To the Guilty: War is Over

In light of my upcoming crazy summer of travel and the increasing itch to write, it's time to dust off this blog and pick it up again.

But I don't want to talk about travel or schedules or school. I want to talk about guilt.

Guilt. It's an ugly word, evoking nothing but negative feelings and downcast eyes. It's a weight strapped on our shoulders or hiding in our closets. 

It's something that I think I'm past over and over, but I've been realizing that it's far worse than I thought. I've carried guilt for most of my life. Sometimes over specific things I've done, but more often than not over things I haven't done. Over the kind of Christian I can't be, no matter how hard I try.

Growing up immersed in Christian culture, especially Southern Christian culture, we're made aware of guilt at a young age. This isn't all bad- we are sinners, and knowing that is part of how God saves us,

But there comes a point where it can be a bit dangerous. Where guilt becomes shame becomes legalism. As a kid, I was hyper-aware of what I should be doing, what I wasn't doing. I swung from extremes of guilt to extremes of self-righteousness, never sure where I should be. I grew up believing that, at best, God was disappointed with me, if not angry.

The point that I missed as a kid was that Jesus did not die to make me a good person. He died to bring me life. My salvation was never dependent on me.

Granted, to be a believer and have Christ within you will, inevitably, change you as it makes you more like Christ. And yes, there are certain things that teach us how to do that- discipleship, Bible study, worship. Our heart must match our hands, and vice versa. But the most that these things can ever do is orient us in the right direction because it is God Himself who does the changing.

When I don't make the cut, when I fail, when I run, when I choose myself over Him and over those around me- I tend to avoid Him because I fear that it will only make me feel guilty. I'm afraid He'll be disappointed that I'm such a mess...again.

But the God I find when I do come?

"Comfort, comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem and cry to her that her warfare is ended, her iniquity is pardoned, that she has received from the Lord double for all her sins." 

This passage is in Isaiah chapter 40, and it comes after 39 chapters of chaos. Isaiah has been telling the people that because of their sin God will give them up to the Assyrians. In the end He will bring the remnant back and crush their captors, but it's going to hurt.. They're going to lose it all.

Yet in the midst of all this, after all they've done, He speaks peace. The Israelites don't know what's coming; they're still waiting for the Messiah, and He's feeling farther away than ever. But us? We've seen the fulfillment of the promise. Jesus has come and done as He said He would.

War is over.

We don't have to feel guilty for all we aren't. We don't have to punish ourselves for all that we are. God will never be disappointed in us because He knows us intimately-good and bad.

And He calls us to more than obedience out of fear of not being good enough. He never asked us to earn His love, His favor, or His grace. Because if we're His, He gives it regardless of us. He gives grace when we don't ask, love when we don't want it, favor when we least deserve it. And although our experience of these things-our ability to see them-may change based on our relationship with Him, God Himself does not change.

I can't pretend like I still don't feel guilty. It's so ingrained in my understanding of faith that it won't be rooted out overnight. But I know that there's freedom to be found. And it's a freedom that offers more than moralism and more than selfish hedonism- it's a freedom that offers Jesus Himself.

From We Believe: Week 1(ish)

So, this isn't actually the first week of rehearsal, but it's the first week I've found time to write about it, so we'll call it week one anyway. In case anyone hasn't seen my obnoxious instagram posts, I wrote a play for the student choir over Christmas break called We Believe, and now I'm helping direct it.

Without giving too much away, the play is sort of about the persecuted church, and since we all know that I can't think straight without writing it down first (#WriterProbs), I decided to try and write the pre-rehearsal devotions out and post them here. The theme of the devotions is going to be the persecuted church, but I wanted to go a step further and try to put ourselves in their shoes. To ask not just who they are, but why they keep doing this secret church thing, and how they hold up under such immensely difficult circumstances. 

So, for week 1(ish), the question is this:
 What does "brothers and sisters in Christ" mean to the persecuted church?

I'm afraid that the Western church has become more of a club and less of a family, so I want to get down to the roots and see what we're dealing with here. 

John 13 starts with a bunch of crazy stuff going on. Jesus washes the disciples' feet before they eat the Last Supper and find out that one of them (spoiler alert: it's Judas) is going to betray Jesus. All of them begin to feel that time is running out, and the words Jesus says here are nearly His last words, the last things He believes they need to know before the climax of history takes place.

Then Jesus drops a bombshell; He's leaving, and where He's going is a place they can't follow. Yikes. After all these years and all of the amazing things He's done, He's going to have to go. So what does He tell them next? 

"A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another:just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another."  (John 13:34-35)

Basically, "It's time for me to get to business; don't run out on each other. Take care of each other. You're going to need these guys." On this final night, He tells them to love the church like Jesus Himself loves them. Not only that, but when everything goes down, people are going to know that these guys were with Jesus not by their cool beards or the miracles they'll do, but by the fact that they really love the people around them.  

Jump to Acts, and we see an example of what Jesus was talking about. The followers of "the Way" were gathering together, sharing meals, sharing possessions, meeting regularly, participating in each other's lives. The society around them was confused, and they actually thought sketchy stuff was going on because they just couldn't understand why these people loved each other so, so much. 

Fast forward to modern day, in the country of Azerbaijan.

(This story is from this post on Open Doors's website.)
There's a 15-year-old boy named Shirin living on the streets because his parents forced him to choose between Jesus and his family, and He chose Christ. A Christian man found him and took him in, and soon after his parents were arrested for drug use. Now he's witnessing to the very people that sent him away, and it's because the man that saw him considered him family when Shirin had no one. 

To so many believers overseas who have stories similar to this one (and there are a ton), "brothers and sisters" takes on a whole new meaning. People give up their families for Jesus, and the church becomes family. They care for each other. They trust each other, not just to show up for Bible study, but to risk their lives to meet in secret house churches. The poor have enough because these Christians are living out the Acts church, sharing what they have for the sake of their brothers and sisters and for the sake of the Gospel. 

What if our churches looked like that? 
What if we stopped arguing about the color of the carpet and started encouraging each other in the faith?
What if we stopped spending all our time worrying about who's-dating-who and who-offended-who and banded together as family?
What if we started caring more about each other than about ourselves?

Isn't church as it was meant to be a picture of the Gospel? The orphans have found a home. The poor have been welcomed into the King's throne room. There's no distinction between people because we've all been redeemed and adopted by our good, good Father. 

I don't know about you, but I want to love people like that. 

From Hamlet: A Christmas Story

I'm a bit obsessed with Hamlet. I'm not a huge Shakespeare fan (bad English major, I know), but the character of Hamlet has always drawn me in. I even wrote my final English paper about it-meaning I chose to read Shakespeare for fun.

I think part of what attracts me is the tragedy of Hamlet himself. He's lost everything, including, possibly, his sanity. He's so full of pain, and something in me feels that with him. It's like when most people get involved with a good show and start to empathize with the characters, which is normal.

But I feel pain strongest. I like to write sad stories. I like sad songs. I'm not sadistic, it just feels real. Something in me knows that the emotions are real even if the stories aren't. 

It's like I know that a vein of hurt runs just under the surface of this world, and when I tap into it, I find something that connects.

Hurt is not a stranger to us, to any of us. We all know pain, regardless of the fact that it's different from situation to situation. That's why my Instagram feed was flooded with #PrayForParis. That's why Chattanooga still talks about what happened last summer. No matter how strong your personal empathy is, we connect through pain.

This is not always a bad thing. It leads to support. It leads to closeness.

But too much of one thing is a bad thing. What goes in, comes out, and if all you have is tragedy coming in, it begins to mess with you. It starts wiring itself into your thoughts, and then your heart, and then your hands. It distorts your view of the world. It makes you feel like pain is all there is to feel, and anything else must be fake. 

Listening to the frequency of hurt can actually cause more pain. It makes you fear that those things will happen to you. Which makes you fear loss. Which keeps you from connecting to people. Which destroys the good thing that can come from pain and makes you more selfish. I know because I've been there. I've become so accustomed to it that I begin to expect bad things to happen, which has made me into someone I never wanted to be.

So my question, then, is if there is a vein of hurt, is there also a vein of hope? If we tuned into one for too long, the only option is to find something else to fill up with. Shutting everything out makes us empty, but to be human is to feel. So where is hope found? How do we balance it out?

If you listen for hope right now, there's an obvious answer: Christmas.

Even people who refuse to step foot in a church acknowledge that Christmas is a time for peace, joy, hope. Christmas is a rest, a season of hitting pause and seeking those things that we consider make life beautiful. Family. Giving. Light.

But, as someone who has kept Christmas lights up until June, I know full well that warm feelings and gift wrap can only go so far. Memories, although good things, aren't enough to sustain it. So we have to dig deeper, to listen more closely, and find where it comes from.

Linus can give you a speech about it, but I'll give you one word: Emmanuel. God. With. Us.

We can't find hope within ourselves, no matter how many Dr. Phils and motivational cat posters you have. So we look outside ourselves, we look up. And when we look up, we see that hope is not just there, it's under our noses. Why?

Because God has stepped in. 
He stepped into a stable in Bethlehem, and He's still stepping into our lives today.

He's stepping in when we have too much to do, too many responsibilities to balance and personalities to placate and He's telling us: Rest.

He's stepping in when our minds are at war with our hearts, when, as Hamlet says, "Within my heart there was a kind of fighting that would not let me sleep," and He says it again: Rest. 

He's stepping in when we've looked to our family and our friends and our work and our hearts and nothing satisfies, nothing stops the pain, and He proclaims it over us: Rest.

He can proclaim Rest because He holds time, space, and every detail of every bit of existence in His hands. And when we look at what He holds we see that He already holds everything we feel like we've lost. We can rest because when we look closely, He holds us. 

It sounds so simple, but rest is so hard to learn. Mike Donehey of Tenth Avenue North often says that we must fight to rest, though it sounds like a contradiction. He's right.

There will be times that everything around you and everything in you is telling you to freak out. They'll have really good reasons and sometimes they'll call it good things, like "handling it" or "just making sure everything gets done." But what does it matter if everything gets done at the cost of you coming undone?

It's in these times that we must choose rest. And sometimes that looks like saying, "I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know how this is going to work. But You know what You're doing, and it's going to be okay." It may not feel like peace; it may feel like defeat. But maybe every time we choose not to panic, but to trust, it's tapping into that vein of hope. It's learning a little better how to hear the frequency, though it may seem faint.

There's a lot of unrest in me. I can't pretend like I'm not preaching to myself. I have a whole lot of questions, and a ridiculously small amount of answers. I write this because I'm listening in, trying to find what I'm looking for.

But I've got a feeling it can be found.

From Summer 2015: Heavy and Light

I've been meaning to blog all summer as things happen, but life was too busy, well, happening. Then I was going to write a highlight reel of sorts, but I'm learning that part of honesty is acknowledging that life is not always easy. It sounds so simple, but it's much more fun to share about the beach and mountaintop experiences than the dark places that filled in the gaps between, and sometimes I think that's really what people need to hear, anyway.

So here's my summer, good and bad, heavy and light.

Heavy

• College is coming, and coming fast. Sometimes in the midst of the best parts of this summer I would be reminded of what was coming and it was like a sudden weight dropped on my chest. Anxiety would pile on until I had to remind myself to breathe. 
• Doubt has been plaguing me this summer. Everything changing has left my defenses down, and the enemy has been constantly whispering questions in my ear. My faith has been shaken from the ground up, and it's left me feeling unsteady to say the least. 
• Especially right after or right before an event, despair has weighed pretty heavy on my heart. From general discouragement to wanting to curl up under a blanket and forget the world, my emotions have not been on my side. 
• God has felt distant at times. Partly because of the previous point, it's like a fog will settle in front of Him and I just can't seem to grasp Him. I know He's there, but He seems out of reach or silent. Nothing feels so hopeless as wanting God and feeling like you can't get to Him. 
• Leaving my job, and missing it so much more than I imagined. 
• The more I learn, the more I realize I have so much farther to go, and while that can be liberating, it can also be extremely frustrating.
• It's far too easy to get caught up in who you aren't and forget whose you are.
• Goodbyes are hard, even temporary ones. 

Light

• Mission Ohio: We set out with a fairly definite set of plans, and we ended up doing almost none of them-and it was great. I got stretched into speaking to a bit bigger crowd than I was expecting (right, Jadyn?), and realizing that the Gospel really is enough for all people, even if it's told differently. Some of the highlights were the small moments. Pushing a lady named Gloria up to her room in the nursing home. Six girls and my youth pastor in a Suburban talking about everything from iPhones to quiet times .This was the first taste of what became the theme of my summer: community.
  
• Movie Nights/ Taco Bell runs: Seriously, as much as I mess around, I love you group of girls I've gotten to hang out with this summer. It doesn't matter that you're younger than me, watching movies and eating Taco Bell will be cherished memories for me forever. I have laughed with you guys and discussed some of the hard stuff with you guys, and you have a special place in my heart. Jason, Rick, Oscar, Gracie, and the rest of you who've been in and out: thank you. I love you, you pretty blossom queens. ;) 
  
• Riverbend: *tries not to go super-fan* Tenth Avenue North-you changed my life. I went to my first concert in 6th grade, and since then your music has come along at the exact right time for every season. If time permitted, I'd write a whole blog post just for you. Tenth Ave has been that voice of reassurance I need so frequently: I am known and loved by God, and the church matters (see, there's that community thing again.) Standing in a shoulder-to-shoulder crowd with my brothers and sisters at the front of the stage (with Mr. Mike Donehey TWO FEET AWAY) singing "Stars in the Night" as the sun set over the Tennessee River- yeah, that's what I imagine Heaven will be a lot like. Also, not to be forgotten, Matthew West reminded us that it's never too late to start at day one because we are a new creation in Christ, and our stories- my story, your story- they matter. 
  
• VBS: I struggled a bit going into VBS this year, and when I asked God for guidance He gave me a phrase: "Look low. Love the least of these." I'll be honest, I had some kids in my group this year that were pretty hard to love. My self wanted to ignore them and hang out with the "more fun" kids. But God kept reminding me that these are the kids He died for. Some of these kids had been ignored or abandoned everywhere else, and they needed to see that they would not be abandoned here, not by Him. That week could have been the turning point, the day their name changed to "Child of the One True King" (thanks Matthew West). And this past Sunday as I watched one of those sweet girls in my group get baptized I remembered, yeah, God is good. 
  
• Senior Trip: Aside from a couple of mission trips (or maybe "alongside"), this was my favorite trip ever. I was drowning in community and loving every single second of it. Aside from the fact that we got to spend the whole week lounging at the beach and, for me, turning into a human lobster, I just love you guys a lot. It's been a long road for some of us, and this just felt like that perfect breath before life gets crazy again. I don't think anything will ever compare to that moment where we were playing volleyball in the kitchen while "You Are the Music in Me" blasted over the speaker and I tried not to cry. I came home feeling loved and refreshed, reassured that if this was community then college might be okay, and wondering how on earth we all ended up talking like Laura. #Nugget
  
• Family Vacation: I'm not usually sappy when it comes to family, so I'll try to keep it simple so no one cries ;). I had so much fun with you guys. I needed those times with you. I love you, a lot, and I don't say it enough. God really showed me that week that there is always more light to be seen. I never thought I'd love riding in a too-big truck named Turk, eating donuts, learning the shoe lady's life story, or joking around with the guy at Journey's (shhhh, Ben). There are a lot of other beautiful things I could say, but I'll save them for when I'm not moving out in a couple of days. 
  
• Stars: I have hardcore fallen in love with stars this summer. So far I've seen them from five different states this summer, and they just take my breath away like they never did before. When I stepped out onto the sand that first night of senior trip and saw the stars stretching as far as I could see, only hidden by where the ocean met the sky, I wanted to drop to my knees then and there. See, He calls them out by name- every one of them- and surely He must be able to take care of my little life. And to my friend who knows waaay more about space than I ever will, thanks for waking me up to all the hardcore beautiful stuff out there. 
• Adrienne: Hey, Watson. This goes without saying, but I love you more than I can say. Even though I haven't seen you quite as much this summer, our coffee dates, shopping trips, hibachi/Netflix nights, and all that other random crap we do means the world to me. You're one of the few that has always been there, and for that I'll never be able to say thank you enough. So for eating food with me, laughing at my stupid jokes, watching my wreck of a dog, and everything in between: mbleh. 
  
• Opening Up: God's been doing a lot even in what seemed like silence, and I've finally starting talking about some of the stuff that I've been dealing with for a long time. Sometimes healing starts with just knowing someone out there is on your side. Thanks for listening.
• PrayZchoir retreat: This year was different. I was chaperoning, and it took a while to figure out where I fit. Turns out the answer is the same as it usually is- love like Christ. The will of God isn't always big, "go to Asia" revelations. Turns out it's a lot of telling middle schoolers that they matter and getting outside of your head to see that this world needs a lot of love, and there's only one place that will truly fill that need: the arms of Christ. 
  

So this summer, it wasn't easy. But it wasn't all bad. I have found the depths of pain and the heights of joy and maybe Vanauken was right to refuse to take the easy middle way. I'm still learning. I'm still fighting to breathe, but one thing I know is that this summer was not an accident, and this year will not be one either. We only have to take it one step at a time, one moment, one choice to love, once choice to live like Christ, and in the end we'll have plenty to write about. 

And I choose to write it, because my story matters. My story matters because thanks to Christ, my story is so much bigger than me. I am connected to His plan and His church and He has a part for me to play. 

So to anyone who feels like life is just too heavy: hold on. Hold out. I promise, the light will come. And in the meantime, know you are not alone. We understand. We're all made of heavy and light, and we need community to pull through. Don't be afraid to need and you'll never walk alone. God is with you, we are with you, and "His love will lead us through the fight like stars in the night."

BONUS:

In case this post wasn't long enough already, here's my summer soundtrack.

Owl City- Mobile Orchestra 

For King and Country- Run Wild. Live Free. Love Strong.

Tenth Avenue North- Cathedrals 

Walk the Moon- "Shut Up and Dance"

Crowder- Neon Steeple 

From the Supreme Court

My heart is broken and, to be honest, I'm a little angry, but not with the Supreme Court. This is no longer a Christian nation, and I don't expect our government to make Biblical decisions. 

But, as much as I don't like to say it, I'm upset with the church. Not my church specifically, but not excluding it. The American Church as a whole is making some huge mistakes, and they're reaching much farther than we'd expect. 

This is not about whether homosexuality is right or wrong. That's not a question for me. The Bible is the ultimate authority and it's far more straightforward than some would have us believe. God made marriage to work one way, and it's automatically the best way because He made it. Anything else is an affront to His authority and it's sin, plain and simple. 

My problem is that we've stopped right there and used the beautiful truth of God's Word as a weapon to hurt the very people Jesus came to save. We've decided that because the LGBT community is celebrating sin that we can do whatever it takes to make sure they know the truth. And can I tell you something? They know. They know what we have to say. They know where we stand. That's no longer the issue. 

The issue is that we're attacking lost people...for acting like lost people. We expect them to live up to our moral standards without ever having their hearts changed by Christ. 

These are people we're talking about. They're not a faceless mass. They have names, hearts, stories, fears, dreams. These are people that have grown up feeling rejected, isolated, lonely, attacked, misunderstood, unknowable, unloved. These are the very people that Christ came to save. 

And now you and I, the children of God, the ones who should have the most motivation to love these people, we're the ones throwing stones. 

In John 8 we see Jesus's encounter with the woman caught in adultery. He doesn't start out by spelling out what she's done wrong and how dirty this makes her. I'm sure in the midst of the religious Pharisees she already feels dirty enough. 

No, with some writing in the dirt and a single sentence He sends her accusers away. "Let him who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her." 

Not one man is left. And then He tells her to go and sin no more. 

I'm not saying that Christ will just casually love you and let you chill in your homosexuality. But He won't let me stay in my lying, in my unforgiveness, in my rebellious heart. 

He loves you and I so powerfully that He will make us His, call us loved, and then begin making us more like Him. 

This Supreme Court decision is one of the greatest opportunities this church will have to minister to the LGBT people. They're watching us, seeing how we react. And unfortunately most of them are seeing that this Jesus we're supposed to be representing is not anyone they'd be interested in. 

When they look at our facebook posts and hear our conversations, they see a "Jesus" that is disgusted by them. That hates them. That thinks they are the scum of the earth, the downfall of the entire country. 

That's not my Jesus. That's not the Jesus of the Bible. 

Because the Jesus I know, the One that I love and trust to save my life, He died for me while I was still a sinner. He takes me back after my every rebellion, and breaks the strongholds of sin in my life. He comforts me when I'm lonely. He gives me wisdom, grace, infinite mercy. The Jesus I know is a good Father, a righteous Judge, a perfect Counselor, a faithful Friend. 

So to anyone who's been hurt by the church's response, I'm sorry. We are nothing more than sinners saved by grace, and He's still working on us. We don't always get it right, and our sin has hurt you. But know that Jesus won't fail you or hurt you. Know that He'll take you in right where you are. You don't have to clean up for Him. Know that He loves you immensely, infinitely, and unconditionally. He can and will save you. Yes, you will change, but only because He knows what's best for you. And He'll walk with you through it. I promise that if you get to know Jesus for who the Bible says He is, you'll see that He's the answer to everything you've been searching for. All your wounds can be healed. Your loneliness and pain redeemed. He sees you and knows you. You matter to him. 

And, although it may take some courage, come to the church. You'll realize that we're not perfect, but He is, and He'll help us love each other. We want you to live life with us. We want you to help us be more compassionate. The church is not for super-Christians, it's for the broken who need God (P.S. That's all of us), regardless of your past or your struggles. I think you'll realize that we're not so different. 

And to the church, know that I love you. I love the church. This is not a bash-the-church post. The church is chosen by God as His means of reaching the nations. I only aim to encourage you when I say that we've messed up, but God is greater than our weakness. He uses it. And He will not abandon us now. As He has been faithful, He will be faithful. We need to show people who Christ is. We have brothers and sisters who haven't been adopted yet, and they have to be told that their Father loves them. 

Because, friends, we're going home. And when we get to Heaven, we'll see that God's church is not limited to us conservative, middle-class Southerners. The church is simply those who have been made alive by Christ. And if His family isn't divided there, why can't we reach across borders here and live out the love that we've been given?

Christ is enough for us. All of us.