There are some people in my life that I love very much. These people have in various ways and manners throughout the years caused pain and struggle in the lives of some other people I love very much. There was a time when the hurt party would talk to me about the offending party- hurt-filled, angry, almost venomous words. Being on the outside of the hurt, I could understand the offenders. I was acquainted with their faults and weaknesses, but also so acquainted with their beauty and graces. And there was much beauty and grace. But I learned something. Some say love is blind- I say so is pain. Love closes it's eyes to the faults of the beloved, wanting only to see their virtues. Pain on the other hand can no longer see the virtues, only the faults. It's as though we are afraid that seeing and admitting the virtues of an offender will lesson their offense, or the right we feel to that pain. Being a witness to this made my heart very heavy. I wanted to affirm the hurt but also defend and support the ones who did the hurting, but nothing outside of divine grace could make that possible, only supernatural grace could bridge that chasm. But the grace did come and so did healing.
I have felt that same heaviness as I've met and heard the stories of people hurt by the church. And by "the church" I mean by whatever grouping of Christians they were associated with. Because I know the offenses are real. I know the community of Christians has done things and said things and rallied behind things that have left people hurt and rejected and angry. But I'm also intimately acquainted with the beauty of the church. My church growing up was no perfect community, but when I remember that church I remember the toothless, shabby homeless man that was always welcome in our pews and at meals around our tables. I remember the children from rough neighborhoods that got Sunday lunches on our buses. I remember high risk children that were taken in by families and loved like their own. I remember people being given second chances. I remember my pastor standing on his toes to hit the high notes of songs and crying on his knees when he believed he'd made a mistake. I remember frustrating my Sunday school teacher with my hyper ness so badly she turned purple, yet somehow never doubting she cared about me. When I think of my experiences with Christians I think of young people who give away some of their hard earned money to help the poor. I think of so many families who have loved abandoned children and made them their own. Of the people serving the homeless, seeking out the lonely, loving the forgotten.
It breaks my heart to constantly see the failures and oversights and offenses of the church shouted from the proverbial rooftops knowing that enough are real and legitimate, but wishing there was a way to remind of its beauty without glossing over its offenses. But I know where there's pain it's hard to see beauty. At least outside of divine grace. And how I pray for that grace, and for that healing.
I have felt that same heaviness as I've met and heard the stories of people hurt by the church. And by "the church" I mean by whatever grouping of Christians they were associated with. Because I know the offenses are real. I know the community of Christians has done things and said things and rallied behind things that have left people hurt and rejected and angry. But I'm also intimately acquainted with the beauty of the church. My church growing up was no perfect community, but when I remember that church I remember the toothless, shabby homeless man that was always welcome in our pews and at meals around our tables. I remember the children from rough neighborhoods that got Sunday lunches on our buses. I remember high risk children that were taken in by families and loved like their own. I remember people being given second chances. I remember my pastor standing on his toes to hit the high notes of songs and crying on his knees when he believed he'd made a mistake. I remember frustrating my Sunday school teacher with my hyper ness so badly she turned purple, yet somehow never doubting she cared about me. When I think of my experiences with Christians I think of young people who give away some of their hard earned money to help the poor. I think of so many families who have loved abandoned children and made them their own. Of the people serving the homeless, seeking out the lonely, loving the forgotten.
It breaks my heart to constantly see the failures and oversights and offenses of the church shouted from the proverbial rooftops knowing that enough are real and legitimate, but wishing there was a way to remind of its beauty without glossing over its offenses. But I know where there's pain it's hard to see beauty. At least outside of divine grace. And how I pray for that grace, and for that healing.
