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Posted: November 21st, 2007 at 1:08am By: Rev. Rebecca Schlatter
As we enter officially into the holiday season, the "beautiful people" seem to be everywhere — the ones who look like their lives are all put together in a nice little package, tied with a holiday bow. Their families treat each other well, their finances and schedules are not overloaded, they are surrounded by good friends and good cheer, and their challenges (if they even have them at all) are well managed.
These beautiful people seem to be particularly noticeable (or at least particularly annoying) at this time of year, which can be chaotic for most, and lonely and depressing for many. They are everywhere — on TV, down the street, and of course in the mail, in holiday missives which happily recount all the past year's successes and enclose photos of the smiling, healthy family.
Unfortunately, "those whose lives are all put together" is how many identify the majority of church members all year round, or so I am told. Too often, I'm afraid, we in the business of church give the impression that you have to have your life all put together first, as a prerequisite for belonging.
It has not always been this way. The church began with Jesus hanging out with outcasts, and 500 years ago, Martin Luther called the church "a hospital for sinners." Sure, it would be interesting to explore the history of how we arrived in this "all-put-together" place. But my task is more urgent: finding our way back to that welcoming transparency of broken people coming together to find wholeness.
Or, if it turns out that I am romanticizing our history, then my task is finding our way forward to a generous, apparent acceptance of life's torn fragments, broken souls and weary bodies.
First, a defense of us church-folks: Just because we try to follow Jesus doesn't mean we are fully accomplished at vulnerability, nor should anyone have to wear their entire life history on their sleeve. But in the delicate balance of privacy and intimacy in community, sometimes privacy prevails at all costs. I read somewhere that cats will hide out when injured or sick, because it is too dangerous for potential enemies to know they are weakened. Perhaps human beings, even Christian ones, aren't much different. No one wants to be attacked, or to become a Good Samaritan's "project."
Henri Nouwen wrote, "Only God is free enough of wounds to offer us a fearless space." In the church we try to be fearless and offer one another that space, but frankly, sometimes the best we can do is to hide our brokenness in God's fearless space, and show the world a strong face.
So, yes, we have some work to do on fearless honesty with one another in the church. Perhaps we've learned too well the story of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37). Perhaps helping others dominates our list of "shoulds" to such an extent that we have lost touch with the help and healing we ourselves need from God and each other. This imbalance is dangerous; at its worst, it leads to condescension, not community.
But that story also has a guy lying at the side of the road, all beat up. In our haste to be the Good Samaritan and find beat-up folks to "help," it's easy to lose track of the ways in which we ourselves have been beaten up by life. We have some work to do in the church: Have you ever noticed that one person who reveals a bit of his or her pain makes it safer for others to come out of hiding, too?
If you're new to church, or thinking about it, you have some work to do, too. At its best, church is a harbor for storm-weary souls, a sanctuary for the wanderer, a table with food for all kinds of hungers. So if you are weary, wandering or hungry, please don't take the smiling photo at face value. Ask around, and chances are, you'll find that we've all been there, too, or somewhere like it. We too have lost our nearest and dearest. We have struggled with illness of body, mind and spirit. Our lives have not turned out the way we imagined. In our families, too, we have addiction, divorce, prison time, and pretty much anything else you can imagine.
But we keep coming back to this "hospital for sinners" in the hope of finding some relief. When we find it — and we often do — sometimes we're so eager to share it by helping that we might even appear all-put-together.
In fact, in this holiday season, you're even more likely to find people who are harried, lonely, depressed and looking for some relief. You might even find some beautiful people who know your particular pain.
— — —
Rev. Rebecca Schlatter is an ordained minister in the Lutheran Church (ELCA) in Reno, Nevada. You can contact her at {email newhousesfromoldbricks@hotmail.com}newhousesfromoldbricks@hotmail.com{/email}. © Copyright 2007 by Rebecca Schlatter.
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As we enter officially into the holiday season, the "beautiful people" seem to be everywhere — the ones who look like their lives are all put together in a nice little package, tied with a holiday bow. Their families treat each other well, their finances and schedules are not overloaded, they are surrounded by good friends and good cheer, and their challenges (if they even have them at all) are well managed.
These beautiful people seem to be particularly noticeable (or at least particularly annoying) at this time of year, which can be chaotic for most, and lonely and depressing for many. They are everywhere — on TV, down the street, and of course in the mail, in holiday missives which happily recount all the past year's successes and enclose photos of the smiling, healthy family.
Unfortunately, "those whose lives are all put together" is how many identify the majority of church members all year round, or so I am told. Too often, I'm afraid, we in the business of church give the impression that you have to have your life all put together first, as a prerequisite for belonging.
It has not always been this way. The church began with Jesus hanging out with outcasts, and 500 years ago, Martin Luther called the church "a hospital for sinners." Sure, it would be interesting to explore the history of how we arrived in this "all-put-together" place. But my task is more urgent: finding our way back to that welcoming transparency of broken people coming together to find wholeness.
Or, if it turns out that I am romanticizing our history, then my task is finding our way forward to a generous, apparent acceptance of life's torn fragments, broken souls and weary bodies.
First, a defense of us church-folks: Just because we try to follow Jesus doesn't mean we are fully accomplished at vulnerability, nor should anyone have to wear their entire life history on their sleeve. But in the delicate balance of privacy and intimacy in community, sometimes privacy prevails at all costs. I read somewhere that cats will hide out when injured or sick, because it is too dangerous for potential enemies to know they are weakened. Perhaps human beings, even Christian ones, aren't much different. No one wants to be attacked, or to become a Good Samaritan's "project."
Henri Nouwen wrote, "Only God is free enough of wounds to offer us a fearless space." In the church we try to be fearless and offer one another that space, but frankly, sometimes the best we can do is to hide our brokenness in God's fearless space, and show the world a strong face.
So, yes, we have some work to do on fearless honesty with one another in the church. Perhaps we've learned too well the story of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37). Perhaps helping others dominates our list of "shoulds" to such an extent that we have lost touch with the help and healing we ourselves need from God and each other. This imbalance is dangerous; at its worst, it leads to condescension, not community.
But that story also has a guy lying at the side of the road, all beat up. In our haste to be the Good Samaritan and find beat-up folks to "help," it's easy to lose track of the ways in which we ourselves have been beaten up by life. We have some work to do in the church: Have you ever noticed that one person who reveals a bit of his or her pain makes it safer for others to come out of hiding, too?
If you're new to church, or thinking about it, you have some work to do, too. At its best, church is a harbor for storm-weary souls, a sanctuary for the wanderer, a table with food for all kinds of hungers. So if you are weary, wandering or hungry, please don't take the smiling photo at face value. Ask around, and chances are, you'll find that we've all been there, too, or somewhere like it. We too have lost our nearest and dearest. We have struggled with illness of body, mind and spirit. Our lives have not turned out the way we imagined. In our families, too, we have addiction, divorce, prison time, and pretty much anything else you can imagine.
But we keep coming back to this "hospital for sinners" in the hope of finding some relief. When we find it — and we often do — sometimes we're so eager to share it by helping that we might even appear all-put-together.
In fact, in this holiday season, you're even more likely to find people who are harried, lonely, depressed and looking for some relief. You might even find some beautiful people who know your particular pain.
— — —
Rev. Rebecca Schlatter is an ordained minister in the Lutheran Church (ELCA) in Reno, Nevada. You can contact her at {email newhousesfromoldbricks@hotmail.com}newhousesfromoldbricks@hotmail.com{/email}. © Copyright 2007 by Rebecca Schlatter.
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