Lately our country is ruled by
fear. Fear of the ‘other’. Fear of invasion. Fear of what is to come.
I am not a theologian or a policy expert. I spent the majority of my higher education reading
old dead dude’s writing and learning about the inner workings of the middle
school brain. I have spent the entirety
of my adult life watching too much reality TV, drinking lots of coffee, and
online shopping. The rest of my time has
been spent with a bunch of ‘others’. I have sat in hospital rooms with rape
survivors as they spoke to police officers and endured invasive evidence
collection. I have spent countless late
nights on a survivor hotline talking to men and women living close to the pit
of despair that looms near when you have survived trauma. I have taught in classrooms with students who
have no permanent home or guaranteed next meal.
I have ministered to gay and straight, trans and cis, rich and poor, white
and brown students whose constant fear is failure (on a million different
levels).
All these experiences have taught me three things:
- We are all broken people with a ridiculous capacity for love and healing.
- What we long for above all else is to be seen.
- When you judge someone you can’t love them.
As Believers we are all across the board right now. We each know we are right and everyone else
is wrong and somehow we are getting the lines between politics and Jesus really
blurred. Jesus has become the tool we
use to justify instead of the ruler we use to measure.
Beyond policy and politics there are people. People that, no matter what God they do or do
not worship, no matter their gender or orientation or race or education, have worth. Just as you and I do.
Hear their story.
Jesus spent his entire ministry seeing and loving others and their stories. Jesus’ ministry of presence challenges us to
do the one thing that makes us most uncomfortable. Show up.
Hold space. See someone.
Fear is so deeply intertwined with the unknown they can be hard to
untangle. There is only one clear way to
untangle it all… to face it. Speak with
the recent immigrant and hear the stories of their escape and life in a
war-torn country. Have coffee with the Trans
woman and understand the agony of being afraid, tormented, and alone in a body
that doesn’t mirror her heart or mind. Sit with
your brown friends and hear what they must teach their children about how to
remain safe in the country they built; how to leave a traffic stop alive and
walk home without incident. Be present
with the nurse who offers an emergency contraceptive to the girl sexually
assaulted by a family member.
Jesus, our great teacher, taught us this power time and time
again. With a woman at a well. With strangers in a synagogue. With friends at a table. With prostitutes and religious leaders and
believers and doubters alike. Jesus was
never afraid to stand in the midst of the muck, listen to another’s story, and
then proclaim the simple truth of LOVE. Jesus
showed us to love someone we must see and validate them. It becomes very hard to hate and cast away
and write off another human once you have shared space and story together.
It’s our job, as followers of Jesus, to do the hard
work. To hold the space. To be witness to the ways God loves and works
through all people. At our baptism we committed
to ‘seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as ourselves’ and
to ‘strive for justice and peace among all people, respecting the dignity of
every human being’. We are called in
this moment to do the things Jesus needs us to do for the people Jesus
loves. There are a million excuses and
reasons we can shy away from this awkward hard work but now is when we move
past being people who show up on Sundays to sit together in a pretty building to
being a radical community of love that transforms the world.
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