Heartbreak

 

Seeing a lot of people sharing, "If Christ came to your door, would you let him in? ... Share this if you would!" on Facebook lately. Each time, the quote in this image comes to mind (Image reads: "He comes in the form of the beggar, of the dissolute human child in ragged clothes, asking for help. He confronts you in every person that you meet. As long as there are people, Christ will walk the earth as your neighbor …").

Contrary to the popular 17th century painting, Jesus does not come with a glowing halo, white gown, and smiling countenance, carrying a glowing lantern. Christ comes in the plumber who snakes your sink and works overtime to pay his court fees, in the dentist who charged you $600 for a filling and goes home to her giant house alone, in the water delivery driver who greets you and chats happily each day but lives in a constant state of anger and anxiety, in the lawyer representing the driver that injured your child, in the health care worker begging you to wear a mask, in the conservative in the red hat protesting restrictions, in the Black Lives Matter activist blocking traffic and demanding to be heard, in the governor who doesn't issue a mask mandate.

This is the tricky thing about the gospel -- about the "good news." It is much easier and more comforting to listen to preachers who tell us that following Jesus means everything is going to be okay and point to heaven -- telling us not to be dismayed, to be joyful and happy because Jesus came for US.

It is much harder to listen to the preacher who tells you that Christ came for ALL. Who says that to follow Jesus is to go directly into the presence of our fellow imperfect, human, in need of grace … neighbor … and who reminds us that we, too, are imperfect humans, in need of the grace that brings love and forgiveness.

Don't mistake my words, loving our neighbor does not mean subjecting ourselves to abuse and accepting a world that says one human has fewer rights than another on the basis of their gender, gender expression, sexuality, race, disability, or socio-economic status.

AND those who seek to follow Christ in fighting against the powers that restrict and deny our siblings' rights and protections cannot use dehumanization of others to do so. Which is hard. If you don't respect my humanity, why should I respect yours?

Because, Jesus.

And that is both the beauty and the brutality of the gospel.

As the mother of a child whose rights are sometimes in question, this reality of the gospel breaks my heart. The idea that a medical professional might refuse to treat her if they found her at an accident turns my stomach and sends hot waves of pain through my chest.

It is dehumanizing.

Which is why I cannot, I will not, simply stand to the side and be silent.

And I will not return the same disregard for human life.

I have to stand in the midst. I have to keep raising the questions.

Because, Love.

And I have to keep seeing the imperfect, broken, in need of grace humans in front of me.

Because, Jesus.

And if our current public dialogue is any indication, it's the only way forward.

Seems like maybe Christ, who saw injustice, who saw and entered other's pain -- to the point of being put to death in the most dehumanizing, excruciating way possible -- knew there was no other way.

Christ, who came to reconcile us to God and to one another -- to heal the division caused by sin and death -- kept coming back to the conversation.

May we who claim to follow Christ keep coming back to the conversation, where God will meet us. God does not leave us alone in our pain, in our fear, in our searching, but enters in.

As God meets us in the conversation, we meet our neighbor, encountering Christ, and it is there we begin to glimpse that Beloved Community of God's rule that is heaven, not in some faraway someday, but piece by piece, here and now, as God's inbreaking of the kingdom.

THAT is hope. Not a passive waiting, but an active participation.

In the way of Jesus.

Thanks be to God.