Reeling: my Christian confession

The first time I really, truly came up against theology and ideology that differed from my upbringing was in college.

Early in my college career, an LGBTQ advocacy group announced their visit to our Christian university campus. They didn’t ask to come, they announced what day they would be arriving.

We were one of several stops on their national protest tour, one of several colleges they had identified as having restrictive / uninclusive language in our handbook.

Every college they had visited prior to ours had barricaded them off of school property. Each university had enlisted the help of the police to ensure the group was not allowed on campus.

Well, every university until mine.

My university, on the other hand, got word that this group was coming, acknowledged the theological differences fueling said visit, then opened their arms and said, “You are welcome.”

They invited these friends in.

Professors opened their homes. Administrators set their tables to share meals. Faculty and staff hosted panels where the protestors and the students could sit with each other and listen to each other and ask questions.

Safe places were created where hearts could be heard and better understood.

I learned so, so, so much. I think we all did.

And guess what? The weekend did not end with everyone in complete agreement on every line item. We didn’t all walk away with a unanimous perspective.

But we did all begin as strangers and end as friends who cared deeply about each other.

That singular, unpopular decision by our university’s leadership taught me one of the greatest lessons in my adult life – that people matter.

And that it matters that we matter to each other.

It matters that we are willing to open up our homes and say, “Pull up a seat, I’d love to hear more.”

It matters that there is room at the table for hearts and skin colors and convictions and perspectives that are different than ours.

It matters that there is space for both disagreement and dignity, for both conviction and love.

It matters that we listen.

That was then…..

…..so what in the name of all that is good and holy is happening now, in 2020, in a pandemic-ridden election year?

Where have the tables gone?

Where are the safe places for hearts to be heard?

Where is the listening and the learning from differing perspectives?

Where is the grace and humility and willingness to seek understanding?

What happened?

Seriously.

What is happening?

I have never been so baffled or disheartened as I am when I log on to 2020 American Christian Facebook.

People I thought were on the same Jesus team losing their ever loving minds about this, that, or the other.

Giants in the faith, leaders I’ve respected greatly, aligning themselves more vocally and openly with a political candidate or party than they have with any other Topic of Importance, ever.

Followers of Jesus assuming the absolute worst of a brother or sister who votes a different color. Red? Racist. Blue? Baby killer. (Are those our only two options?!)

Warriors for an eternal kingdom more willing to protect the freedoms and ideals of this country than the hearts that reside in it.

Christians being guided by fear, motivated by control. Who get more fired up about media bias than the marginalized. Who are more willing to listen to Hot Takes than the convictions of the other side. Who are quicker to believe conspiracy theories than the validity of a different perspective. For whom “wicked” is an easy word to call an opponent.

Seriously, what is happening?

It hurts my heart. It makes me angry. But then I pull back the layers of that anger a little bit and I realize I’m actually really, really, really sad.

Because I remember sitting at a table.

I remember the sacred moment with a trans guy on my left and a professor on my right, both starting on different ends of a spectrum, both sharing a meal, talking about life. Each listening, learning, understanding that people matter.

We really don’t have to agree on everything. Or anything, really, except the commitment to love and respect and fight for people.

Because people matter.

In-the-womb people. Immigrant people. Adult people. Sinner people. Left-leaning people. Right-leaning people. Activist people. Facebook-jumping-Parlor people. Angry-Christian-Twitter people. The just-can’t-pull-the-mask-up-over-their-nose people.

People matter.

To be honest, I think it will take me a while to process and heal from all of the toxins that have been spewed in the name of Christianity this year. It has messed with me in big, important, foundational, eye-opening, this-needs-to-change ways. I am painfully aware that the work and change needs to start in my own heart first.

I also know I’m not the only one reeling in this season.

If you feel like you’re losing your mind, like the things you’ve always held as true might not actually be, like you’re on an island of confusion and hurt…you are not alone. I’m chillin under the palm tree with you.

It’s hard when we’re still COVID-isolated, isn’t it? Proximity breeds empathy. Distance breeds misunderstanding. Satan can spiral our thoughts so quickly. We weren’t designed to do life apart.

The thing I keep coming back to and refocusing on is this:

Jesus is sufficient.

And I don’t mean that in a cliche, feel-good kinda way, I mean for real. He is enough. He has to be.

He is enough when we aren’t. When the Church isn’t. When your thoughts aren’t. When that disappointing social media post isn’t.

Jesus is always better.

He’s more secure than our ideal political climate. He’s more merciful than our greatest dreams for social justice and reform. He’s more faithful than our best attempts at unity. He’s more gracious than our failed attempts at morality.

He’s better than it all.

And do you know what theology he believed in enough to die for?

This outrageous idea that people matter.

May this be our anthem, too.

May we fix our eyes on him alone.