A People

We're talking about loving one another and about how we love one another and whether or not we like one another and a whole mess of other things along these lines. We're talking, in other words, about what it means to be a people. Particularly, a people of God. 

But for today, just being a people will be sufficient. 

Because I woke up in the middle of the night last night and ended up listening to too much of the overnight news report about the ongoing war in Ukraine, and it got me thinking about all of the things that I've been writing about this week, about our togetherness. 

Our culture likes to tell us that we are individuals, that our lives are up to us, that we should do whatever makes us happy, that we should pursue whatever we like. Our culture tells us to choose based on our own needs and wants and preferences and what we think is good for us. If we listen to our culture tell it, each of us is an island unto ourselves, the central point of our own world. 

The truth is, we're not. We know that, but we fall into the delusion of the world too often and start to believe that maybe we are. This is especially true when we are not being loved well by those around us, when we are not experiencing the kind of community that we long for and that we desperately need. When we seem to be the only one in the trenches of our own life, digging out a foxhole for one and buckling down for the fight. 

But when the bombs start dropping and the bullets start flying, they aren't coming for us; they're coming for us. All of us. The collective nature of our community. 

Nothing really happens in isolation. Even the drug addict who overdoses in an abandoned house all alone and isn't found for two or three weeks leaves a ripple through the community - persons she loved, who loved her, those she went to school with, those who tried so hard to hold onto her. The single dad who is jugging the burden of raising his kids and providing for them isn't really as alone as he feels; there's a whole network of folks watching and drawing on his strength. 

None of us is as alone as we ever feel in the world, and sure, maybe when we're hiding in our own lives because we hear the bullets outside, it feels like it's just us, but open the curtain a little and you'll see that those bullets aren't just flying for you; they are trying to tear the very fabric of who we are together. 

Russia doesn't engage this war by going out and overcoming individuals; that's not how you dominate and conquer. You have to shred a community's sense of togetherness if you want to take that city. 

So, too, does our enemy know this. The things that we face, the challenges we're up against, the bombs that are dropping on our lives - they are all meant for this, to tear at our sense of togetherness. To make us feel isolated. To pull us apart from one another. To leave in rubble the structures that we have built together. When we lose our sense of us, we lose the war. And that has always been true. 

That's why getting our one anothering right is so, so important. That's why it is central to literally everything. It is everything. Jesus knew this when He told us.

He really was onto something, that God of ours. He really does know what He's talking about. 

The Like of God

We're talking about how it is that we think the love of Jesus starts outside the church, and we are not so good at loving one another inside the church. Our love is...mixed, at best. It's picky. It varies depending on who we're talking about and a whole bunch of factors that include, for most of us, who we "like." 

But God never told us to like one another. 

In fact, I think that's one of our greatest obstacles, not just to our one anothering, but to our worship. And this, too, comes from our culture. 

Our culture teaches us that if we don't like something, we don't have to engage with it. Life is too short, they say. Why waste it doing things we don't enjoy?

So if you don't like your job, quit. If you don't like your house, remodel. If you don't like your spouse, divorce. If you don't like your kids, distance yourself. If you don't like your new outfit, return it. If you don't like your church, change it. If you don't like the person who sits next to you in the pew, don't talk to them. You don't have to engage things in this world that you don't like. 

And this, of course, extends into worship. If you don't like the music, don't sing. If you don't like the quiet, don't pray. If you don't like reading, God's okay if you don't read your Bible. If you do like raunchy movies or coarse language, go ahead; it's fine. 

Here we are, thousands of years and many generations later, and we have Israel's problem: if you don't like the wilderness, go back to Egypt. 

But I digress.

Jesus never said that we have to like each other. He never said that the world will know we are Christians by our like. We don't pick up our cross every day for the like of God. 

It's all about love. 

And when we read the New Testament, we see this in action. When Paul wrote to the churches, he sometimes wrote to and about persons who didn't like each other very much. Persons who were in conflict. Persons whose conflict was spilling over into the congregation at large. And he told these congregations plainly, work with them. They don't have to like each other, but they can love each other, and so can you. Don't let a little interpersonal strife ruin your love. 

We aren't meant to pick and choose. We aren't meant to care for some more than others, even though our natural fallen human instinct makes that true for most of us. If we're going to choose anything, it's supposed to be love. Period. The pure, unadulterated love of God for one another. 

That's what this whole thing is supposed to be.  

Weary Souls

We're talking about how we love one another within the walls of our churches, and this is important because it's how we love one another, first and foremost, that shows how we love our God. Yesterday, we started looking at how our response to the very same need in our church might be different, but...why is that the case? 

And really, I think that part of it is simply that we're trying to protect ourselves from what today's world calls "compassion fatigue." 

If we take a meal to every single person or family who is going through a hard time, if we mail cards to every person who ever shows up on the prayer list, if we give financially to everyone who is struggling with making ends meet...at what point do we ourselves become weary souls? 

We are, and have been since the fall, self-centered persons. Our culture (outside the church) has made this even worse. We have questions about how we're supposed to take care of our own needs. We have built into our hearts a priority of caring for us first. We've even been applauded for this. And this commitment to self runs so deep that it doesn't take long for most of us to start to feel resentful when someone else needs our resources - our time, our money, our compassion, whatever. 

So what we have is a people, even inside the church, who might take a meal and mail a card and contribute financially, but it's a very short rope before we're like hey, how come no one is sending me a card? How come no one is bringing me a meal? How come no one is helping to shoulder my debts? 

And then, we become resentful. We give and we give and we give, but who is ever giving to us? It can feel like a real soul-suck. Like we're being drained and running on empty. 

We feel like maybe we're being taken advantage of.

To some degree, this has always been a problem in the people of God. Like I said, we've been self-centered for a long time. But if we look back at the New Testament, we see that 1) the problem wasn't always as bad as it is today, in a culture that affirms our self-centeredness so boldly and 2) it's not how we're supposed to be. 

Part of our one anothering is shouldering each others' burdens. Part of our one anothering is giving freely to meet the needs of those we fellowship with. Part of our one anothering is putting aside our self and not being so self-centered. Or rather, at all self-centered. 

And the truth is that if we were Christ-centered, we'd have no room left to be self-centered. 

The early church was eager to give to the needs of others. They were eager to contribute to the work that the Lord was doing among them. They were excited about the opportunity to be part of something bigger than themselves. 

Never are we given a story about someone who gave and didn't have enough left for themselves. That's not how we're called to give. Never are we given a story of someone who gave and resented it. Or resented the recipient. Never do we get any sense that anyone in the early church felt like they were being taken advantage of. Never do we sense in the Bible any inkling of "compassion fatigue." 

The problem isn't compassion fatigue; it's us. Something in our hearts has changed over the past two thousand years. 

The question now is, what are we going to do about it? 

Brothers and Sisters

The sad truth is that the church is really inconsistent in the way that she loves within her own walls. If you need proof of that, just look at the way that your church's resources are distributed - physical resources and spiritual resources. 

Here's a place to start: how many persons have been on your prayer list lately? If your church is anything like my church, quite a few. And that's great that we pray for one another! We absolutely should. But how many of those prayer requests have you been asked to send cards to? How many have you been asked to help prepare food for? 

Intended or not, this creates a hierarchy within the church - we pray for everyone, but we care for the select few. 

Ouch. 

I'm not sure what it is that makes us treat persons differently. There's part of me that wants to make this a noble thing, something where we understand someone's love language enough to know that cards might overwhelm them or food might take away the one thing they feel like they're still able to do for themselves. I would love it if our selectiveness in care was a reflection of our deep love for one another. 

But the realist in me knows that it's not. The realist in me knows that we are picking and choosing who we care for based on a number of human factors, including simple preference. We like this person, so we will care for them. Or perhaps it's even worse than that - this person gives sacrificially in one of our ministries, so we should obviously care for this person. 

In the past year, I have seen a few prayer requests come through my chain about car troubles. This is just an example, but it's very poignant on what I'm talking about. A few times, I have been asked to pray for the car troubles and repairs of families in the family of God. Once, I have been asked not only to pray, but to financially contribute for a sister who wrecked her car and could not afford a new one. Then recently, I was asked to financially contribute for a sister who bought more car than she could afford and was drowning in the payments/debt. 

Now, the question is - how do we decide whose car we pray for and whose we replace? How do we decide whose debt we step up to pay off and whose we simply pray earnestly for? 

Again, I'd like to say that it's a widows/orphans thing - that we offer more help to those who are more alone in this world, but given the lists that I'm looking at, that's simply not the case. We are equally praying for or paying for widows and orphans and...with what rhyme or reason? 

Maybe we think it's based on need. Maybe some of those persons have more means than others, and so we're just trusting that they are able to provide for themselves. But...in my experience, that's not it, either. There are poor persons in our church that we will let drown, and there are wealthy persons that we will shower with love. 

There's no foundation for how we're deciding, it seems, except...preference. We are literally picking and choosing who we care for and how we care for them. Prayer for all, cards for a few, food for fewer still, and a little bit of money here and there. Based on...who we like? Who we hang out with? 

I've noticed that we tend to help those very strong in their Christian faith, likely because they are the patriarchs and matriarchs of our congregations, and we are likely to help those very weak in their faith, likely because we are trying to build them up in the love of God. It's the persons in the middle who are least likely to receive the care of the church.

There are many who say, it has to be this way. We have to pick and choose which burdens we take on collectively to carry. We have to have some parameters around who and how we help. Why? Because if we don't....

Well, we'll talk about that tomorrow. 

By the Love of God

Last week, I ended by reminding us all that every single sheep in the pasture is there because they love the Shepherd - we're all in the church because we love Jesus. At least, under the best of circumstances, that is true. 

But even as I was writing that post, something was gnawing at my spirit. Something deeper, something even more true than our love for Jesus. Something that doesn't wax or wane; something that doesn't come in waves and isn't impacted by our circumstances or what kind of day we're having. 

It's true that we're all in the church because we love Jesus, even in the moments when we forget that we do or when it's hard for us to hold onto that faith. 

The greater truth is that we're all in the church because Jesus loves us. The fat sheep, the lean sheep, the sheared sheep, the loud sheep, the quiet sheep, the dirty sheep, the speckled sheep, the spotted sheep - Jesus loves every single one of us. 

How much would it change our one anothering if the first thing we realized when we look at the person standing next to us is just how much Jesus loves him or her? 

This is the goal of the Christian faith, right? We want to see the world the way that Jesus sees the world; we want to develop God's heart for His creation. 

What's strange is that we don't start inside our own walls. There's something in our brains that tells us that we are the home team, the starting lineup, and so we don't scout each other out the same way that we do the opposition. We come together in our Sunday huddles and we kind of roll our eyes because we know that other person is our weak point. We know they're just going to stand out in right field and pick weeds...or pick their nose. We're embarrassed to be wearing the same jersey they are. We can't believe we have to put up with them on our team, and we're always secretly thinking about ways to bench them...or get them to leave altogether. 

Not, of course, that we don't want someone to love Jesus. Of course, we would never say that. What we say instead is that they already don't love Jesus. They're just faking it because they're not any good. They're not serious about it like the rest of us. 

The first thing we always seem to do is make ins and outs on our own team, dividing ourselves into real players in the game and pretenders. Judging those around us as to their intent, their heart, their execution. Their clothing, their cleanliness, their punctuality. Their sin. 

If we can't even love each other like Jesus, how are we supposed to love the world the way He does? 

If you don't look next to you in the pew and see someone Jesus loves, how are you ever supposed to see someone in the grocery aisle? 

It starts here. Our one anothering starts here. By realizing that every single sheep in this pasture is loved by the Shepherd. Period. Every single one.