Where No One Else Can See

I started back to in-person church a few weeks ago. I'm feeling sinusy today, so I watched at home. 

The guest speaker came from California. He told stories, which is one of my five love languages. The other four are encrypted and I’ve lost the code. He said he was a wild child at a very young age, so much so that his parents kept him, and not his siblings, on a literal leash. Before I had kids, I'd roll my eyes at parents with kid leashes. Then I had kids and discovered that two arms are insufficient, so I joined the club. A kid leash eliminates that super-fun adrenaline rush of chasing your kid out of oncoming traffic, I get it, but I've always preferred my thrills in the form of naughty carbohydrates and men with puffy lips. 

Guest Speaker said Christians should shine their light — not as in bashing people over the head with the Bible and the fires of Hell — but as in living lives of dedication and grace. Although he's not the pastor of my church, this morning he mirrored the vibe that has kept me there: funny, relatable, calm. 

It's as if the pastors at my church know a lot about human nature: They understand that telling people how bad they are generally doesn't compel change. What does? Personal desire first. Then patience, kindness, information, and support. 

At my church, ego doesn't rule. I think it does at many churches headed by men who believe it's their God-appointed duty to tell people all about how terrible the world is and who's out to get them and why we're all doomed. 

"But we have to tell people about Hell!" 

Okay, sure. But do you have to do it based on your personal perception of our world? I vote no. I don't trust you. 

"But I've been given divine inspiration!"

Sounds great. Still don't trust you. 

When my pastor says God has spoken to him, funny how it's never about how liberals are evil and the government is trying to off us and the gays are trying to take over. It's merely — and monumentally — about a relationship with Jesus. 

"Well, he's wrong! He's not delivering THE WORD."

Hmm.  

So, I learned something during my evil liberal indoctrination in college, in literature courses that — close your eyes for this part, haters — expanded my aptitude for critical thinking: There are myriad ways to deliver a message. Some folks are drawn to the tidiness of flash fiction. Or the subtlety of poetry. The relatability of a nonfiction essay. And so on. Same goes for church messaging. 

Unless dude is up there channeling Jim Jones or David Koresh or David Duke, then it seems reasonable to live and let live. God will take care of the rest. 

From my perch high up on this Appalachian hill, I see angry rioting Christians consumed by their desire for control. Control being a favorite instrument of fear. Fear being a thing God doesn't want in our lives. I should know; my worrisome, busy brain loves nothing more than to hand me a list of things I should control. But God dropped a gift into the mix: I'm not freaked out about our world crumbling to pieces. We'll be okay. 

What constitutes a "good" Christian? I'm talking about Christianity as in relationship with Jesus. I get that it can get weird. Some aspects of my chosen faith make me uncomfortable. Three weeks ago at church, a woman was up front doing the Jesus version of a stoner hippie dance. 

Really, God? Not on my first day back. Also, Noah's Ark – it's a parable, not literal, right? 

My personal FAQ list to God aside, what keeps me in place is simplicity: I believe there's a higher power. I believe God is love and grace and peace. I know that doesn't explain why bad things happen to good people and good things happen to bad people. That’s a moot point anyway — “good” and “bad” are impossible to define. When we tell our stories of hurt or disappointment, the natural arc leads us to create a bad guy. I’m certain I’m the bad guy for somebody out there, even if my intentions, from my own protagonist’s view, were good. 

Our personal narratives are complicated. The fixer in me wants peace with all of the people in my personal orbit, which is not only impossible but also the wrong way to look at it. Peace is not between me and another person; it’s between me and God. Intimacy has always been my cross to bear. I’m not talking sex here — I mean vulnerability between two people whether it’s romantic or platonic. I either get it really right or really wrong. Aside from the confusion and facepalm moments it causes, I do my best to exhale and accept that it’s part of who I am. And hey,  I’ll take it over being caught up in conspiracy hysteria and rejecting my neighbor because of how they love or worship or look. 

I don’t sweat the societal shifts of this world that I cannot control. Thanks for that, God. The packaging leaves something to be desired, but the gift keeps on giving. 

After today's sermon, I thought about what makes a good Christian. Is it adhering to legalistic standards that create the appearance of piety? Some people do a great job of that. It's not my thing, but good for them, really. That's their journey. We each have one. While many Christians want that journey to be a conveyor belt, I believe it's a meandering path through the wilderness. Speaking of the great outdoors, if you know me, you know isolation is a hard no. So high five to God for allowing me to go glamping. 

Me, I'm a no-good outward Christian. I blast worldly music to wake up my kids for school; last week it was Mary J. Blige, Common, Spoon, The Replacements, Erykah Badu. When I listen to my favorite podcast and the kids go "Ahhh! He said a bad word!" I tell them, "It's just a word, and it's his word, not yours"... although sometimes I'll let them say a bad word for fun. I sip from a water bottle in church because I don't believe reverence precludes hydration. I believe that kneeling on a football field and loving God are not mutually exclusive. The list goes on.

So what's the measure of being good at Christianity? My answer: the meditations of our heart. Our internal dialogue with God, where no one else can see, is what guides us. We'll never reach purity, but we can learn to put a leash on the reckless parts of our humanity. Keep them safe until they've grown.