An Action of Mercy

"Therefore I tell you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven - for she loved much. But who is forgiven little, loves little." And with that he said to her, "Your sins are forgiven." - The Gospel of St. Luke, chapter 7

I am not other people so I cannot speak for them. But I am myself, and on better days I am someone a little less myself, so I can speak for me. And for me, I can tell you that I scarcely knew what it meant to be a Christ follower before I knew what it meant to receive mercy. And before mercy I never knew love.

Becoming a Christian seemed like an end in and of itself, like one becomes a millionaire. The balance of life is for lavishing yourself with the rewards of riches. I walked with a sense of entitlement, albeit garnished with sincerity and humble thanks. After all, salvation was mine because I asked, much like ordering a pound of bologna at the deli counter. So then was wisdom. And grace was given to me, receiving what I didn't earn, like boxes wrapped in colorful paper complete with ribbon on top and toy inside all for me on my birthday. And such was my Christianity. It carried me to the pulpit where I now know that I was more comfortable with the power of influence and gratitude people expressed to me for it. It all came natural to the flesh and ego: esteem, attention, authority, the conductor of an orchestra. As my baton went, so went the ibids in the cushioned, high back chairs.

I was in no position to warrant forgiveness because my sins were seemingly so few and immaterial. Confessions of those became a badge of false piety and a display of the righteousness I had achieved. Mercy? It was for those who were beyond mere confession.

Until.

Until I was plunged into vileness so that I hold my breath when the specter of it arises. I don't speak of it, but in generalities, and never unsolicited. I found myself undone and having lost all the prestige that I had once held proudly atop the mantle. Beyond confession, postured face first in the stye I awaited the only thing that I could possibly expect: God's swift justice. And harsh at that.

I find the above account of the words of Jesus so dear to me because of what the story surrounding them tells. A woman, who all we know about her is that she is a "sinner" and can do nothing but expect God's swift justice, does the worst possible thing. She enters the house of Pharisees, the self-proclaimed executors of God's righteous justice. They were quite likely to drag her out into the gutter by her hair before prying up chunks of asphalt with their pristine fingers and hurl them at her breaking skin, bruising flesh, breaking bone, until her breath left her body.

Instead she finds an action. An action of withholding the justice she is due. An action of mercy. A mercy so ferocious that it chases down and consumes her sin before it can draw another breath. An action of mercy that has satiated wrath and lulled it back into slumber. Mercy. A mercy I have felt and for that I am forever changed. I will carry it to the throne room of the Almighty one day and lay it as his feet, much of it, in fact. I shall return it to him as an offering for carrying that mercy with me has allowed me to know what it is to follow him and what it is to love. And I suppose now that I reflect on it, those mercies that are nothing short of Lucullan are all that I might carry with me to glory.

You see, I am still a bad Christ follower. I am a liar and a cheat. Selfish and gluttonous. I am sloth and vanity, a coward, a pig, a failure, a self-saboteur. But I know this now. And I carry those, shackled to my ankle, down the searing skillet of the asphalt avenue to where this Jesus reclines. I limp, with my throat collapsing on itself and tears in my eyes, through the courtyard of the home of my executioner, interrupt his meal, and collapse at Mercy's feet. My neck shivers with the expectation of cold, swift steel taking my head and am unaware that my tears have chased the dust from Mercy's feet. Mercy, sweet Mercy. Be mine. And I will hold fast to you and you shall be my song. New, new, new, every morning you are to me. Sweet is his name on my lips and his name shall be called Mercy.

I'm not a C. I'm not a C-H.

About 8 years ago, I dropped out of college, and joined a Christian metalcore band. I was super involved in my church and campus ministry. I was super in love with Jesus. But at the same time there was something going on inside of me, something that seemed liberating at the same time that it seemed terrifying.

I was done being a Christian.

Let me rephrase that. I was done being CALLED a Christian. I was not done with loving the way of Christ. I was not done living out God's story of ultimate grace and love through the resurrection of His son. But as far as the title goes? No way.

“I don't want to be associated with THOSE people,” I often said, “they don't represent the Jesus I know.” Then over the next few years, I've had a series of ups and downs with this very subject.

I know that this is an issue that many Christians like me struggle with. We grew up in a traditional conservative Christian church, then came of thinking or reasoning age, and (in my case) got liberal, or postmodern, or whatever you want to call it, and then just got plain disgusted.

One thing I've been learning over the past year or so is that that disgust easily leads to a rebellious and sinful attitude towards the bride of Christ. I'm really happy that in one of Bryan's initial posts he mentioned that the point of this is not to tear down the church. Too many times in our "we just want to be real" circles, we end up with a major "screw you" attitude towards the church. It runs rampant in our 21st century churches (and contrary to popular belief, its not just in "emerging" churches).

The emotion is not unwarranted though. Although I think a lot of the action that is taken is rebellious and unhealthy, I'm not letting the church off the hook here. We have done a lot of disservice to our neighbors. And we've done a lot of disservice to ourselves in the process. Galatians 5:15 says "if you keep on biting and devouring each other, watch out or you will be destroyed by each other." Or you have the whole passage in 1 Corinthians 12, talking about how we are dysfunctional parts of the body when we don't work together as one. And in 2 Corinthians 5, Paul talks about how we have been given the Ministry of Reconciliation. How are we going to reconcile the world to Christ if we can't even reconcile our internal differences?

There's a popular saying, "if it ain't broke, don't fix it." I guess that's the attitude I want to have towards the church. My pastor was saying something yesterday about focusing on what IS working, which really resonated with me. Why do we always focus on the negative side of things? We are fixers. We see things that are broken, and we (try to) fix them. The way I see it, if we keep on pushing forward the things that ARE working in our communities, then Christ will help us fix the broken things along the way, and I guarantee He'll fix them in a lot more constructive way.

Our center is—or should be—Christ. Everything else, all of our theology, all of our stupid arguments, all of our humanity, it all pales in comparison to the glory and mystery of Christ. Let's keep it that way.

Why do we do Church?

After moving out of a position of leadership in the church I've found it extremely difficult to find a reason or desire to go back to church. I can't say that I've been burned out on or burnt by the church, but I do feel like church has ran it's course. I grew up in the church, I decided that I wanted to become a Christian at the early age of 7, I was a (youth) pastor's kid, I've heard all the stories, I've sang all the worship songs, I've been baptized, I've had communion, I served on a youth council for my church district, I went to a Christian college and I served as an assistant youth leader. Been there, done that (I hate that saying, but it's fitting here). I've seriously had my fill of Church.

So why do we do Church? Is it to make a check list so we can show God when we go to Heaven "Look how many hours I've logged in the church building"? Do we do church because we need to fill an emotional void? Do we do church because that's what we've always done? Do we do church because we want an authentic relationship/encounter with God?

Maybe we do it for all of these reasons, maybe none of them. I have a big problem with Church though. We as Christians are called to go out into all the world and spread the teachings of Christ. Jesus says that we are the Church if He resides in us. (What in the heck does that mean anyway? Why do we have to have our own language?) How are we supposed to spread the teachings of Christ if we are meeting one morning a week in a corporate setting with other believers?

Why is it that (almost) every Church is the same? First is sunday school, then a little bit of time to socialize before service starts, everyone goes to the sanctuary, sing a few songs, hear a few announcements, sing a couple more songs, give tithe, maybe sing one more song, then the pastor talks for 45 minutes about something that you'll probably forget about when you're out to eat for lunch with the people who sat in the same pew as you. How does that help us go and make disciples? I understand that we need to all be on the same page and it's good to have a time set aside to learn. But why do we have to do it this way? Why can't church be a place where we go and discuss? The model of church right now leaves no room for discussion. How are you supposed to make your faith your own if you can't logically come to a conclusion about it? One could argue that we have small groups for that reason, but if we are doing that what is the point of having church on sunday morning the way we've always done it? Why can't we use that time to go out and spread the news?

Why do we do church? Is it for the believer or for the non-believer? Most non-Christians that I know say that they hate going to church. They feel rejected. They feel like they don't belong. They feel like the pastor is holier-than-thou and condescending towards them. They don't feel welcomed. They feel like everyone is being fake. I don't think that most Christians realize this. I know some Churches do try to go out of their way to make non-believers / visitors feel welcome but it is usually not the case.

I have another post that I will be making about my observations of the amount of people being saved within the church (4 walls corporate congregation) as opposed to outside of the church (one on one discipleship/relationships/etc). It ties in with this post but is definitely another conversation.

This is probably way too long and to broad but these are some questions that have been on my mind. Sorry if I wasn't even coherent. I do plan on breaking some of these questions down in another post, but I wanted to get some of this out there right away.