It was better than I feared it might be. I ended up at one table, so I only really got to catch up with a small handful of people. As it happened, many of them had been "stoners" in high school, who I knew to varying degrees from JROTC. I wondered for a bit why a clean, arrow-straight sort of person felt more comfortable with these people than mingling with others. I never drank, smoked, touched drugs or dated (much less slept with anyone).
It occured to me later in the night. Ideally, to be a Christian is in part to see the broken, fouled, fallen side of yourself, and know that you have no power to change it. Those who have "fallen" in the eyes of the world already know these things about themselves. As a result, I could sit in a group without pretense.
The saddest moment was hearing that one girl, now a single mother living in South Carolina, faced rejection from most of her small community because she's different. She feels cast out from the "good" Christians all around her. Shame on us.
The happiest moment came when I saw the e-mail address of a guy who seemed to have done more drugs than the others. It was a Scripture reference. Romans 10:13. The reference? Paul citing Joel "for, 'Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.'"
The lessons of the reuinon? Religious people condemn a girl in need while a (presumably) former drug user proclaims the salvation of the Lord. I definitely know which crowd I prefer.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
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2 comments:
That's a good testimony.
I was thinking of the connection between a few of your recent posts. One, the idea that we go to church and put on a facade, and say "I'm fine. How're you?" Another, was that we settle for a "pat on the back" in our sermons. And then, this girl from SC, who felt rejected by the good Christians.
I guess if everybody showed up to church and talked about how they were all really crooked deep down, then the girl would feel like she was with her peers, and the sermons would have to get serious about addressing our real struggles, and not stuff like speeding and stealing office supplies.
Of course, the practical challenge is whether we can envision going to church next week and being completely honest about ourselves.
That makes sense, and better summarizes the ideas in my head than I would have done.
But I don't want to leave out small things from sermons. I think that there are people who genuinely think that they're pretty decent chaps, because there are times I do as well. Depravity need not be limited to Hitler and Hussein, with everyone else being mostly alright I don't want to leave out the small things that prick holes in the veil of righteousness we like to wear.
But if that is the extent of the sermon, then I think it brings about what I'd like to avoid. If all I hear about is speeding, then I think "All I do is speed - that's not bad/not so bad. I'm a pretty decent bloke."
The really hard part is to imagine going to church and being openly open about absolutely everything. I like the example Yancey has used: that we dread going to a church where everyone's sins are broadcast with a sign around your neck - what we don't realize is we're so aware of our own, we wouldn't be bothering to point out everyone else's.
I don't even know that we have to walk around flagellating ourselves, displaying our deep agony over our wretched state. The nice thing about the table at the reunion was that everything was just matter-of-fact. What we really need are people who know the depravity in themselves, so that when they see someone else who is far short of perfect - even in a totally different way - it's not a shock.
It's not that I'm not surprised to hear someone did X, Y, or Z - these things are outside my scope of experience. But I know that this does not define that person, because I know the lust, pride, envy and murder in my own heart - and that does not define me. Love for a person, as a person, made in the image of God - precious, unique, everlasting.
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