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Finding God in the Holy Land

Hello, dear readers, from your recently returned pilgrim! That’s right, your traveling teacher got to take another trip off of her bucket list. When I first starting teaching almost 10 years ago now, I never realized how the summers off would open up my world so literally. Each summer (since I learned how teachers should use their summers) has been spent at a new international location: Greece, Morocco, and Australia (just to name a few).

But, you say, it isn’t summer, and you’d be correct. When I saw a trip to the Holy Land advertised in my church bulletin last year, but saw that it was scheduled for February, I was determined to make it work no matter what. Because teachers get so many breaks and weeks off in the summer, we don’t get vacation. We get three personal days and that is it for the year other than sick time. I tried to pitch to my principal that since I am a Scripture teacher and I work at a Catholic School, this should be professional development time, but it didn’t quite work out that way. Regardless, I did get the time off to go (even though it was unpaid leave) and I did get to book my trip of a lifetime.

A trip to the Holy Land bears so much weight for so many reasons. Everyone says “it’s the trip of a lifetime.” Add onto that that you are a Scripture teacher. That you used to live in a convent. And that you told your parents about it and they want to go with you. This, my dear readers, only adds to the pressure of this trip really needing to meet that expectation of “trip of a lifetime.”

I really tried not to put any expectations on the trip since there was so much weight to this trip already. Regardless of how things went with our group or our flights, I was going to see the places that I teach my students about. I was going to walk close to places that Jesus at one time walked.

Now, I am not disillusioned that these places are ACTUALLY the places where tradition asserts that these moments in Christ’s life happen. I know that a lot of these Churches were built on guesstimates. But it was still going to be good enough for me to go to the places that for 1700 years- since the 4th century when Constantine and Helena made Christianity a world wide thing- people have come to worship and honor and remember Jesus.

Our trip was a 10 day tour and about 3 of those days were spent with travel. We flew to Frankfurt (7 hour flight) and then to Tel Aviv (4 hour flight). Israel is 7 hours ahead, so by the time we got to Tel Aviv, it was just time to go to bed. We got to see the coastal city a little before bed and before we boarded our bus for our true adventure: the cities in Northern Israel around the Sea of Galilee and then making our way down to Jerusalem.

I will spare you the play by play of each day, but rather, this post is going to be about where I “felt” God during this trip. I feel like one does a pilgrimage like this for the main reason of “feeling” God’s presence in these places. And, again, that is a lot of pressure to put on a trip. There are so many factors that come into play. For example:

a.the people you are traveling with. For us, that was a doozey. Lots of old, American travelers who I wasn’t quite sure had ever left the country before. That was a lot to take in and of itself. Oof.

b. timing. Turns out February is a great time to travel to Israel. It is like their Springtime. A little bit of rain, 50 and 60 degree weather, lots of vegetation in bloom. Our tour guide made sure to get us to as many places as possible each day (despite the aforementioned American travelers who are used to being on their own time schedules that I can only assume means moving at the slowest pace possible with no regard for anyone else) but moving at such a pace meant not getting to spend as much time as I would’ve liked taking in all of these seriously momentous locations.

c. the political backdrop. We all know that the Middle East has been in conflict since biblical times and it definitely played a role while we were there. I felt safe always while in Israel, but crossing the Palestinian border meant having us switch guides to have someone from the State of Palestine show us around Bethlehem and seeing big signs and barbed wire around borders warning Israeli citizens about their entrance into Palestine. On my free day, I really wanted to return to the border to see some street art by the artist Banksy that is there, but my guide warned against it. He said no cab driver would take me there for less than $150 and even then it was a toss up as to what the climate would be like.

All of these factors I tried to not let taint my bucket list experience of seeing and experiencing the places that we have read about in Scripture for centuries. But we are human.

I said I wasn’t going to give you all a play by play of each day, but rather, perhaps describe some of my “God moments” while on the trip. On our first day, I believe we were all looking for that “God moment” right away. Some of us did get it when we arrived in Magdala, the home of Mary Magdalene. This is apparently a newly excavated city. It was “discovered” I think as recently as 2011. The skeptic in me had lots of questions. I couldn’t believe that for centuries people had walked this land around the Sea of Galilee and built churches on so many sites where Jesus was said to have walked, but we are just now discovering this land we have heard of in Scripture? I tried to put the questions out of my mind and just take in that FINALLY after 2000 years, a Church was going to be dedicated to the women in Scripture.

I will say, the priest that we heard describing this new Church that is built for “the dignity of women” was still condescending. I wish I could say that was a surprise, but we know better, don’t we ladies? The Church they have built in Magdala is very modern and has a room where there are pillars for each of the women mentioned in the Resurrection narratives which I thought was nice. There is an “empty” pillar with no name on it for the women who are pillars in our faith. Also a nice touch. It was still hard to listen, though, to a man speak about how this room and this Church was meant to “teach women about their dignity”…as if it was our fault that our dignity had been taken from us for centuries.

I was clearly too much inside of my head this first day. I was questioning the legitimacy of this place, this excavation, the intent behind all of it, judging those in my group…and then…

Bam! I fall to my knees on the 1st century rocks beneath my feet.

 

Our guides had been telling our 60+ aged travelers for hours to be careful on the 1st century stones and who is the one who takes the dive? One of the youngest ones.

I was humiliated, of course, to be in a group of 60 somethings and to be the one who took the dive that everyone saw and continued to ask me about for the rest of the week. I was also legitimately concerned about my ankle that immediately began to swell and hurt to put pressure on. But as I got onto my feet, we were taken into a chapel that is dedicated to the woman who touched Jesus’ garment in Mark chapter 5. This has been one of my favorite Scripture passages since I learned about how Mark wrote his Gospel while studying in the convent.

magdala6

Image of chapel at Magdala with mural of woman in Mark 5 touching Christ’s garment. Also note unstable 1st century floors…

 

After I had my fall and this humbling moment and the visiting of this chapel, I got my head into gear. I asked God to change my attitude, to make me physically and spiritually well, just like the woman in the story.

We ended our first day with Mass in another chapel in this Church at Magdala with an altar shaped like a boat. There were windows behind it that overlooked the Sea of Galilee. The modern altar I thought was, of course, significant and really helped us get our minds around that we are here, in Galilee, where so many of these miracles happened.

magdala5

Altar at chapel in Magdala overlooking Sea of Galilee.

The readings for Mass that day were also part of my God moment on this first day. The first reading was Hebrews 12:1-3, a passage that my personal blog is literally named after (http://hebrews121-3.blogspot.com. No joke) and the Gospel reading for that day was the woman with the hemorrhage. Our priest assured us that those were the actual readings for the day, not chosen just because we had seen the chapel inspired by that reading.

Later in our journeys, we would be having Mass and reading the passages from Scripture associated with those places we were in, but on this first day, I believe that my fall, those readings, were my first “God moments” of the trip. God was helping me to get my head in the right place and assure me that this trip would be anointed if I would get out of my own way.

Other places where I unexpectedly felt God’s presence:

– Mary’s home in Nazareth. I have always struggled with my relationship with Mary and again, my skepticism tells me that the house dedicated as “her house” in Nazareth couldn’t possibly be THE actual house, but for some reason, I felt very at peace there and didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay and pray and offer up all of my prayer intentions there.

– Pater Noster in Jerusalem. This is a church built in dedication to where Jesus gave us the Our Father. The Scripture scholar in me once again was dubious because the Mount of the Beatitudes is dedicated up by the Sea of Galilee and in Matthew’s Gospel, the Our Father is given in the same Sermon as the Beatitudes, yet here we were miles and miles away from that Mountain. But as our guide took us into a 1st century burial place on this mountain- the Mount of Olives where Jesus also Ascended from- and we said the Our Father together, I felt a connection to the place and to Our Father.

– the Holy Sepulcher. No surprise that I felt the Lord’s presence here as it is the Church where it is said the tomb of Christ and the rock of Calvary are located. I felt Christ’s presence as we said Mass next to the place where people can touch the rock said to be where Jesus died. I felt His presence specifically when we said the Creed together during Mass. It reminded me of how Christians have said this Creed of faith for centuries and to be at the place where much of our Creed takes place-“suffered, died, and was buried”- was a moment.

– Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem. It may not be surprising that I felt God’s presence here, being it is the place where God gave to us a Savior, but I am much more of an adult Jesus kind of girl instead of a baby Jesus girl if that makes any sense. I was also having some very human moments as we waited for hours to see the place of the manger. I was frustrated with humanity as we waited and people around us pushed and I was also frustrated with a woman in our group, but once we finally got into the cave of the Nativity, I felt God’s presence at the place of the manger. I don’t even remember taking pictures there and was surprised later to find some on my phone because I think I had some kind of out of body experience while there.

– Church of the Visitation. Surprisingly, another Mary place! Mary was really coming through on this trip for me. I felt her peace and presence at this place where it is said her cousin Elizabeth and husband Zechariah lived. It was also the birthplace of John the Baptist. We did this on the same day as Bethlehem and it was cool to have visited the birthplace of Jesus as well as the birthplace of his precursor, John, on the same day.

There is so much more that I could say about my trip, but I am still processing much myself. One of the biggest takeaways that I will leave you with is this one:

As we were in Nazareth in the home of the Holy Family where Jesus was supposedly raised, I was letting my humanness get the best of me again. People were pushing, there wasn’t much space, people in our group were frustrating me and so then I was frustrated with myself that I wasn’t “feeling” anything there.

In that moment, I thought: “here I am in the Holy Land and I have had more intense ‘God moments’ back home.” But maybe that’s just it. And that is the beauty of our faith: you don’t have to be in the Holy Land to “feel God.” He truly is present everywhere. And for me as a Catholic, I believe He is present in the Eucharist which happens every time at Mass. That idea that God is truly present everywhere gives me much hope and I hope that it does for you, too, dear reader.

I am grateful to have had the experience of a lifetime with this trip. I can now picture and imagine geographically where much of the New Testament and some of the Old Testament took place. But our God is not limited by time and space. He is everywhere. And apparently I had to go to the Holy Land to really learn to appreciate that.

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#GetYourWingsOn

In my last post, I talked about one of the ways that I take my anxieties and lean on God for help in getting through them; the past couple weeks have reminded me of another one.

Not because I was having a difficult time- far from it! Right after Thanksgiving this year, I got to start my month-long participation in my new favorite holiday tradition: MBMBaM Angels.

If you’re never heard of the podcast My Brother, My Brother and Me (MBMBaM to its fans) I highly recommend it. (Just keep in mind that it’s rated “explicit” for a reason!) The podcast is the work of Justin, Travis, and Griffin McElroy, three brothers from West Virginia who started this show years ago, and have since become professional podcasters, which I think is the modren equivalent of getting a job in radio.

A few years ago, the brothers were sitting around in December (they explained later on their facebook page) and reading the Empty Stockings list that their hometown newspaper puts out every year. The Empty Stockings are a list of 100 needs people in the community have, as relayed to the paper by the organizations that help them- everyone from Headstart, to the Ronald McDonald house, to churches in the area.

Justin McElroy posted to tell us this and to ask- no pressure- but if anyone was looking for a good deed to do that Christmas, would we perhaps consider filling a stocking?

At the time, I was sitting in the lighthouse where I worked. It was a quiet day and I was online a lot, so I got to watch and participate as the fans of this podcast put together a spreadsheet of all the needs the paper had printed and started calling the organizations to let them know that we were going to help.

I got to call a woman at one of the organizations who, when I asked for the address, described their location as “right down by the river”. I started to explain that I was calling from Baltimore, that I had heard about what they were doing and I wanted to help.

We both started to cry. And when I looked up, snow had begun to fall outside.

It was so picturesque, I almost thought I was in a cheesy Hallmark movie.

Over the next four years, the effort grew. Now, we have a website, a network of volunteers to make phone calls, and we take donations so that we can buy the big things people need, like beds and appliances.

Last year, the list was bigger than ever. There were still 100 needs, but we knew the organizations well enough for them to be honest with us. They needed 23 beds- plus mattresses, bedding, and pillows. I’m sure if we had offered, they would have found room for twice that. There were families that needed appliances. There was a boy who needed a lifejacket so that he could do swim therapy with his mom, even though he was getting too big for her to hold him safely in the water.

For a few years, we had given the organizations everything they asked for. But this year was so much bigger- I read the list, and counted the donations, and worried. I couldn’t imagine having to call the organizations to tell them that we couldn’t help, but I had no idea where we were going to get the means.

In a sermon a couple weeks ago, our priest suggested that the opposite of anxiety is not calm, but prayer. I was glad to hear this- I’ve never been able to “hand my problems to God” and stop feeling the weight of them. What I can do, and have known to do for a long time now, is to pray and at least feel the burden shared. Last December, I prayed hard about those beds, and appliances, and the life jacket, and all the other things people needed.

Then one day, while I was in the car, a song came on: it was “Shut Up and Dance” and as I sang along, belting it out to my steering wheel, I started to really hear the words.

“Don’t you dare look back
Just keep your eyes on me
I said you’re holding back
She said “shut up and dance with me!”

It was the conversation God and I were having- had been having, in fact, for a week or more. God was saying, “Don’t sit around wondering where it’s all going to come from. You do the work and focus ahead on the work I am doing through you, and you through Me.”

Even though I was worrying about whether God was working fast enough, the message was clear. All I had to do was shut up and dance, and God would work through me. My worrying was getting in the way of doing the work that needed to be done in order to fulfill God’s will which, in this case, I perceive to be that we help people. Not everyone in the world. Not everyone all at once. But I believe that God’s will, in this instance, was that we do all we could to help whoever we could. And that was very possible.

 

So I shut up. I danced- my fingers across the keyboard and my body down the aisles of department stores. And God, through so many kindhearted strangers around the world, provided. Most of the donations we received were very small, and a lot of them included notes that said something like, “It’s not much, but I hope it helps.” I spent a lot of time thinking about the story of the widow who gave everything she had for those poorer than herself.

 

At the end, I felt the way the disciples must have felt, holding baskets of loaves and fishes, wondering how so much came from so little, and wanting to know how they had managed to have so much left over.

 

We bought the beds, the mattresses, the pillows, and went shopping for bedding according to the tastes of each child or family on our list. We called Mark, for a few years our connection for home appliances, and put in our orders. We sent boxes and made the last phone calls, and finally we all took naps.

 

And when it was all over, and everything was sent, I wrote one final check to cover the cost of new hearing aids for three more people, the last of my loaves and fishes.

 

This year, I keep reminding myself that all I have to do is shut up and dance. If I do my part, God will do Hers. Once again, we will find ourselves in January with a basket of loaves and fishes, looking around for more hungry people to feed.

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On Shame

Hi— I want to introduce myself. I’m Kristy, and if you haven’t been around G&F long, you might not know that I serve our G&F team as the editor. My heart in this is to share with you something that has been in my heart for a long time. I’m here to listen if you ever need a shoulder to cry on or someone to hear your story. I’d be honored to have the chance to connect with you. You can find  me on facebook as Kristy Ramsey or on Instagram @kristynramsey.

You know the feeling. The pit in your stomach when your boss wants to “talk to you”. The text from the significant other that says “we need to talk.” Walking into church alone again. Going to get some take out because sitting by yourself at the restaurant is just too hard.  Avoiding the baby aisle at the grocery store because the pain of what could have been is just too much. It’s the skeleton in your closet, and it’s the thing that holds us back from what might have been or what could be.

It has a name: SHAME.

It is the dark corners of our lives that no one really knows about. Something you swore you would never tell anyone ever again. The pain wrapped up in it reminds me of a tightly wound up string: something that is supposed to hold us together is the very thing that is actually the instrument causing us pain. It doesn’t mean we don’t have to address what is underneath. It means that the wound isn’t actively bleeding because we’ve cut off the supply to the wound. And under death and dying tissue is new life that wants to come to the surface of your life.

To lose our shame means we have to let something that we have so long held in the dark come to the light.

It doesn’t always mean it is pretty. In fact, it usually isn’t. Confronting our pain is hard process, and often a lonely road. Our Christian culture has told us that pain isn’t okay. That life should be wrapped up in a pretty package with a pretty bow. The reality of our pain is if we try to hide our pain, we won’t find our healing.

MY FRIEND…

You aren’t a mistake.

You aren’t a failure.

You aren’t worthless.

You aren’t the thing that someone who hurt you told you that you would never lose.

You are worth it.

You are worth journeying through the hard parts with.

Your worth the parts of your life that are messy.

You deserve the best.

 

This time of year is hard for a lot of people. This time of year brings out some people that are not welcome in your life any time of year. It brings real pain and acknowledgment that some things aren’t easy. This time of year personally reminds me of everything that I hoped my life would be at 30 and everything it isn’t. It reminds me of the pain of unmet expectations. This time of year can be a picture of the beautifully broken parts of your life.

But this holiday season, I challenge you. I challenge you to let enough be enough. To let what isn’t not hold you back but instead set you free. I would love to hear the story from you that you walked through pain and instead came out on the other side of it. That you let yourself walk free into what 2019 might hold, and the hope of a New Year bring light to those around you.

Free Blog, Freedom, Uncategorized

Social Constructs

I recently came across an article that caught my eye online. The title was “I’m 36 And I’ve Been Single For 10 Years. Spoiler: I’m Fine”. I immediately clicked and scrolled.

You see, dear readers, I am what I call “perpetually single.” It has been a blessing and a curse, and as I will explain, much of my own doing. 10 years ago, I had just decided that the religious vocation that I had thought was maybe for me, wasn’t. I had entered a Catholic religious order, sold all of my belongings, quit my job, and moved across the country to try out “religious life” (aka the convent). I could write a whole blog post on my experience there or why I discerned this wasn’t for me, but this is not that post (I do have my own personal blog if you are interested, and always feel free to message me or comment with questions!)

I was 26 when I entered religious life which was still, somehow, considered “old” for starting one’s vocation. This blows my mind because after graduating college at 22, I just wanted to save the world. I had spent my college career learning about and advocating against so many injustices in our world. To be 22 and to think I would know who I would want to “settle down with” or wanting to start a family never crossed my mind. But not but a decade or two earlier, that was really all women were expected to want or capable of thinking of doing. Progress? (insert shrugging shoulder woman emoji here because I am about to explain how far we still have to go).

When the “I Have Been Single for 10 Years” article came across my feed, I didn’t exactly feel relief, because I had come to terms with my state in life years ago. But I was still glad to know that I wasn’t alone. After discerning that religious life wasn’t for me, like any break up, it took a while to “get back in the game.” I have dated over the years, but I have come to terms with the fact that I don’t enjoy dating. And so I finally had told myself, “if I don’t enjoy, why do it?” But let me explain.

This is not to say that I am asexual or not sexual. I identify, for better or for worse, as a hetero-normative, straight woman. I have been attracted to guys since I was in kindergarten and have had pain-staking crushes on men ever since. And though I bemoan the fact that I am attracted to straight men (and, as I have on occasion been known to find myself, the impeccably kept gay man), it is my reality. This is not to say that I am not open to relationships. I very much desire relationships and am open to anything that organically comes my way. Organic being the key word.

What I am not into or do not enjoy is wasting my time on games. I don’t enjoy small talk. I don’t enjoy scrolling left or right on a dating app. I don’t enjoy first or second dates that are forced. I don’t like feeling that I HAVE to date. So I don’t.

It was very freeing for me when I finally articulated these words with myself and to others. And so, again, it wasn’t a relief necessarily to read this article from another “perpetually single” woman, but it was a comfort of sorts. It is also why I have chosen to share my story with all of you, so that if anyone else who isn’t into the BS of what dating is today is reading this, you too can know you are not alone.

I am going to switch gears for a second, and I want to preface by saying I in NO WAY am equating dating with this next experience, just bear with me.  I recently attended a historic Slave Trail walk with a group from my parish, led by one of our deacons. Again, no great segue way there, and obviously, the two are NOT comparable by any ways or any means. However, listening to my deacon review the history of slavery and the systems and economics that were put into place because of the slave trade, I was reminded that so many of our social structures that we have been made subject to are based on antiquated, racist, sexist, unjust, greedy philosophies.

The Slave Trail walk where I live in Richmond, VA was moving and thought provoking for many reasons. Our African-American, Richmond-native deacon told us of Richmond’s terrible roots with the slave trade. We were one of the first cities to bring slaves to the U.S. and as the capitol of the Confederacy, tobacco plantation owners fought to keep slavery because they saw it as the means to make and keep their money. When we began our walk on the trail, our deacon had us keep quiet and made us put our hands on each other’s shoulders as we walked. He told us to imagine what it must have been like walking in a new land, in the dark (because slave traders had to have known what they were doing was inhumane and often brought slaves in at night. It also helped them keep control. If the slaves couldn’t see their surroundings, then they wouldn’t have knowledge of where they could try and escape). He told us of the economic industry that Richmond built around slavery. There were seamstresses that would make clothes for the slaves at auction; the thought being that the better dressed the slaves and better looking, the more money they would make. The fact that the city in which I live built industries based on racism and the killing and torturing of human beings is beyond sickening. (For more resources on slavery in the U.S. and in Richmond, my deacon recommended the book: “Richmond’s Unhealed History” by Benjamin Campbell).

But didn’t marriage start with inhumane economic dealings as well? I know that as Christians we like to look at Genesis and think that God making woman from man’s rib connects man and woman beautifully together (and “this is why a man leaves his mother and father to join his wife” and all that) BUT just a little further in Genesis we find Abraham sleeping with Hagar because Sarah couldn’t produce children for him. Or Jacob’s uncle giving away his daughters Leah and Rachel in exchange for Jacob working on his farm. Explaining these stories to my middle school students is always interesting. Their concept of marriage is based a lot more on romance (for better or for worse) or at least a lot more on choice, not the economic deal that it truly was. Later in Scripture we see Solomon marrying women from all nations so that he could make alliances with those countries. Solomon is heralded as a wise king! But what of the women who were merely part of the deal?!

Again, I am not trying to equate slavery to marriage, though I am sure there are many jokes in poor taste to be made there somewhere. However, I am trying to point out that our systems that still exist today are built on antiquated and unjust ideals. The racism that still exists in our world today was fed by an economic industry for white men to get rich off of. The poverty lines and the jail system and many more of our problems today can stem from this institution of the slave trade. Similarly, but not equally, our system of marriage was based off of an economic system. And even though the system has slightly changed, isn’t the way we promote weddings and bridal showers and bachlorette parties still based off of industries making money?

If I do ever get married, I really just want everyone whose wedding I have ever attended to write me a check. I want plane trips, hotels, dresses, gifts, etc. all factored in. I’m kidding. Kind of.

My point is, if marriage really is about love, why do we make it about all of these other things that celebrate the individual rather than the union? And why do we celebrate the end of that person’s singledom? The traditional feminine bridal shower in which women gather to shower the woman with kitchenware to celebrate that she will now need new items to cook for a man is archaic.  I know this all makes me the exact opposite of a hopeless romantic and probably explains perfectly why I am “perpetually single.” I also don’t want to isolate our married readers. I know that you all are progressive and don’t view the institution of marriage as such. But let me bring it all back to our faith:

We do have a loving God. Our God is the definition of love. And our God is all about relationships. The Christian belief of the Trinity is, in fact, relational. We believe in a Father and a Son and a Spirit that connects this relationship in and of Itself and with God and His other creations. It is a beautiful faith of relationships that relies on relationships to in itself exist and thrive.

It is this kind of relationship that I get my inspiration and model from, not the economic fueled constructs of our world. Take that, Tinder.

Free Blog, Lamenting, Uncategorized

Oh Come, Oh Come, Emmanuel

Are you tired? I’m tired. Today at work, we had the news playing on mute in the background, so I was treated to eight hours of people- mostly men- debating a woman’s sexual assault. My facebook is variations on the same theme. Last week, I sat through a lunch where two of my male co-workers offered their hot takes on the event.

I feel like I could sleep for a week.

And I wish I had something magical to say to you to help you feel better. Some of you are survivors of rape or trauma; probably all of us can recall a time when our body was handled without our consent. I certainly can, and more times that I was harassed verbally, and any number of times that I’ve put myself in between other women and the men who were harassing them.

And if I had to guess, the fact that I hear and see and believe you doesn’t drown out the other voice you’re hearing today. You know the ones.

I’m Sister Mark and you’re reading a Christian blog, so you won’t be surprised to hear that I am trying to cope by looking for my faith. Sometimes it’s really hard to find- I won’t lie to you about that.

When it came time for prayers tonight, I sang “Oh Come, Oh Come Emmanuel”. Yeah, the Christmas song.  This is a nice version- you could listen along while you read. I hope it helps. It’s what I need today. Not Christmas the holiday, exactly, but Christmas the event. I need Jesus so badly today, because men have been refusing to believe women since long before Jesus’ women disciples mistook the Lord for the gardener and went to tell the men the Good News. But God knew their worth and trusted them, and so He came to the women first.

And I am clinging, so tightly, to the fact that He sees me, too. And he sees my friends and my cousins and my colleagues and He knows our worth and He knows what we’ve been through. Belief? It’s not a matter of believing. He was with you then and He is with you now. Then why did it happen? I have no idea. I’m not a theologian and I know I’m not God. I don’t know why any of it happens. But I hold tighter than anything to the knowledge that He is here and He will not leave us. Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning. (Psalm 30:5)

So I sat down and sang, begging God to come. Do I want him to show up, literally, right here on Earth, tonight? To just be with me? I don’t know. But I know that the hope of Him and the promises He made to us gets me through when I don’t know what else to do. It doesn’t fix my problems. It doesn’t stop me from being sad right now. But it reminds me that in the end, God came to us. And then Christ died, and Christ is risen, and Christ will come again… and His kingdom will have no end.

This world is a letdown. God made it beautiful and full of wonders, and often it’s nothing more than a huge letdown. So I pray for Him to come and save us and I cling to the knowledge that, someday, somehow, He will.

 

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The Problematic Lesbian.

I’ve been struggling to write this.

Struggling for a lot of different reasons.

The thing is, you guys… the best of it all is in my hands. I’m completely and entirely and irrevocably in love. As Song of Solomon says “I have found the one whom my soul loves.”

It’s great, right? So why in the hell would I be struggling with it, you might be asking?

Well. The person I am overwhelmingly in love with is a dude. As you may recall, this is entirely antithetical to the lesbian identity I’ve claimed for four years now.

To many progressive people, it may seem like no big deal. Love is love, right? That’s the entire mantra my community builds itself upon. And yet, within the lesbian community, there are many nuances. There is a knowledge that patriarchy works against lesbian women because they exist in many parts of their lives free from the influence of any cisgender, heterosexual men in power.

And the man I am in love with IS a cisgender, heterosexual man. I know, I know. Weep with me. (He’s fully aware I’m writing this, by the way. Lest you think I’m using him for hits.)

He and I have circled each other’s metaphorical drains for seven years now, since we first met and briefly dated in 2011. We have several things that tie us together, but most of it is intangible and unexplainable.

We have come back to each other time after time (insert gratuitous Cyndi Lauper singing here). Each of us has had several successful, happy relationships that didn’t pan out in the end, each of us has been there when that happened for the other. We’ve given each other advice, laughed with each other, and watched each other grow for the better part of a decade.

For so long, we acted like total idiots. When one of us would lean in, the other would lean out. When one would want to move forward, the other would go running. We have mucked it up enough times and returned to one another to know that either this was going to end with both of us banning each other from our lives for good, or spending our lives together for good.

“Experts” would, I’m sure, say that our relationship cycle is one that’s unhealthy, but it’s happened the way that it has for a reason. When we first met, I was twenty-two and he was twenty-one. He was my first boyfriend, and we were just a couple of kids trying to make sense of things, each with passionate tempers and brooding temperaments.

Now, we are both passionate people who have matured and grown enough to know how to communicate with one another, how to fight and how to resolve our disputes with communication and respectful language. We care for each other in big and small ways, and we’ve been tested by the fires of time.

But there are other reasons this hasn’t been easy for me.

As previously mentioned, the lesbian community truly does exist on the cornerstone of a world with limited heterosexual male presence. It was something I reveled in after I first came out.

I love my community. I love the flag I still wrap around my shoulders, the stripes I am still proud to bear written across my heart. I may no longer have a label, but I know my place is under that rainbow.

God and I have wrestled with this, gone back and forth. I have asked him why the last four years since I came out have been necessary if I was simply going to intertwine my life with a man’s life, be “traditional” in a sense.

Because the truth is, there’s something broken in the modern church. I’ve discussed this ad nauseam, but the way this affects someone struggling with their sexuality is potent. There is a fear that dating -and probably marrying- a heterosexual man will not only cause many to believe that I’m straight, which I’m not, but also that I have been “rescued” from some sort of “sin”, that God has planted a man in my life to save me.

Patriarchy is an ugly thing, y’all. And it goes hand in hand with the reason why it is so crucial for the church to come to universal affirmation of the LGBTQ+ community. We could debate the doctrines and the interpretations and the beliefs all day long, and trust me, I have. At the end of the day, the church and its actions aren’t representative of a God who sees our struggle and loves us through it. The church should never be the cause of anyone’s struggle, they should be the solution.

The church needs to stop perpetuating the belief that men save women, especially queer women, from themselves. They need to seek to be the solution to a hurting population of people who have been traumatized at their own hands, and they need to take responsibility for the actions that brought them here.

The answer I got, by the way, is this: I haven’t “lost” who I am, I have found exactly who I am. I am someone who stands for love and justice. I fight for anyone’s right to love exactly who they love, no questions asked. I am a part of a community that makes space for all to sit at their table, and I am proud of that, more than I can say. Far from the last four years being pointless, they have taught me how to embrace love and not to waste it, to savor it where ever it is found.

Four years ago, I came out as gay. And I still am, no matter what people want to believe from external presences. But more than that, I am in love and I am loved in return. It is a breathtaking vision of Christ’s providence and his grace, the love that falls on each of us and sparks even in the furthest reaches of the world.

It’s this kind of love that will restore Christ’s church.

love is love

 

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Genesis 26-50: Sibling Rivalry

The second half of the book of Genesis is largely concerned with families. We have family trees laid out over whole chapters, and the stories trace the events in the lives of these people from long ago. And honestly? They sound like incredibly dramatic people.

I know a lot of folks have a hard time getting around the fancy Biblical language, particularly if you have one of the more flowery (or old) translations, but if you can get down to what’s really going on, it’s basically a soap opera.

I mean, Jacob sells his birthright to his brother in exchange for dinner?  My brother and I spent our teenage years creating elaborate bargains as we both tried to get out of mowing the yard, so on one level I get making goofy trades with your siblings. On another level, we were just arguing about yardwork, not our entire futures! (And last weekend, we were laughing about the lengths we both went to, which seem really funny now that we have our own homes.)

Then, later in the chapter, Joseph’s brothers literally sell him into slavery. Most of this story winds up being about how Joseph copes, how he interprets dreams and becomes a valuable member of the household where he’s a captive. But it starts as the story of some guys who are really horrible to their little brother, and I think this is one of those stories that only seems okay if you don’t think about it too hard. If you do stop and consider it- you could definitely see this on some daytime TV.

And I’m gonna be honest here- I sympathize with the brothers a little bit. Not about the slavery thing, that’s obviously unconscionable. But teenage Joseph does not come across as a real likeable guy. I mean, Dad likes him best, so there’s clearly some jealousy there. And I do think that’s normal. I’d be really sad if I thought my parents liked my brother better than me.

Plus, Joseph has to go telling them about that dream that (he says) prophesies them bowing down to him. Had they not invented humility yet? It’s kind of a jerk move to lord it over your older brothers that you’re the favorite son, plus God has given you these cool gifts, and someday you’ll be nice enough to let your brothers serve you! I would also not be too pleased.

I often find myself saying that people have always been people, and they probably always will be. Genesis is a large part of my proof for that. There will always be siblings who argue. There will always be people who treat each other poorly. But there will be people like Jacob, who works patiently for years so that he can marry the woman he loves. And there will be people like Joseph, who start out sort of painful and grow up and become better people- and like the brothers, who probably learned a lot about humility and forgiveness.

And just like people don’t change, God’s presence doesn’t change either. He is with Joseph, interpreting dreams and, I assume, providing the reason and will to live. He is with Jacob and Rachel on their wedding day. Even when the stories are about the families, God is always present, blessing and sustaining. And even when it’s all about us, God is there.

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In Weakness, There is Strength

Hi, again, readers! Your resident Catholic and Scripture nerd here! I know that Catholics often get a bad rap about not knowing our Scripture as well as we should, but I think people are really surprised to find that we know more than we even realize at times!

I’m not here today to talk about Catholics and their relationship to Scripture, however. I am here to talk about someone else who also gets a bad rap but happens to have written much of the New Testament:

St. Paul.

My love for St. Paul is well documented. I have a personal blog that I have kept updated on my love of him for years. I also think that I mentioned previously that I lived for a year in religious life in a convent. The religious order that I joined took their mission and name from St. Paul. So perhaps I am a little biased, but please hear me out.

Paul was certainly a man of his time and far from perfect. He was a devout Jew who did not understand or appreciate Christ early on. In the book of Acts of the Apostles, he is mentioned as consenting to the execution of the first Christian martyr, St. Stephen (Acts 7-8). He also is perhaps not beloved because of some phrases like this one from Ephesians that he wrote and are very much of his time (and often taken out of context):
” As the church is subordinate to Christ, so wives should be subordinate to their husbands in everything. Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ loved the church and handed himself over for her to sanctify her, cleansing her by the bath of water with the word…” (Ephesians 5: 22-26. It goes on, but another one of St. Paul’s flaws is also his love for run-on sentences, so I will spare you some of the rest).

I see the problem with the items about Paul listed above, but I don’t consider him a problematic character myself. Paul himself is the first to admit that he is flawed. One of my favorite passages of his, happened to be read at Mass yesterday:

“Brothers and sisters:
That I, Paul, might not become too elated,
because of the abundance of the revelations,
a thorn in the flesh was given to me, an angel of Satan,
to beat me, to keep me from being too elated.
Three times I begged the Lord about this, that it might leave me,
but he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you,
for power is made perfect in weakness.”
I will rather boast most gladly of my weaknesses,
in order that the power of Christ may dwell with me.
Therefore, I am content with weaknesses, insults,
hardships, persecutions, and constraints,
for the sake of Christ;
for when I am weak, then I am strong.” – 2 Corinthians 12:7-10

Paul, I believe, is one of the success stories of Scripture. When he finally encountered Christ for himself in a powerful and tangible way (as described in Acts 9), he has a complete change of heart. He completely abandons his old ways of persecuting Christians and becomes a faithful one himself. And not only is he baptized, he meets with Peter and the other early Christians at Antioch and becomes imprisoned for his newfound faith as well as instructs and encourages other new Christians with his letters. He goes on to say that it is “no longer I that live, but Christ that lives in me” (Galatians 2:20). He essentially renounces his entire self for Christ. How many of us can say that?

I want to go back, however, to the passage from 2 Corinthians listed above because it is one of my favorites. It also happens to be so completely contrary to what our idea of success and strength are today. I have many “thorns” in many “sides” of myself that humble me and I believe keep me going back to God. I, however, unlike Paul, constantly go to God and beg Him to pull them out! I am not grateful for these wounds or weaknesses as Paul is, because I am very much a product of our culture.

I think this idea of strength in weakness is so counter cultural to our world today. Just look at our government leaders and their approach to those considered to be “weak.” Instead of seeing those considered “weak”- like the poor or the immigrant or the elderly- as a strength to uphold and elevate, our approach is to keep them down so that the “strong” can appear even stronger. Those on top never want to be seen as weak.

From one perspective, I can see how Paul’s theory does not maybe play well in global politics. As a country, we don’t want to be seen as weak. But how much stronger might we seem if we were a country who embraced our so called “weaknesses” rather than exploit or oppress them?

This, of course, is so much easier said than done, and may seem complicated. I have been reading “The Holy Longing” by Ronald Rolheiser (which I highly recommend. It is amazing how a book written in the late 90s is so scarily relevant today) and Rolheiser addresses many issues with our society, but particularly pertaining to social justice. He describes social justice as differing from charity: “Charity is about giving a hungry person some bread, while justice is about trying to change the system so that nobody has excess bread while some have none.” (Rolheiser, The Holy Longing, pg 169). To enact social justice in this way, would be to admit that there is weakness. It would be to say that our system is unjust and that some are seen as “weaker” than others. Too many people right now do not want to fix our systems because they perhaps like having power or want to seem superior to others. If we fix our seemingly weakest spots, though, and help to make others strong, wouldn’t that help increase the strength of the whole over all?

I may be over simplifying things, but I think another one of our problems with our society is that we over complicate things. Justice could, perhaps, be much simpler if we didn’t complicate the system so much to begin with. Another thing that Rolheiser points out in his book is that justice has to be more than an ideology: “…for a Christian, the ultimate motivation in working for justice may never be a simple ideology, irrespective of how noble that particular ideology may appear. Rather both the truth that inspires the quest for justice and the energy that fuels it must ground themselves something beyond an ideology” (Rolheiser, The Holy Longing, pg 173). For us Christians, that truth is Christ. For others, that truth may be peace, equality, or that energy that Rolheiser speaks of.

For me, one of the hardest things about this most recent administration and state of our country has been that I have felt this divide between ideology and building the Kingdom of God. So many Christians that I know, chose an ideology, I believe, over working on building the kingdom that the Gospel refers to, which includes building up the weak.

St. Paul continues to be an encouragement for me in these tough times. As the author of Hebrews says (some scholars say that the author was St. Paul as it has a similar tone to the rest of his letters, but this is debated by others):
“Consider how he [Christ] endured such opposition from sinners, in order that you may not grow weary and lose heart.
In your struggle against sin you have not yet resisted to the point of shedding blood.” – Hebrews 12: 3 & 4

It is true that Christ made the ultimate sacrifice so that I might not have to shed my blood. However, much blood has been and is being shed by those who suffer from injustice. I pray that we can move beyond charity, and work for true justice, even if that means admitting our weaknesses. For in our humility and weakness, we can be made strong, if we are allowed the freedom to exercise our own strength.

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The Freedom of Being Finished.

BeFunky-photo

Hello, dear family. Another day, another lesson. We discover, we connect, we move forward.

 

So I’m not a huge fan of devotionals. (*Gasp in Christian*) When I was a kid, my mother and a bunch of other women from the churches I grew up in would gather in all of their puffy-haired, Charlie perfume wearing glory with covered Bibles in tow and discuss it. My mother and father both collectively had countless books of “devotionals” written by numerous authors on our bookshelves. I never saw my parents as consistent in their practice of them, though, and I was no different as I got older. I find it incredibly difficult to connect with what someone else is saying about the scripture, especially in such brevity.

 

When I began attending an Episcopal church and fell in love with liturgy, I couldn’t get enough of it. The beauty of it all was that it was scripture presented to the people. The homily of course (what non-denom evangelicals call the “sermon” or “message”) is a matter of a person’s interpretation, but the rest of the Eucharist Rite is hymn and scripture, prayer and response. In its simplicity, I found restoration, and I was hooked.

 

In a discussion with the Rector (read: “senior pastor” in evangelical-ese), I was told of an app for my iPhone that are called Offices, these are provided daily and taken from the Book of Common Prayer. I was elated, here was all that I loved about attending church in a format I could access every morning and every evening.

 

Full disclosure: There is nothing brief about these Offices, especially not in comparison with typical evangelical devotions, most of which can be completed in less than ten minutes. I’m a slow reader, but with hymns these usually take me about twenty minutes, sometimes more if I take my time. Also, if you’re interested you can find the ones I use by going to your App Store and searching “Mission St. Clare”.

 

All of this is merely the pretext for what I want to discuss today, because as I was going through this morning’s Daily Office, I was reading a portion of Galatians 2 that I know well enough, and always makes me laugh a little on the inside. This is the passage beginning at verse 11 in which Paul opposes Cephas (Peter) and essentially calls him a hypocrite. My brain puts it like this:

 

Uh, hey man. Like, you ate with these people the other day. Why not now?

Oh yeah, bruh. I mean, I just sorta need to–

Save face? Dude, you’re such a hypocrite.

What did you say?

You’re trying to keep some law that isn’t even relevant anymore. What are you, a Pharisee?

*gasp* How dare you?!

 

Look, my brain is its own special place, okay? I almost always reword passages of scripture in a way that makes me laugh, because trust me there’s plenty to laugh about as you make your way through the Bible. (People who can’t laugh at the Bible annoy me something fierce.)

 

In Galatians 2:21, Paul hits us with this gem: “I do not set aside the grace of God, for if righteousness could be gained through the law, Christ died for nothing!” (Er, that’s NIV translation by the way, which isn’t my favorite but it’s what I had nearby.)

 

Oh, Paul. You have to love him. (Me in my head: Do I, though?! DO I?!) The mental gymnastics he puts us through while reading his work is unbelievable. My poor ADHD-addled brain usually has to read what he says at least four times before it starts to come into focus. So many people quote the passage just before this verse: “I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me.” This verse is important, too, but in my view it absolutely MUST be put in tandem with verse 21 that follows it and in the context of this passage as a whole.

 

(CONTEXT IS SO IMPORTANT WHEN YOU READ THE BIBLE, OKAY?! OKAY.)

 

The death of Jesus is arguably the most pivotal moment of human existence. I believe in the Big Bang (*gasp*), I believe in evolution (*clutches pearls, sweats*), and I believe in the expansion of the universe (*faints*), all of these are critical moments in science and the history of mankind. All of these events are contingent upon one another for us to inhabit the natural world in which we live. But the SOUL of a man, the intangible stuff of his being, it all hinges on this moment.

 

Jesus walks the earth, he is condemned, he is hung on a cross as a criminal, and he dies. Before he dies, he utters some pretty freaking important words:

 

IT IS FINISHED.

 

Let’s stop. Take stock. What is exactly finished here? For so long, I think the shallow interpretation of this passage that I was left to by neglectful spiritual leaders was the interpretation that Jesus was speaking of the tribulations of the final days of his life– the anxieties, the cruelties, the pain, and the suffering. This would make sense, right? Only Jesus never really considers himself in terms of his own pain and suffering. We see human emotion from him quite frequently– compassion, temptation, even anger. Rarely though, does he seem concerned with his own welfare, merely with his message. (Jesus: A Two on the Enneagram?? Discuss!)

 

Why then, would it logically follow that Jesus was uttering a phrase of thankfulness for his death and the ending of his suffering upon his last breath? Answer: It doesn’t!

 

The Greek word used in the Gospel of John to describe Jesus’ last words is “tetelestai”, a form of the Greek verb “teleo” which means “to bring to an end or complete”. Again, I think it’s patently false to infer that what Jesus is bringing to an end or completing here is his own life. No, in his own words while he was still alive, Jesus speaks of a “ransom” (Greek word “lutron” which is translated as “to loose”, found in Matthew and Mark).

 

What Jesus is accomplishing here is the abolition of sin. The complete and total erasure of it, from every human who has ever lived or will ever live. In the moment of his death, we are taught that Jesus becomes sin itself, so much so that even God cannot look at him. Upon his death, sin is finished. It has been conquered, once and for all.

 

THIS IS THE GOOD NEWS WE TALK ABOUT.

 

Why then, do so many congregations today continue to teach that a humans inherent nature is “sinful”? How do we define sin? Through the law? Through OUR law? Through a socially defined moral law? What is the law in a post-crucifixion world? Is it what government determines it to be? What happens when governments change or shift? If we are unbound from Old Testament law exquisitely and painstakingly detailed throughout the Old Testament, why are moral parameters constructed by biblical authors like Paul and not put forth by God himself?

 

Therefore if we cannot define sin as a breach of the law because law is man made and therefore subjective and in flux, and if sin was abolished upon Christ’s death and a breach of human law or social morality does not constitute sin, then what is sin and where does it exist, how is it defined?

 

Reader, it is now that I would like to posit that “sin” is a condition of the mind and not of the heart or the spirit. Jesus, in his life’s work, repeatedly says phrases such as “you deceive yourself/yourselves” and “do not be deceived”. What is the great deceit here?

 

The great deceit is the belief that sin is a present and active condition rather than a dead and absolved one.

 

We continue to believe we are sinners, even after Christ uttered his final words, and so we spend a life struggling for purity and absolution when it has already been provided.

 

It has already been done.

 

But we keep striving, trying to do something that’s already been done.

 

It’s like trying to knead bread dough after it’s already been baked.

 

My loves, my beautiful friends, sin does not mar you, and there is no law against which you struggle, no action that can separate you from the love of God. Rather than torturing yourself into compliance, believe in the depths of you that your redemption does not want for any stringent obedience. It exists, no matter what.

 

Your sin is loosed. You are free.

 

That is the gospel truth. And it’s worth dying for.

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History Has Its Eyes On You.

Fam, today I have so much to say that I’ve been staring at a blank screen for nearly an hour now, not knowing where to begin. My heart is heavy as I sit here, I spent most of the day yesterday crying and raging at the heavens as images poured in of inconsolable mothers, children, and families being separated and isolated. I will admit, my first instinct always with images like these that feel unbearable is to look away, to tell myself I can’t bear it.

But reader, it is vital that you look. Let it sink in. Let it bring tears. Let it stir up within you righteous anger. If it does not stir these emotions within you, I would urge you to ask yourself “Why?” At the end of the day, this has become a political discussion when it is anything but. It is a discussion of morality, of ethics, and of what we are willing to tolerate in this country.

I have often heard from people that church is a place that “uplifts” them or “encourages” them, a safe place, a place to feel happy, a place to be in community. It is now that I will encourage you that if this has not been discussed in your church, if your faith leaders are not openly and vocally disturbed and heartsick over this matter, please find yourself a new church.

In a coming post, I discuss the law and those who, in Jesus’ time, lived their lives according to the law. Jesus often condemned these people, he called them “hypocrites” and “vipers”. He said on more than one occasion that these leaders looked for their salvation within the law and that they would not find it there– for this, he was put to death. My loves, this is not a new story. Ascription to the law and the seeking of salvation within the law is a tale as old as time. As human beings, we often delight in the law.

Laws have order.

Laws make sense.

Laws give us a sense of right and wrong.

Humanity is messy.

Humanity is corrupt. (So we’re told.)

Humanity needs a standard.

I don’t like throwing around talking points– we’ve all seen the discussion and the debates on social media, I’ve engaged in several myself. I am baffled by the total lack of compassion and common sense that I am seeing before my own eyes; bigotry and racism justified under laws that are distorted and twisted, believed by individuals with very little context or understanding.

There is, however, one suggestion that I would like to make.

The law is fallible. It is flawed. It is vulnerable to the usurpation of its righteousness by evil men who have traded their compassion for power, men who have systematically torn down their empathy and their humanity to construct greed in its place. As I’m sure many of you have seen, the atrocious acts committed by Adolf Hitler in Germany during the second world war were upheld by German law, perfectly legal. Now, nearly eight decades after the fact, history abhors Nazi Germany. It is a subject that makes people uncomfortable and rouses that righteous anger within us.

Germany did not become Nazi Germany overnight. A long stream of sociopolitical events preceded what it ultimately became. It started with a country with a collapsed economy, poverty and hunger running rampant everywhere and no ability for people to provide for their families. (Sound familiar?) It continued with charismatic and boisterous politicians who told the common people that their livelihoods had been stolen from them, and that their country was destined for greatness, ordained by God to be the greatest nation on earth. (Still sound familiar?)

As many survivors of the Nazi regime have attested, the horrors of mass graves, concentration camps, the euthanization of whole families, and the ruthlessness known by history did not appear instantaneously. It came about gradually and then all at once. It was allowed when feelings of disenfranchisement created by social privilege allowed those in power to demonize, dehumanize, and ultimately torture and murder millions of innocent lives.

After the 2016 election, I was told countless times to “just give him a chance”, “we don’t know that it will all be bad”. Things began to increase slowly, but I saw signs to hope– marches and demonstrations that drew thousand (even millions) of protesters, petitions and town hall meetings that were overwhelmed by people demanding justice, action, and accountability from their lawmakers. In my own part of the state I live a Congressional Representative refused to hold a town hall on healthcare and the Affordable Care Act because he knew he’d be overrun by righteously angry citizens with questions.

In 1999, after the mass shooting at Columbine High School in Littleton, Colorado, Al Gore gave a speech in which he said: “The young killers at Columbine High School do not stand for the spirit that is America”. Well reader, I’d like to take my inspiration from Mr. Gore and say to you that this administration and its participants in Congress do not represent the spirit that is America. I have been disheartened by the massive support thrown behind outrageous policy and enforcement at the hands of this administration, and most of this justification and normalization taking place within the evangelical church.

I could go talking point by talking point and deconstruct it, correct it, point out its flaws and errors. I could talk about logical fallacies (and boy, are there a lot of them), I could talk about immigration law that is being massively manipulated and misunderstood for the benefit of those in power, I could talk about all of that.

Rather simply, though, I will say that this is not an issue of law or politics. To make it so is a deflection that removes an individual from the responsibility that humans have to each other to provide care for one another with empathy and granting of dignity and basic humanity. We cannot teach this morality– what we can do is demonstrate it. I find it nearly impossible at times to have sensitivity or consideration for those who are trading their human soul to the talking heads at Fox News, ruthless individuals who thrive on incendiary claims and the money it makes them. I wring my hands at the disappearance of critical thinking and analysis and the deconstruction surrounding intelligent media within itself. Many times, I simply want to scream that I cannot understand how anyone can look at the images I’m seeing and read the accounts I’m reading and propagate it with any single justification.

Reader, it is indefensible to separate a mother from her child. It is appalling to place families and humans in the conditions we have been placing them. It is antichrist to see a family with children fleeing from persecution, political turmoil, rape, and imminent threat of murder, and to tear their children away from them, detain them, and send them back to their war torn countries without their children in their arms. From the countless Biblical passages in both the old and new testament that speak to the treatment of immigrants and refugees, I remember a time when Hebrews 13:1-2 came into sharp focus for me.

At the time, I was living with my grandmother and she told a story of a woman who came to stay with them for several evenings. They knew only this woman’s first name and none of her story or where she came from. My grandmother said she had an accent, but she couldn’t quite place it as this woman told colorful and vibrant tales of her journeys and her struggles. During this time, my grandparents were struggling heavily. It was during the financial collapse of 2008 and my grandmother had lost her job and foreclosure on their dream home was imminent.

During her brief stay in my grandparents house, this woman told them countless times that everything would work out, that struggle was needed to rise higher, that they would yet see the fruits of their labor. My grandparents did lose the home they had worked to build. They saw hard and dark times. They toiled. They took care of my grandfather’s ailing mother. When she died, she left them an inheritance. They have a home again, they are retired, they live happily and comfortably. My grandmother wholeheartedly believes this woman was sent from God.

As she told me this story, she quoted Hebrews: “Let thy brotherly love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”

Hospitality is not baking someone a cake when they’re sad. It is not a fellowship brunch for the Womens Auxiliary on Sunday evening.

Hospitality is much more gritty. It is opening your home when you feel you have nothing to give, when you are in scarcity or want. It is bringing in those who have been cast out by the social caste that tells them they are unfit to exist in their clean and morally superior society. It is risking name, reputation, livelihood, and life in pursuit of putting on the skin of Jesus Christ and opening your arms and your hearts to all who have been deemed the least of them by an abhorrent, law-obsessed culture.

Hospitality is the heavy stuff of love. We cannot do it alone. If it takes a village to raise a child, then it takes even more to raise the oppressed out of their oppression. Sure as I sit here typing, I know it will ask everything and more of me, and I know that it is worth my everything and more that I have to give. Because when we entertain the broken, the immigrant, the refugee, the homeless, the outcast, the demonized, we entertain angels.

I hope with a hope beyond what I can comprehend that I am not alone in this fight. We are tired, we are browbeaten, we are discouraged, but my dear, beautiful family:

We are not defeated.

We will win.

History has its eyes on us. And love wins. Every single time.

 immigrants
*Image courtesy The Washington Post