families of any skin color being ripped apart and innocent children being caged like animals.
- Pro-life means valuing the nutrition needs of all people. It seeks to eliminate food deserts–areas in urban centers where healthy, affordable food is unavailable. It also seeks an equitable distribution of food resources so that no person should go hungry.
- Pro-life means valuing the planet that sustains us. It acknowledges climate change and humanity’s sin in not exercising the stewardship over creation that God entrusted to us. It wants to be proactive in reversing the damage we have done to the earth so that future generations have a planet that will sustain and nourish their lives.
- Pro-life means valuing the dignity of all humans. It recognizes the humanity we each possess as beings made in the image of God. It allows people to choose not to burden their families with exhaustive life-saving measures when death is imminent.
- Pro-life means valuing the mental health and safety of all people. It seeks to restore mental and emotional wholeness to people with fractured psyches before they act in violent ways against innocent people.
If any one of those points bothers or angers you, then you would do well to reexamine what it means to be “pro-life.” A true, holy, God-honoring pro-life ethic cherishes all life from womb to tomb. It not only seeks to eliminate the need for abortions, but it also cares about people after they are born, ensuring they have adequate housing, food, and healthcare. This holy pro-life ethic also determines to take steps to reverse or stop climate change; being good stewards of the earth God gave us; and making a healthy, life-sustaining home for all of God’s creation, be it plant, animal, or human.
If you cannot ascribe to each of these items and recognize that all of these (and probably several I didn’t think of) are part of a pro-life ethic, then you need to change your tune.
You’re not pro-life; you’re just pro-fetus.
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It’s Okay to Groan
For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands. Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed instead with our heavenly dwelling, because when we are clothed, we will not be found naked. For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed instead with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. Now the one who has fashioned us for this very purpose is God, who has given us the Spirit as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come. (2 Corinthians 5:1-5, NIV)
We groan. We are groaning. We have been groaning for months now. We groan over the illness of loved ones. We groan over not being able to see beloved people. We groan about perceived rights being taken away from us. We have become a groaning people, and in many ways, we certainly have the right and justification to be this way.
My friend Cynthia led a Bible study this morning in which we looked at this whole chapter, but I was fixated on “Meanwhile, we groan.” That was a fresh, liberating idea. Groaning hardly seems like something that should be fresh or liberating. We usually groan with oppression or illness, both of which keep our physical bodies enslaved, either to another person or to malignant organisms. Here in this passage, Paul is talking about groaning because we are in these physical bodies when we long to be clothed with our promised heavenly dwelling. For many people, that is their normal groaning as they long to break free from their physical burdens and struggles.
Yet, Paul’s acknowledgement that we groan is what’s liberating to me. In my year of chaplain residency, I probably heard about a dozen times, “I don’t understand why he’s sick. We read our Bibles daily. We go to church three times a week. We pray every day (not just blessing meals). Why is God doing this to us?” In the midst of sickness, these people–usually women–had never been told, “It’s okay to groan.”
You see, the litany above reads like a check list.
- Church three times a week. Check.
- Read Bible daily. Check.
- Pray every day. Check.
- Get unlimited blessings from God. Ch–. Hey! Wait a minute! Something’s not working for us here.
The pain for these lovely people is that they had not been properly prepared for the reality of living in a fallen creation. They had been exposed to a variation of the Health, Wealth, Prosperity heresy, either by watching its proponents like Joel Osteen on television or coming out of the pulpit on Sundays. (Sidebar: I’m guessing your average pulpit preacher who ascribes to this heresy believes it’ll make him as wealthy as Osteen, so they spread the heresy.) Unfortunately, despite their checking off all the prescribed tasks, these parishioners were facing a decline in health. How can this be? They did everything right. Why is this beloved spouse or parent suffering and sick?
Somewhere along the way, they were taught they never have to suffer, so they’d never be in a position to groan when the truth is, groaning is a perfectly acceptable response to pain and suffering. The apostle Paul tells us that it is okay to do that. We can live into our humanity and groan over our sufferings and the sufferings of those we love. We can groan through our faith, knowing that God hears the groanings of our hearts, minds, and souls and responds to them through comfort and compassion. We can groan because we are human and sometimes words fail us. Is is okay to groan.
I love irony, and I delight in seeing ironic situations play out. Better yet is when those who are engaging in the ironic behavior don’t see what they’re doing.
I happened to be driving down a 2-lane street one block off of the downtown grid in our sleepy little town. This was completely unintentional. My route took me past one of the Baptist churches in our town, a notoriously conservative congregation. In front of their church was their regular, permanent church sign with 2 Chronicles 7:14 which reads, “If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land.” Another, newer, temporary sign announced “Worship Sunday at 10:30 in parking lot or sanctuary.”
I think I get where they were going with this Bible verse. Our land is in need of healing from the coronavirus and political divisions. It’s in need of healing from corrupt, violent cops and paid rioters and looters who are trying to foment more division. We can all agree that our land needs healing to various degrees, though we may not all agree on a diagnosis.
This verse is powerful, but it doesn’t just quote God as saying, “I will forgive their sin and heal their land.” No. There’s something we have to do first. The very first thing we have to do is humble ourselves.
The opposite of humility is pride. It’s pride that puts ourselves first and our wants first.
Pride refuses to wear a mask because it’s “inconvenient,” “a violation of my rights,” or “a violation of my freedoms as an American.” Humility wears a mask to protect other people from viruses the person may be unknowingly carrying.
Pride insists that we have to be in church together. Humility practices patience to keep vulnerable members of the congregation healthy.
Pride demands its way when it comes to having church services. Humility understands that we are the church and can do church outside the walls.
Pride puts itself first while humility puts others first.
The chronicler straight-up tells us that we have to put other people first. That comes before praying. It comes before seeking God. It comes before repenting. Humbling ourselves–putting our pridefulness aside–is the first step to God doing God’s part. (I love this verse, because it’s two sermons in one–one 4-pointer, one 3-pointer. Good for two consecutive Sundays.)
If we want God to heal our land, we have got to humble ourselves enough to put others first. We have to wear our masks to prevent spreading the virus to other people out of our God-called love for them. We have to keep at least six feet away from people if we’re unmasked. We have to squelch our insistence on having our own way when it comes to church. We have the right to be Christians, to tune into online worship (even at other churches if we want!), we have the right to read our Bibles, we have the right to be the church. We do not have the right to gather for worship when Christian charity deems it unsafe to do so. Insisting on worshiping in unsafe times is prideful. Practicing self-control is humble.
Know what else is humble? Following the biblical command to follow laws and rules we may not agree with. Whether we are “rendering to Caesar what is Caesar’s” (aka, paying taxes) or following the law of the land, the Bible is explicit on what we are to do. While I have no problem with our governor’s order to wear a mask, I realize others don’t feel the same. However, those same people who refuse to wear masks will tell you that they love the Bible, love God, and love others. They may even tell you they live by the Word, obeying every word it says. I get it. But it’s not about us now. It’s about others, the people we’re told to love.
