Posts Tagged ‘Christianity’
No incomplete sentence, Pt. 1
Posted on: May 2, 2016
Anyone who sees me much knows I love wearing bling, especially earrings. I have dozens, of all colors and shapes, made of both common and exotic materials, for every season, and for every style of dress from casual to glitzy. I hate it when I lose an earring. Since my piercings are in matched sets, a single earring does me no good. The worth of any single earring is tied to having the other.
Sadly, too many folks think of people that way– that our worth lies only in our relationship to having some other person in our life, that without that “other” we are, in fact, incomplete.
Society certainly tends to see it that way. Whether having a bevy of beaus or a harem, serial monogamy, a long-term relationship, or marriage, the pressure to be with somebody is enormous. Sadly, the church, in its desire to hold up the value of marriage, is often little better. Remarks addressed in sermons to the adults in the congregation often assume, or at least infer, that “we’re all married – or will be.” Most churches don’t know what to DO with their singles once those singles get much beyond college age. Many churches’ singles’ groups function like a dating service. If an adult is possessed of at least reasonable intelligence, moderate abilities, pleasant personality, and is considered to have relatively pleasing looks, yet stays single, s/he will often face the question, “How come a wonderful chick/guy like you isn’t married?” – as if the only reason God would even MAKE such a person is for s/he to be married! Singles who don’t meet those criteria? Well, if they don’t marry, they are simply objects of pity, stuck forever in a “less than” life.
But it’s a lie. A bald-faced, straight-up, direct-from-the-Father-of-Lies-himself lie.
Way back in the very beginning, not long after God created Adam, observing Adam’s lack of true companionship, God said, “It is not good that man should be alone”, and the result was the creation of Eve. For many people, that passage is interpreted as a statement about the pre-eminence of the marriage relationship as critical for the full human experience. But pay attention to what God did NOT say. He did not say, “Oops! I left part of Adam out. I better make the rest of him.” God didn’t create Adam with a piece missing. Adam was alone, but he was not incomplete. Eve was to be Adam’s helper, his Ebenezer, his companion, but she was NOT his “finishing touch.” Adam was a whole person just as God made him. Eve was “bone of [Adam’s] bone and flesh of [Adam’s] flesh”, but although the process of her creation differed from Adam’s in that she wasn’t made “from scratch”, so to speak, she, nevertheless, was created a whole person in her own right. Both male and female were required for reflecting the full image of God. Companionship is required to experience the fellowship that exists in the Godhead – but just because the first man and woman married doesn’t mean that companionship can ONLY mean marriage.
Although the patriarchs of the Old Testament were (obviously!) married, we do not know the marital status of all of the O.T. judges and prophets; of those for whom there is no mention of a wife or children, it is reasonable to assume that at least some were unmarried. We know Jeremiah remained single because he was, in fact, expressly forbidden by God to marry. (Jeremiah 16:1 vv) John the Baptist did not marry. Jesus Himself, of course, did not marry. Only the marital status of a few of the apostles or men and women active in the ministry of the early church is referenced; it is more than likely that some of them were unattached. The greatest evangelist and writer of the major portion of the canonical New Testament, the apostle Paul, was single – and adamantly so! How ludicrous to think of any of these as somehow living only half-lives because of they were not “conjugally matrimonified”, as it is put in Pirates of Penzance.
It is interesting that Paul, though single, is one of the most eloquent writers about the marriage relationship. His instructions on marriage given in Ephesians were a radical departure from the cultural attitude of the time. His assertion that marriage is to be a reflection of the relationship between Christ and the Church elevated marriage to a high new spiritual plane. Yet even so, Paul made very clear that there is not a higher value in being married than in being single. Indeed, throughout I Corinthians 7, Paul’s preference is decidedly slanted toward singleness. (Note that this prejudice is predicated on a belief in the imminent return of Christ, however.) His strongest point in favor of being single is that it enables one to be focused solely on serving the Lord. If you’re married, decisions are a two-party process; if you’re single, you have only the Lord to consult. If you’re married, there are schedules to coordinate; if you’re single, there’s only ONE calendar. Singles have a freedom of time, emotional energy, and resources that married couples do not – time, emotional energy, and resources which they may devote to the Lord and His work.
I am thankful to have in my own family several wonderful examples of singles living full lives, both women and men, never married, divorced, or parted from their marital partner by death, who I have never seen repine over their status as singles and who have embraced the freedom of singleness to engage in ministry, formal and informal, that would have been difficult or impossible were they married. Any reading of missionary stories will likewise yield a plethora of examples. For some of these, singleness has been a deliberate choice, made early in life. For others, although they would not have objected to marriage, the opportunity just never came up. For others, it was a struggle, as they would very much like to have married. As did Paul, all of these singles grasped the understanding that both singleness and marriage are simply roles we may be called to play, and their contentment in singleness involved a willingness to accept whichever role God would call them to play: if to marry, then to marry, but if to be single, then to BE single – not consider themselves as simply in a holding pattern until “real life” – marriage – began.
Whatever roles God calls us to, His purpose for us is always the same: to conformed to the image of His Son (Romans 8:28-29.) He has promised that He has, does, and will continue to give us everything we need for this to be so. Ephesians 1:3-14 is just one passage expounding on those promises. We have been blessed with every blessing in the heavenly places, chosen before the foundation of the world, predestined for adoption, blessed with His glorious grace in the Beloved, redeemed through His blood, forgiven our trespasses, lavished with wisdom and insight that make known to us the mystery of His will. We have obtained an inheritance and been sealed with the Holy Spirit. Note not that a word of that carries a caveat, “ … – if you’re married, that is.” Roles are not our identity. Roles do not – indeed, cannot – complete us. Our completion is in Christ.
Not married? Then be “single-minded” and determine to fully exercise the completion experienced in Christ to bless the world in a way that only those with the freedom of the single can.
No one in Christ, married or single, is ever sentenced to an incomplete life.
Stop holding on
Posted on: April 22, 2016
One of my favorite descriptions of what Jesus is like is found in Isaiah 42:3: “… a bruised reed He will not break, and a faintly burning wick He will not snuff out …”
Applicable to many Christians at times in their walks, even more do these express vividly the comforting reality of the life of we Christians with mental illness.
So often in acknowledging, and even daring to express, a sense of hopelessness, we feel that we are betraying our faith. Not infrequently, this sense is compounded by the well-intentioned words of exhortation that to our desperate ears sound only as a further accusation of guilt.
It is not by our choice that our wick is burning but faintly – sometimes so faintly that even we ourselves cannot see its glow. Though all the world misunderstand, Jesus doesn’t.
In the midst of the darkness, even when our mind cannot even remember what light looks like, engulfed as we are in a whirling void of darkness, what matters is not that our wick glows but faintly – what matters is that it glows at all, and that Jesus sees it, and cherishes it.
Countless times in my dark hours, I have been exhorted to “Hang in there” or to “Hold on”. Little do those offering those sentiments realize what a burden it actually places on those of us who are so soul-weary that we are beyond even that simple action. A song released by Casting Crowns offers a beautiful line of encouragement, “ … stop holding on and just be held.” Even when we cannot hold on to Him, He holds on to us.
There comes a point when it’s ok to let go and to simply let ourselves fall into the Father’s hands. Our emotions may continue to rage, but somewhere inside, faith knows that our salvation, our security, and our peace come not from our own ability to keep our flame high, but from His tender care of our faintly burning wick.
The last couple of years have seen my wick waver a lot. In the last 6 months or so, it has sometimes sunk low. In the last month, it has not even been visible, as I have been overwhelmed by a swirl of intense events with long-lasting consequences, struggling with a sense of utter despair, seeing the tunnel grow ever longer and darker, and with the feeling that any light at the end is only a train coming the other way.
And yet my wick still glows somehow. Circumstances have not improved much, and I still look with dread on the days to come, and yet, in the midst of these howling winds, He has cupped His hand around my soul, and coaxed that smoldering ember into a tiny, dancing flame.
If you, too, are fighting the darkness, it’s alright to cease. What does it matter if the darkness thinks it has won? You haven’t fallen into darkness, you’re resting in the hands of your Father – whether you feel Him or not. Stop tiring yourself out trying to hold on.
Just let yourself be held. Maybe He’ll calm the storm around you. Maybe He won’t. Maybe He’ll give your emotions a glimpse of hope. Maybe He won’t. Our spirits are not captive to our circumstances, our emotions, or our minds. Though all externals that we see and understand be in chaos, yet our innermost selves, though they be hidden from our eyes, are at peace.
We are held by the One Who never gets weary of holding us.
Stop holding on.
Just be held.
On another note
Posted on: January 31, 2016
- In: Christian relationships | Christianity | church life | faith | freedom | worship
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Long, long ago at a college far, far away I got a degree in early childhood education. The idea of learning modalities was still fairly new – the concept of there being different ways that we learn. Most of us by now are quite familiar with the basic ones: auditory, visual, and kinesthetic. For centuries, teaching meant assigning rote memorization. Kids who could memorize well were smart; kids who couldn’t were dunces. That was simply how teaching – and learning – was done. The concept that people learn in different ways, and that each of those ways is perfectly valid, brought about a sea-change in the teaching profession; yes, the concept meant that ALL kids now had a greater chance of getting to learn, but it also meant that teachers had to learn how to TEACH differently, too. It takes a lot more effort to teach every lesson in multiple ways – especially in ways that the teacher herself may not relate to.
Something similar to this concept, applied to relationships, was introduced some years ago in a book by Gary Chapman called The Five Love Languages. The idea is that each person both perceives and expresses love in one of five “languages”. One is giving gifts, one is doing acts of service, one is speaking words of praise, one is spending time, and … I forget the other. (Must not be my language!) It is not the intention of expressing love that is most critical, but whether or not the object of that love actually perceives it as such. If your language is spending time, but someone instead gives you lots of gifts, you will not feel loved. Since we all tend to express love in the way we would most like to receive it, it takes effort to learn to recognize and appreciate love being expressed in ways other than our own language. The highest expression of love is to learn to speak another’s language, foreign to us as it may be.
All of which leads me to: worship music, of course.
A few months ago, our Sunday morning service was enlivened by the participation of the Spanish-speaking church that uses our building on Sunday afternoons. We combined our worship teams, singing songs in both English and Spanish. Those of us who understand both languages had a great time singing along with heart and soul. Those in the congregation who speak only one or the other language could enjoy any of the music, but they could join their voices and their “amen” only when the words were ones they could understand. God was just as glorified by any of it – but it was not the same worship experience for all. Single-language speakers were able to be fully engaged ONLY when the singing was in their own language. They spent the service alternating between being participants and being just an audience.
There’s a difference. Perhaps sometimes when people say they don’t get anything “out of” a particular style of service, what they really mean is that they don’t feel like they are able to put anything IN to it because it’s not in their “language”, as it were. They may go about expressing that disconnect in a manner that is not helpful, but simply dismissing them isn’t the answer. We accept individuality in virtually every other area of life. Why not in worship, as well? Why are we so afraid of, or dismissive of, or angry about, the fact that not everyone finds every worship song or worship style to be something that they can be fully engaged in???
Worship is about God, it’s true – but worship is not some disembodied, amorphic activity that somehow takes place without involving the participation of the worshipper. A bow may be used to play a snare drum, but the sound will hardly compare with the rich tones that same bow will obtain when used to play a violin. Drumsticks may tap on a saxophone, but you’ll get better music by blowing into the mouthpiece. We worship most fully when we worship as God, in His infinite creativity, designed us, with all the individuality that may entail.
What if we approached corporate worship like a classroom teacher whose focus is on helping the greatest number of students understand the lesson – turning our focus to trying to enable the greatest portion possible of our congregations to have some opportunity to be fully engaged in worship? No congregation can be all things to all its members, but surely many of our congregations can do better.
It’s hard, because it means giving consideration to ALL of the “each others” in our congregations. It requires humility by all involved, because love does not demand its own way. Those in the majority need to be willing to go out of their comfort zone in order to give others some opportunity to speak their own worship language. For those in the minority, while it is perfectly appropriate to ask for an opportunity for their worship needs to be met, no matter what the answer is, they should be prepared to do whatever they can to support the majority in their worship. We thus can express our love for God – can glorify Him – can worship Him – in honoring each other’s worship language.
Paul told the believers in Rome, in chapter 14, “One person esteems one day as better than another, while another esteems all days alike. Each one should be fully convinced in his own mind. The one who observes the day, observes it in honor of the Lord. The one who eats, eats in honor of the Lord, since he gives thanks to God, while the one who abstains, abstains in honor of the Lord and gives thanks to God. For none of us lives to himself, and none of us dies to himself.”
It’s all about our heart for each other. We can’t worship God in Spirit and in Truth while we’re cold-shouldering each other over whose music or style is the most God-centric or most Spirit-ual or most Truth-full.
We may worship the Lord with old traditional hymns accompanied by a single piano, or with a modern worship song consisting of two verses, a chorus, and a bridge, all repeated a dozen times, accompanied by a full rock band at volumes that could be heard over a jet engine. We may sing only Psalms, and acapella at that. We may use hymnbooks or three-story-high big screen projections. We may lift our hands and dance and clap, or we may sit sedately. There is no one “right” way to worship, but tearing each other down, and disrespecting each other’s worship language is most certainly wrong.
To God be the glory – no matter what worship we use!
All in the Family
Posted on: November 15, 2015
Most of those reading this post are probably aware of the Great Starbucks Red Cup Anti-Christmas Controversy. Since coffee and I are not on speaking terms (we don’t even wave in passing), I am generally oblivious to the trends in beanland, but this one invaded my FB feed. I guess Starbucks has a tradition of having some kind of special cup for the holiday season with a holiday symbol of some kind on it, but THIS year, the chain is using just a Plain. Red. Cup. That decision to not put any kind of Christmas or holiday or even just WINTER symbol on its holiday cup apparently rattled some Christians’ cages, convincing them that this is yet another attempt to remove Christmas from the American retail scene.
I confess I rolled my eyes when I heard about I, and I wasn’t alone in the feeling of “Oh, great – another situation where Christians look like loonies!” Pretty soon came a counter-reaction not only from non-Christians but from fellow Christians as well making fun of the Christians who objected to the Plain. Red. Cup. For example, one meme had a picture of a red cup with its wrap-around insulator reading, “If your worship depends on having a snowflake on your cup, then YOU are the one who needs Jesus.” Plenty of us hit “like” or “share” on that one.
A staple of parenting comedy sketches goes something like this. “Ya ever notice, when the kid wins the award for football, Dad boasts to everyone ‘Yeah, that’s MY BOY!’, but when the kid breaks the big screen TV, suddenly Dad’s yelling at Mom, ‘Just look at what YOUR SON did today!!’?” Recently, when our pastor preached on the Prodigal Father (or Prodigal Son, as it’s more commonly known) in Luke 15, I noticed the Bible has its own version of that.
We all know the bullet points. At the end of the story, the older brother comes home and the servant tells him, “Hey, your baby brother’s home and your dad’s celebrating!” Big Bro sits on the porch and pouts. Dad comes out and pleads with him to come join the party. Big Bro says no, reminds Dad of what a scumbag Baby Bro has been, and, on the other hand, what an exemplary son HE has been and accuses Dad of not properly appreciating him. He moves on in vs. 30 to the coup de grace: “But when this son of yours came, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fattened calf for him!” Catch that? Not “my brother”. “This SON OF YOURS.” Big Bro so disowned his brother that he wouldn’t even acknowledge the relationship between them. Dad pleads with him to enter into his (the father’s) joy and rejoice that “This, YOUR BROTHER” has returned, but Big Bro will have none of it. He’d rather sit outside on the porch and wallow in being the wounded, self-righteous, Good Son than go in to a party where, instead of enjoying that lofty status, he will be one of two brothers equally beloved by their mutual father.
Now, to get back to the Red Cup Controversy. It’s a silly one, absolutely, but in the reactions it drew, I think it is illustrative of what can happen in our responses to other Christians. All too often, when one group of Christians takes a particular public stand or public action with which we disagree, especially one which we find frankly embarrassing, such as the red cup controversy, it is tempting to, like Big Bro, essentially disown our brothers and sisters. “Well, yes, I’m a Christian,” we declare, then hastily add,” – but I’m not one of THOSE Christians!” In other words, we may grudgingly acknowledge that they are sons and daughters of the Father, but we’ll be darned if we’re going to own up to them being our brothers and sisters!
Don’t think I’m speaking here as if I’m not on the guilty list! (Just look at my own reaction to the initial news of the controversy.) It is because I know myself to be so guilty that the issue bothers me. There should be plenty of room in God’s family to disagree on a wide scope of opinions and perspectives. The early church certainly had its share of differences. Figuring out just what this new freedom in Christ meant was sometimes a head-scratcher. Again and again Paul called on followers of Christ to be united – not necessarily in opinion, but always in love. He pled with Euodia and Syntyche of Philippi to agree – not with each other, but in the Lord. The issue isn’t whether or not we see everything the same. The issue is whether we truly see the whole family as the same – not only as God’s children, but as our siblings.
Even if another Christian does something that you think makes all of us look stupid, claiming that “he may be your SON, but he sure ain’t my BROTHER” is an argument that just doesn’t hold water with God.
Not even in a red cup.
Letting Not Normal Be Normal
Posted on: November 8, 2015
First, a word to all who read this blog. I started this blog mostly as a way to get all the words that kept tumbling ‘round and ‘round inside my head OUT of my head. I knew my mom would read my posts and probably share the blog with her friends, if only because her “baby” wrote it – moms are like that. I expected that some of my friends would read it because, well, they’re my friends, but I honestly wasn’t sure what to expect as to whether anyone ELSE would consider it worthwhile to read. It is validating, exhilarating, frightening and humbling to find that there are those who do. For each of you, I am grateful. If you like any post, the greatest compliment you can pay me is to share it with others, whether by FB, email, or print. (However you share it, please include the link to the blog site and my name as author.) A word of thanks also to all of you who have sent or said words of encouragement. I treasure them. If you particularly like some point, or especially if you particularly disagree with some point, or question a conclusion, please do comment. I would love for this to be more interactive and less of a monologue. Now on to the post….
A few months ago there was a letter to the editor in our local paper complaining about people in parking lots who take handicapped parking places. The writer wasn’t complaining about cars without a handicap license plate or without a placard hanging from the rearview mirror. No, she was complaining about those who HAVE those legal permissions but who “obviously” are healthy enough that they don’t NEED to use those parking places.
This isn’t a new accusation to those guilty of that “crime.” Although they are occasionally accosted directly in parking lots, more often they find themselves the recipients of dirty looks or nasty notes left on their windshield – or are the target of letters to the editor. The frustration is that heart conditions such as congestive heart failure, lung conditions such as cystic fibrosis, muscle conditions such as fibromyalgia, joint conditions such as arthritis, along with many other conditions, can result in a severe limitation on stamina qualifying a person to use handicapped parking, but none affect the physical appearance. Sometimes people end up not using the space they are legally entitled to use, no matter what it costs them physically, because they get tired of people accusing them. It’s just easier to pretend to be what people assume you are.
Recently, I have talked with both the middle school and high school youth groups at church about my journey with The Monster, from the depression that started in high school to my diagnosis with bipolar in 2010, what life has been like since and what the future likely holds. I did a FB post about having to up my bipolar meds and asking friends to please clue me in if they notice anything amiss. In all the cases, I received statements of commendation for speaking so candidly, for being “open” and “vulnerable”. I appreciate the intention of being supportive and encouraging. I do, truly.
Yet the fact that my speaking of these things is deemed to merit such note is … sad. It should not have to TAKE courage to speak up about being mentally ill. Taking head meds should require no more self-consciousness than does taking insulin. But the fact is that we mentally ill often feel that pressure to appear “normal” because we LOOK normal. We can be afraid to “confess” our not-normalness and be moved from the “us” category to the “them”.
I have a laundry list of physical problems – hypothyroid, fibromyalgia, migraines, to name just the ones readers are most likely to be familiar with. I have had 13 major surgeries, I lost count of the MRIs, CTs, X-rays and ER visits years ago. I have had a number of rare conditions pop up. If there’s a highly unlikely way to react to a drug … I’ll do it. (Do NOT tell me odds, please – my body takes it as a challenge!) I have to take a whole pile of pills a day to stay functional. I speak of these conditions without hesitation because they are my physical reality. I speak freely of my mental illness because it is just as much my physical reality.
In our society, though, this speaking of mental illness that casually is still uncommon enough that it gets noticed. Sadly, our churches are often no better than society when it comes to being places where mental illness can be disclosed and discussed with the same freedom and compassion that physical illnesses are. In some ways, churches can be even worse, because not only may mental illnesses be misunderstood, they are often misunderstood in a manner that blames the victim: to wit, if we just prayed properly, or trusted God better, or turned our troubles over to God more completely – if somehow we just did something “right”, if somehow we were better Christians, we wouldn’t be sick. It’s the ultimate betrayal of compassion.
The fact is that while mental illness PRESENTS behaviorally, it is in origin an actual physical problem. The brain is broken, wired wonky, chemically imbalanced so that certain areas of the brain are overactive while other areas are underactive. Some neurons are firing grapeshot, others blanks, while others are jammed. There are lapses in the synapses. Mental illness can no more be willed away than can diabetes. It can no more “faithed” away than ALS. One can no more reason a way out of it than one could reason a way out of anaphylactic shock. We mentally ill are generally the last to recognize what is going on with us – if we are even able to at all ; even if we are able to recognize it, we are still trapped by it. An epileptic doesn’t stop taking her medication when her seizures are under control because she is able to reason that without the medication’s influence, the seizures will return. We mentally ill may stop taking our meds once the symptoms are under control because our disease prevents us from grasping the fact that it is ONLY the medication that is keeping the disease at bay, not that WE are “better.” We are at the mercy of a disease for which there may be treatment, but for which there no cure. This is our frightening reality.
So how does a congregation foster an environment of openness where those with mental illness need not fear speaking freely about it? First, we can start with the way we deal generally with negative emotions – sadness, “the blues”, non-clinical depression, anxiety. If we are a safe place for expressing these, we will be – or can easily become – a safe place for being open about mental illness as well. We can listen without criticism and validate feelings – that is, let people feel what they feel and be honest about it. For example, say someone comes to church in a very blue phase, is asked, “Hey, how’s it going?”, and gives an honest answer. A cheery, “Oh, come on, things can’t be THAT bad!” or “Smile, Jesus loves you!” or “Just think about all the blessings God has given you!” or a recitation of the things the responder does to cheer themselves up, all these, while certainly intended for good, actually send the message “You are not allowed to be anything but happy at church” – the antithesis of openness. Responses such as, “I’m sorry to hear you’re feeling so sad”, or “That must be hard on you”, or “Then I’m extra glad you came today” sends a message that it’s ok to “come as you are.” We can go beyond assuring someone “I’m praying for you” to asking them if there is something specific we can pray about, making a very personal effort to connect. (And it certainly helps build that connection if we remember the next time we see the person to ask about that prayer item!)
Going farther, the pastor at my current church speaks frankly of his father who committed suicide twenty years ago. Pastor Brian also has had various congregation members share with the congregation their own stories of struggling with depression; as I mentioned, our youth pastor has done likewise. (I am only one of those who spoke.) THAT is fostering openness. At one church, we had a mentally ill homeless man who came regularly who sat in the front row and spent most of his time rocking rapidly into a deep bow back and forth. Sometimes he talked to himself. There were occasional complaints about him being “distracting”, and there’s no denying his activity was outside the sanctuary standard norm, but the majority of the congregation welcomed him anyway. Someone would always sit by him to calm him if his agitation reached extremes. Members would greet him by name after the service. THAT is fostering openness. One member there had a mental breakdown and spent 6 weeks hospitalized in the psych ward. When she came back, people didn’t avoid her in embarrassment, but simply welcomed her back as from any other hospitalization, with loving concern and care. THAT is fostering openness. Any time we educate ourselves so that we are prepared better for how to respond to or deal with people with mental illness, any time we acknowledge our lack of knowledge but express our desire to better understand, we are working to create an environment of openness.
When we acknowledge the reality of mental illness as matter-of-factly as we do that of physical illness we move one step closer to letting not normal be normal.
We can all be of One Mind – even if some of us are “out” of ours.
I Hate to Tell You This
Posted on: September 27, 2015
No, really. I DO hate to tell you this. Don’t worry – it’s not for your own good; it’s for mine. Well, maybe it will do you good, too – I never know what effects my scribblings may have.
Have you ever done the science experiment tasting a bit of paper that’s been treated with phenylthiocarbamide (PTC), a chemical that only some people can taste? For those who can’t taste it, the paper just tastes like paper did when we ate those magazines as toddlers. For those of us who can taste the chemical, though, the paper’s taste is bitter and entirely unpleasant, screwing up our face and making us want to spit the paper out and go rinse with something to take the taste away.
At the writers’ conference in April, one of the speakers, Tony Kriz, gave us a list of 10 questions he asks himself before publishing any piece of writing. (Tony is a challenger of the too-content, too-settled, and too-tradition-bound; find him at www.TonyKriz.com , or check out his books Aloof: Figuring Out Life With a God Who Hides, Neighbors and Wise Men: Sacred Encounters in a Portland Pub and Other Unexpected Places, Welcome to the Table: Post-Christian Culture Saves a Seat for Ancient Liturgy.) Two of the questions prompted a soul reaction just as that PTC-treated paper caused a sensory reaction: I wanted to spit them out and go gargle with something more pleasant!
Over the next few weeks, I did, in fact, try to find something to distract me from them, or find mental justifications why they didn’t apply to me – or maybe only just a little bit. The attempt was an unmitigated failure. Those questions had burrowed into my soul to stay, so it was obvious that they weren’t being posed by Tony, although his was the mouth through which they were delivered. Questions that spark this kind of reaction can only come from the LORD. I resigned myself that they were either going to just sit there and gnaw at me, or I was going to have to look them in the face. O.U.C.H.
Have you ever noticed how much easier it is to confess in generalities? We’re all comfortable confessing “I’m not perfect”, or admitting that “I make mistakes”, because no one on earth can deny the truth of those statements in their own instance. There may even be particular sins or short-comings we don’t mind confessing. For example, I don’t mind copping to being too impatient or owning up that I really shouldn’t have eaten that third piece of pie, because I’m in such good company on those offenses. Getting down to the personal, however, is another story altogether!
The two questions that are eating away at me are “Am I making myself the hero of my own story?” and “Have I thrown anyone under the bus?”
The answer to both is … um … not a negative? – and not just in my writing, either. I’d rather leave the admission of guilt at that – amorphously vague – but since some of the offenses have been splattered all over the pages of the Solution, it’s only fitting that some of the mea culpas also be shared in this venue.
Humble pie is on the menu – but at least the extra servings won’t make the scale creep up….
Being just like our Father
Posted on: June 21, 2015
- In: Christianity | church life | family | intentional living
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One of the interesting things coming out of dealing with my mom’s death is the revelation of just how different experiences with/perceptions of our parents were/are among my siblings and me. With a ten year age span between the five of us, several different living locations during our growing up, and, of course, our very different personalities and needs, it isn’t any wonder that such differences exist – indeed, it would be unbelievable if they did not – but knowing that these differences must exist and coming face to face with them in reality …. Somehow they still can be surprising. Even though our dad died 24 years ago, I’m still learning new things.
One of the things that came up in these last months has to do with fixing things. We always said my dad could fix anything. My dad disagreed; some things, he insisted, were not worth fixing! Honestly, though, he was one of those amazing guys who can seemingly do anything in the handyman line. I saw him take apart and put together countless kinds of appliances and toys; more often than not, that alone would restore them to working order without him even having to figure out what had been wrong in the first place. He did all our home maintenance and repair. At one house he enclosed the carport to create extra rooms; at another he finished the basement AND added on a huge garage and a workshop for himself. Once he retired, he parlayed his skills into a handyman business, under which flag he expanded into even more projects. I’m not sure if there was anything he was totally unwilling to tackle, though if electronics got too complicated, he’d bow out.
Because of my Daddy, I am pretty fearless when it comes to taking things apart. As he always said, “If it’s already broke, I can’t make it not work any worse.” If I already can’t use something, I’ve got nothing to lose by trying to fix it myself – especially if it’s something that it won’t be worth paying someone else to try to fix, if that’s even possible! I know if something was put together, it can most likely come apart; you just have to try to figure out which was the last screw, or the last tab. I can hear my dad’s voice as I work, “OK, lay everything out in the order you remove them, then just work backward from there to put it back together.” I can look at gears and latches and movements and more often than not figure out how the thing is supposed to work. I can read a user manual and identify parts. (Yes, my dad actually read directions!) My mom and at least one or two others of my sibling have said the same thing about hearing my dad’s voice as they go along on a project. A few months ago, one of my other brothers made the point that he does NOT. In fact, he doesn’t understand why we DO.
As I thought about it, I was struck by the realization that I didn’t get any of what I just talked about because Daddy TAUGHT it to me. Although he probably thought he did, the fact was, Daddy didn’t TEACH. He might show us – “OK, do this-this-this-this-then-this and there you’re all done” (like my one and only lesson in changing a tire) – but he didn’t take us through step by step and have us do it. Because he had come by his skill naturally and had had plenty of opportunity to gain experience on his dad’s ranch growing up, I don’t think he ever quite understood how unusual he was; I think he expected that of course we kids – especially the boys – would know how to be handy with tools simply because HE was. (When I married a man whose own dad had been, um, the antithesis of my own in that regard, my dad made allowances and did make a point of working WITH my dh to teach him skills, a blessing from which our family continues to benefit.)
I didn’t learn from Daddy how to fix things, but somehow I managed to absorb an attitude from him that I COULD. Yet my brother was left with neither. There are other attitudes I absorbed that have had a far less positive influence, but that escaped my siblings’ notice altogether. Of both my father and my mother, we find ourselves asking one another, “Where did you get THAT??” or saying, “Boy, I sure didn’t see it that way.”
Is it any wonder, then, given how amazingly individualistic we kids are in how we react to our earthly parents growing up, that we are so individualistic in how we perceive God? We believers read the same Word, yet how differently we may interpret it! We worship the same Lord, yet relate differently to His holy character. We come to God from such different experiences and different paradigms, such different expectations, fears, hopes, and longings that we should not wonder that we sometimes ask each other, “Where do you see THAT in Him? I’ve never felt like that.”
Unity in the Spirit doesn’t make us like each other; it makes us like the same God. However, because our God is so diverse and beyond our comprehension – the Great Both/And, the Great Contradiction, Who Makes Exist What Does Not – being all like Him we end up as different from each other as can be. No other believer will ever be able to relate to God as I do. There is a facet of God’s image that only you can connect with.
I see my mom and dad more clearly now that I am learning to see them through my siblings’ eyes. In some ways, I continue to hold to my own perception, but I have learned to fully acknowledge the validity of theirs, no matter how different from mine. It would be so sad if any of us tried to deny family identity over those differences. In the same way, we should value those in God’s Family whose perceptions differ from our own and be willing to consider theirs. We don’t necessarily have to adopt those perceptions, but we should acknowledge their validity. Worst of all would be for us to attempt to disown others from the Family simply because they experience the Father differently, have learned some different lessons, see His world through different eyes.
Whom God has called His child is my brother, my sister. We all bear the same family name. May we all be our Father’s children in word and deed.
Whose year is it, anyway?
Posted on: June 7, 2015
My dad had a saying. Actually he had LOTS of sayings. The older I get, the more of them I find myself using. When a whole string of things went wrong one right after the other, he’d say “Some days, ya just can’t win fer losin’!” Most of us know it as, “Man, this just ISN’T my day!” We’ve all been there.
You sleep through your alarm, so you’re running late. You speed a bit trying to get to work on time, and you get pulled over. While the cop is writing the ticket, he notices that your registration is expired. You sit in a meeting in the morning and spill your coffee. On the boss. You realize you forgot the lunch you’d packed the night before. It’s sitting right on top of the presentation folder for the big meeting this afternoon. There’s a huge traffic jam on the freeway, so you’re an hour late getting home, so there isn’t time for dinner before you have to head off for your kid’s softball game. During the game, your keys fall out of your pocket and land somewhere on the ground under the bleachers, amid the piles of peanut shells, candy wrappers and spilled soda pop. You get back to your car to find someone left a new dent on the bumper. You finally make it home, get the kids in bed, get yourself into your PJs so you can crawl in bed and read…. and find the dog threw up on your pillow. Not. My. Day.
On the other hand, sometimes everything seems to be going right. In November of 2013, I was looking forward to 2014 very much. My youngest was still home, but gainfully employed at last. My cousin I take care of was relatively stable. My oldest daughter, who had been facing placenta previa (a serious condition of pregnancy; go look it up), got the news that it had resolved and her pregnancy had been downgraded from high risk back to low risk; Gramsie (that’s me) no longer had to be ready to take on major care of the two and four year olds for months of bedrest. My own health was good, other than the setback of taking a fall in September that had derailed my exercise routine for a few months. I had lots of ideas for things I wanted to do in 2014: write, write, write; organize family photos; sew; plan Gramsie days with my grandprincesses; go hiking with my dh; get projects done on the house; work on my garden. Yep, 2014 looked to be marvelous.
In January of this year, I saw quite a few posts on my Facebook feed making claims “2015 is going to be MY YEAR!”, or encouraging others “Remember folks, this is YOUR YEAR!” I’m not entirely sure what they meant by it, but frankly, I just rolled my eyes as I thought about what happened to me LAST year. Contrary to how 2014 LOOKED to be shaping up, on December 6, 2013, my mom was diagnosed with lung cancer that had spread to her ribs, spine and brain. She died almost eleven months later, on October 29th of 2014. I was her primary caregiver, basically living at her home for her final three months. During that same time, the cousin I also serve as caregiver for had her own series of crises. The two either tag- or double-teamed me pretty much non-stop for the duration of my mom’s illness. I did a fair amount of writing, keeping up a CaringBridge journal about Mama’s journey Homeward, and for the last three months of her life, nearly daily emails to a circle of family and close friends, but I had little time to do writing for my own purposes, such as this blog. My garden went untended. Only one or two minor house projects got done. I only half-jokingly said that I had no life of my own – I had OTHER peoples’ lives. MY year? Not exactly.
Not only experience, but Scripture, warns against being too cock-sure of ourselves. In James 4, it says : “Come now, you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit’— yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, ‘If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.’ As it is, you boast in your arrogance.”
Sometimes we DO get to go to that town, and we DO get to spend a year there and trade, and we DO make a profit. Other times, we’ll go to that town and spend a year and trade and….. end up bankrupt. Maybe we’ll get to go to that town and spend a year … trying to get a business license. Maybe we’ll get to go that town, and …. have to leave after a couple of months. Maybe we’ll set out for that town, and find the bridge is out or get set on by robbers. Maybe we’ll break our leg before we can even start packing!
We have no way of knowing . We don’t. But we sure act like we do, don’t we? Sometimes we act like God owes it to us to honor the plans we make, but the more we claim possession of our time, the more we set ourselves up for indignation, frustration, and even anger when our plans go south.
Most Westerners know the division of the historical calendar into “B.C.” and “A.D.” Many people could correctly identify “B.C.” as standing for the words “before Christ”. “A.D.”, however, is nearly always mistakenly defined as an abbreviation of “after death”, when in fact it stands for the Latin “Anno Domini” – the Year of Our Lord. In medieval times, the term often used was “Anno Gratiae”, or “Year of Grace.” The two were sometimes combined so that you may read in old English of a date such as “June the nineteenth in the year of Our Lord’s Grace, fifteen hundred forty-three.” Isn’t that a marvelous way of looking at our calendar?
When I said last year that I didn’t have any life of my own, I was right – but it would be a mistake to think that I ever will! As a Christian, my life is NOT my own. What would I do with a life of my own, anyway? I’m not so sure but that I’d make quite a hash of it in short order.
I don’t want MY year – but I’ll sure take another year of Our Lord’s Grace!
[Note: Something is off with the formatting for paragraphs when the draft actually posts, but I am giving up trying to fix it! Sorry.]
I grew up in South Central Texas, as belted in the Bible as you could get. We attended CHBaptist Church, a real big church just a mile or so up the road, right past my elementary school. (Baptist churches in Texas come in three size: Real Big, Really, Really Big, and outright Gigantormously Big.) Like all good Baptists, we were at church whenever the doors were open: Sunday morning for Sunday School and worship, Sunday evening for Training Union and service, Wednesdays for Prayer Service, the annual Revival , annual Missions conferences, special speakers, potlucks, VBS– you name it, the Heumier crew was present, front and center. CHBC was an integral part of family life – and we were an integral part of CHBC.
On the first night out on vacation in the summer when I was about 8 or 9, just after all seven of us had gotten settled into our sleeping bags in the big, green canvas tent, Mama said she had something to tell us: we were leaving CHBC. When we got back from vacation, we would begin searching for a new church. Although it felt strange to leave the familiar place, most of my friends were from school rather than church, and I disliked (and even feared) the hellfire-and-brimstone pastor, so I wasn’t too unhappy about leaving. We weren’t the only family to exit stage left at the time, but I was too young to be fully aware of the pain and anguish the split left in its wake. We found another church (a Really, Really Big one), and were very happy there until we had to move away because of my dad’s job transfer.
Since then, I have attended 11 different churches. At the 6 churches my dh and I have been at since our marriage in ’82, my dh and I have been through 3 splits. The first was when we and several other families (including the pastor’s) left our small church after it became clear that most of the congregation had a very different vision of what the purpose of the church was. It was an uncomfortable, though not a rancorous, split.
We were at our next church for 13 years, involved in leadership at high levels. In the first split there, involving the ouster of a pastor for serious cause, Rob was Executive Director, and we were in the majority who remained behind. The offenses did not take place with outside witnesses, so it took many months before the leadership had its case prepared. In the meantime rumor, anger, and bitterness ran amok, and fault lines split wide between those who believed the pastor and those who believed the accusers. In the end, an overwhelming majority of the congregation was convinced of the need to remove the pastor from office. Since his conduct in the aftermath of his ouster gave very public demonstration of the veracity of the accusations, some of those who had been on his side acknowledged that they had been “taken in” by his publicly plausible charisma. Still, there were many congregants left bruised and battered on either side. Friendships that had lasted for years ended; others were severely strained.
The second split at that church came several pastors later, when Rob was Head Elder. A new pastor was brought in who turned out to have a very, shall we say, aggressive style, very decided ideas of how he wanted things done, and little or no respect for anyone who didn’t agree with him. A trickle of people began leaving within 6 months of his arrival. The situation came to a head when he proposed a plan that completely and unabashedly violated the church’s constitution and by-laws, and enough of a majority at the congregational meeting voted to begin implementation. A number of other families, including ours, joined the Diaspora at that point. Altogether, some quarter to a third of the families from the congregation left; most, like us, had been long-time members and heavily involved leaders.
Both of those splits were extremely traumatic, leaving the pasture littered with casualties. In the first split, most leaving went to churches of other denominations, but in the second, being families with strong ties to the denomination, we mostly ended up at sister churches, which created especially awkward situations since we were quite likely to be thrown together with members from our previous church at conferences, retreats, and so on. Some folks actively avoided each other, some folks just tacitly ignored each other, while others pretended nothing had happened and we’d never been at the same church. Over time, some relationships were re-established on an amicable footing, but for others the rupture was permanent.
This past December and January the church that I and my oldest daughter and family attend (a different denomination), experienced a split, with about 15 of our families leaving. Although I have been attending this church for about 5 years now, I have not become involved very deeply, for various reasons, so it is no wonder that I was entirely taken by surprise – but from what I’ve heard, not many others in the congregation knew the problems existed until the situation exploded, either. As is almost always the case, for those involved, the split caused wrenching pain and much collateral damage, both for those who stayed and those who left.
In almost every split I’ve been part of/witness to, there have been a few people whose actions, I think, helped lessen the hurt, and brought faster healing of what hurt there was. I’m sad – and ashamed – that I’ve transgressed some of them, but I hope that I’ve learned from the better example. Let me tell you these things I’ve learned.
I’ve learned that a split, in and of itself, is not necessarily the worst thing that can befall a church. God works in all things – even conflict and splits. He may use a split to help a congregation clarify its calling by the issues brought to light in conflict. If the church has been trying to go in two directions at once, neither will be getting done well; splitting may free the church to focus on one direction rather than the other. Leaders may find themselves encouraged in their leadership, or may see areas where they needed humbling so that they can be better shepherds. A gap left by someone leaving may open up opportunities for someone unexpected to serve. Sometimes we stay in a place out of sheer inertia, even though there are serious issues that bother us; conflict may challenge us with the question, “Is this really where I am supposed to be?” God may use a split to move part of one flock to a part of the pasture where they are needed more. That’s certainly what happened with the Diaspora. (And the church we left? It didn’t die, or even come near collapse – which I must confess the ugly truth that part of me would have almost enjoyed as vindication of how right we were to object to that pastor. It recovered fairly quickly and went on to be strong and healthy. )
I have been struck that one of the first instructions given in many books on marriage is that both parties should begin any conflict by assuming the goodwill of the other. That is, each spouse should act in the belief that the other spouse does, in fact, love him/her, does, in fact, desire the best for him/her, and that whatever is going on, the INTENT is not to wound him/her. If we applied this concept to churches, acting on the assumption that neither side wants to destroy the church, is deliberately trying to wound others who disagree, or is intentionally trying to cause a split, if we acknowledged that both sides share the same goal of seeing the church thrive (differ though we do on the “how” it would be best achieved), it would change the whole tone of any conflict – both how we would act ourselves, and how we would interpret others’ actions. If we could “agree in the Lord” on this primary assumption, it might keep us from “enemizing” each other – creating a “we are the good guys and we’re right” and “you are the enemy and you’re wrong” mindset that prevents any real communication from occurring, and only serves to set each side up to dig in its heels to defend its position.
If we are among the ones who stay behind, assuming the goodwill of the other party would include assuming that the decision took place only after considerable prayer to discern God’s will, and is as painful for them as it is for us. Though there may have been a specific incident that proved the “tipping point” that triggered the timing of their leaving, we should not belittle the decision as being “only” because of that incident. We need to acknowledge that we do not know everything that went into the decision – especially since even those leaving may not, at the time, recognize all the factors. Going through this kind of trauma without the support of the flock you’ve been a part of is horrendously difficult, especially if you’ve been there a long time and your connections are deep, so we should be willing to meet those who have left in a spirit of mutual grief and support, whether we agree with their positions or their decision to leave. If we speak respectfully of those who have left, even if still dealing with feelings of personal hurt, we take the higher road.
And what of those who leave? If we have decided that leaving is what we have to do, it can be helpful to if possible explain that decision to those who will be directly affected or who are likely to notice our absence, such as people with whom we are on boards with, or groups with whom we serve. The intent should not be to foment further discontent or to get others to take up an offence on our behalf, of course, nor should we reveal information that is confidential or that the listener does not need to know, but to simply disappear opens the door to all kinds of speculation, and may leave some tender souls feeling undeserved guilt that it was somehow their fault. As we should be ready to accept overtures of concern and support from those we have left, we should be as ready to make those overtures ourselves. Those leaving a church are faced with an additional temptation to voice their complaints to those outside the church, but if we remember that that church is still part of God’s family, we will be careful how, and how much, and with whom, we share.
When it comes to conflict, God isn’t impressed by how correct we are. We may be perfectly “right” – and still be utterly wrong. If we don’t speak to one another in love and humility, if we are quick to take offence, if we are unwilling to listen, we are wrong. If we close our minds and hearts to the possibility that others might have some valid points, valid concerns, valid criticisms, then we are wrong. If we gossip about, slander, and judge one another, then we are wrong. It may be easy to convince ourselves of the righteousness of our position, but if we go about treating one another in an unrighteous manner, we are wrong. If we let our position on the disagreement become more important to us than our brothers and sisters, we are wrong. “Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins.” I Peter 4:8
No split is pain-free, but God willing, we can at least minimize the need for Excedrin.
Need some Windex?
Posted on: April 23, 2015
On April 10th/11th, I attended the Faith & Culture Writers Conference in Portland, a two hour drive south. It was my first ever opportunity to engage about writing with others who also write. Trying to sort out the experience is a bit like trying to deconstruct a flavorful stew – the flavors are so intermingled and have so influenced one another that it isn’t entirely possible to label them separately. But I process things by writing about them, so I’ll put the experience through the word processor and see what emerges.
As expected, I met more than a few people whose life stories would make an interesting read of engaging plot twists in a landscape of complex characters. Other folks had simple life stories, but ideas that required significant mental gymnastics to climb. Whether like me, finding words to be ready toys and tools, or like others, for whom words come hard, there was a shared appreciation for the power of language, and for the responsibility and privilege we bear and share as Christian writers, whatever the subject of our pen.
I heard many casual references to “my next book comes out in so-many months”, some dropping as naturally as a passing comment about an upcoming summer vacation, others inserted with all the subtlety of a newly-engaged woman’s use of her left hand. Being writers, and thus delvers deep into the depths of the human soul, table topics during breaks moved almost instantly from “What’s your name?” to “What’s your worst fear, your darkest secret, the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done that you hope to goodness never shows up on YouTube?” – all answered without skipping a beat, in the presence of utter strangers. (Some of us seeming stranger than others, but none of us perfect strangers, thank goodness, or how would any of us live up to that?)
The speakers ranged from nationally known authors such as Emily Freeman (Grace for the Good Girl; http://www.chattingatthesky.com/) and William Paul Young (The Shack; http://www.windrumors.com/), to Portland-based Tony Kriz (Aloof: Figuring out Life with a God Who Hides; http://tonykriz.com/) and motivational speaker/new author Romal Tune (God’s Graffiti: Inspiring Stories for Teens; http://www.romaltune.com/), along with successful bloggers, internet article writers, and literary editors and agents. (I went to several sessions with author Terry Glaspy , and I am sooooo jazzed about his newest book coming out in July – The Prayers of Jane Austen!! He found them in collections of other works of hers and got permission to print them on their own. Since most members of my family are major Austen-philes, this is truly a Major Event!)
Another speaker was spoken word poet, Phil Long. (Cosmolyrical ; http://sacrificialpoetproject.org/poet/phil-long Spoken word poetry is poetry written, like drama, for the purpose of being performed, not merely read, using evocative imagery, story-telling, and word play. Just watch a video or two from the website and you’ll understand.) His performance left me feeling overwhelmed with imagery pulsating with fresh perspectives, familiar phrases turning on their heels and heading in unexpected directions. Whether listening to or reading it, this poetry is a rich experience.
Not unexpectedly, I added more books to my already too-long “to read” list. It’s a good thing it’s only a list, because a stack of the actual books would be into zero gravity by now. I came away with a number of quotes that I expect will ferment into blog posts.
I learned to my dismay that if my intentions are honorable and my purpose to grow my blog readership, somewhat techno-timid me will have to subdue the brave new world of … gulp … social media. I will have to become Twitter-pated and learn to sound retweet, become an Instagram cracker and milk it for all it’s worth, put a Pinterest in it, build with LinkdIn logs, and Facebook ‘em, Danno. I am rethinking several aspects of my blogging, as will be seen in the coming months.
I found myself uplifted, challenged, inspired, objected, overruled and sustained.
This was the first time I heard writers referred to as a class as “artists” and “creatives”, but I concluded that I am a somewhat defective creative, as I did not relate to quite a few things said of “we writers”. I don’t suffer angst about calling myself a writer or about writing. I don’t fear rejection, or worry that a publisher will think I’m crazy. (I AM crazy, so it would be an accurate assessment.) I don’t relate to ALL other art; some art moves me, while other just makes me want to move along. Still, it was interesting to ponder what I do in that light.
One thing that did seriously bother me was an attitude I picked up from some of the session speakers. There was a consistent message from most of the lead speakers that we need to be like Jesus, who sometimes flipped tables and sometimes spoke gently to the hurting. However, especially in some sessions I attended, there wasn’t always acknowledgment of the Scriptural truth that we are one body, each with its own part to play. We are not each called to look like all parts of Jesus. Some of us are table flippers, some are comforters; some of us are sandpaper, others, Kleenex. Several speakers stressed the need to respect those who see things differently, no matter how much you differ from their perspective, but other speakers seemed to apply that only to the world, not to others in the church. They freely – and sometimes with glee – condemned the “thems” who the “us” have declared to be shallow or not “authentically” Christian. At those times I found myself very thankful that many of my friends and family were not in the audience, because they would have been sorely wounded to hear their hearts judged and themselves made fun of, devalued, and dismissed, because they find have different opinions and find meaning in things those speakers find meaningless.
Having the conference close with William Paul Young was a wonderful counterbalance to that. He challenges the church, but his love FOR and identification WITH that church comes through clearly. We’re ALL at the same Table, whether we acknowledge it or not – because it’s HIS Table, not ours. I don’t interpret all life as Young does, but , unlike some of the other speakers, I would love to sit down to coffee with him, feeling that there would be no judgment from him while I was with him and no condemnation by him talking about our conversation later to others.
In the end, that is what challenged me the most from the conference, because I know I far too easily fall in the camp of those who sit on a holy high horse disclaiming on Where Other Christians or the Church As a Whole Have Gone Wrong, criticizing and, yes, even (to my shame) deriding other Christians. Yet I am struck by a phrase in Hebrews 2:11. In speaking of those who are sanctified – which is ALL Christians, not just those we like or agree with – it says that Christ Himself is not ashamed to call them His brothers and sisters. Ouch. When we begin to slam our brothers and sisters, making judgments about their hearts, criticizing their motives and questioning their intentions (which are both matters of the heart that only God sees), when we would prefer not to be known to be family members of “those” Christians because we know we’re “better”, or “wiser”, or more “spiritual” than they are, we “better” be careful. If they are God’s people, then they are His just as much as we are, and they are answerable to HIM, not to us. (Romans 14:1-4) There’s nothing “funny” about “sticking it to” our brothers and sisters. No matter how correct the criticism or valid the point about an issue, we are wrong if we venture to judge or belittle the person.
One of the analogies given for us as writers was that we are “window washers”, giving people the opportunity to see things more clearly. I think the window I better wash first is my own.
the susie solution 