My enemies are just like me: Thoughts on Christian pacifism Pt 1

Isaiah 53:6
All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned- every one- to his own way; and the Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all.


I think it only fitting to start off this blog series by laying the foundation with the simple understanding that, as stated by the prophet Isaiah, we all like sheep have gone astray and Jesus has paid for the sins of us all. This may seem like a no brainer but it bears repeating. It's easy within our class structures, within our races, our religions, our isolated countries (especially America), even our own neighborhoods to consider those not in our group to be so different from us that they become wholly "other". This can be seen clearly in something as seemingly insignificant as a high school clique or something as heinous as the gradual displacement and extinction of the Native Americans from their homelands. When we lose sight of our common brotherhood, of the dual truths or threads that hold us together, namely, that we are all sinners and all deeply loved by God, it's easy to overlook or even justify loss of life in the pursuit of our own welfare.

This understanding has come sharply into focus for my friends Claire and Brent. Recently they felt the call of the Lord to go as long term missionaries to a Muslim country. They have spent their time since making this decision taking classes, learning all they can about cross cultural ministry, and most importantly falling in love with the Muslim brothers and sisters that they haven't even met yet. Recently one of their good friends informed them that he would be joining the Marines and going to war. As a close friend and their brother in Christ, they were burdened in a fresh way by the fact that their friend would potentially be put in a situation where he would be targeting the very people they were called to love and minister to. They decided they would sit down to chat with him and find out where his heart was in the matter. It was a rough conversation filled with racial slurs and defensiveness and an unwillingness on their friend's part to consider any view but his own. As Claire shared this with our community group this past week, there were tears in her eyes. She found herself conflicted between love for her friend and love for her future people.

I recently read an interview with Bernard Lafayette, who was instrumental in the non-violent protests and sit-ins of the Civil Rights movement. When asked about what methods were used to train him in non-violence he replied:

"...The entire training program was to get people to think about how to put yourself in another person’s position and see the world through their eyes. That was so helpful for me in being able to embrace nonviolence. We practiced "loving, not judging" your opponent, but thinking about the fact that there was a reason your opponent behaves the way they do. It's important to understand that if you want to bring about change. We learned that the idea is not just to get rights, but to behave in such a way that we would win our opponents over."

According to Lafayette, the key to keeping people firmly in the "us" camp instead the "them" camp is to put yourself in their shoes. Ask the important questions about why they are behaving the way they are, even if the way they are behaving is horrendous. 

In our own way, we're all horrendous. That doesn't mean our sin doesn't mean anything. This isn't some lame attempt at moral relativism, just a firm reminder of the truth- that my enemies are just like me. My black heart of sin is just as much in need of a savior as theirs. 

"I have come to give you life
And to show you how to live it
I have come to make things right
To heal their ears and show you how to forgive them

Because I would rather die
I would rather die
I would rather die
Than to take your life
How can I kill the ones I'm supposed to love
My enemies are men like me
I will protest the sword if it's not wielded well
My enemies are men like me"

-Derek Webb, My Enemies Are Men Like Me

More thoughts next Friday...

Like vultures to a carcass

This past December I was going through a rough time...maybe my roughest yet. All of the spiritual issues I was obsessing over converged into one massive blow to the face and I spent the holiday season just barely able to pretend I was ok. When things get rough spiritually, everything else gets rough too. I start nitpicking myself- WHY did I not wear my retainer after I had braces? Will I NEVER have skinny ankles? Will anyone EVER ask me on a date? It's not pretty, not by a long shot. With spiritual unrest, there inevitably comes loneliness. So, in a moment of weakness I signed up for three months of online dating- GASP! I know, only a select few of my friends know about my dirty little secret and I sure as heck wasn't going to get over my own pride long enough to tell my mom about it, seeing as I've sworn I would never ever try it.

As soon as I was signed up I realized pretty quickly what I already knew- the ratio of awesome Christian girls to awesome Christian guys is huge. Boys, we outnumber you 5 to 1. In the first month, I was pretty active on the site. I knew as soon as I was matched with a halfway decent guy that I would have to snatch him up quick before the other vultures girls got to him.  I couldn't afford to wait around and be pursued. But most of the time I was just trying to make things fit where they didn't fit. "Ohhhh, this guy says he wants to work in international law, that kinda fits with what I want to do, I could make that work. Maybe while he's travelling around I could have my own ministry on the side in those countries." Or "Hey! This one is passionate about faberge eggs. I'm not really into that but who knows? Maybe they're really awesome!"  Graciously, God preserved what little bit of self respect I had for my own dreams and callings and I never actually pursued many of these guys.

Over time, I stopped logging in except for every few weeks to purge all the (mis)matches from my inbox. And of course, in the last week before my subscription expired, there he was- online dating gold. He answered the profile questions in all the right ways, he liked all the same things I liked, he loved Jesus, loved to talk theology and philosophy, he was handsome, and the cherry on top- he liked and could quote Arrested Development with the best of them. I immediately emailed him and we started talking. Not just me gushing and asking him questions with short, civil responses from him...we actually talked. He asked me questions about my life, fancy that, and we made plans to get together over chocolate milk. About half way through our correspondence though, I started to get a little uneasy. This next part is going to sound terrible and self-pitying and I know that it's stupid, but it's the truth. I started wondering why is this guy talking to me? He is really handsome and educated and successful, what does he see in me? And then the awful realization- that of all the vultures who date online, I can't be the only one he's talking to. I felt this horrible compulsion to up my game, to make sure I said the right things, that my grammar was perfect, that I was witty and hilarious, that I asked good questions. Alas, it wasn't enough. Only a few days after my horrible realization, what I knew was inevitable came to pass. He emailed me for the last time saying he was sorry, but he was "going to pursue someone else exclusively now. Maybe I'll see you around Austin." I knew it was coming but it still felt like someone had punched me. And it wasn't about him. We had only been talking for a couple weeks. It was about not being good enough. I felt like a contestant on the Bachelor, minus all the hot tub dates and hot air balloon rides. I had lost.

I'm so exhausted from trying to earn people's love. I do it with God and in reading over what I've written here, I realize I do it with people too. If there's anything I've learned about myself, or rather re-learned, it's that I want to be pursued. What girl, or person doesn't? I don't want to get into a serious relationship and look back at our beginning and say, "I won. I beat out all the other girls"...it's not very romantic.

On Easter Sunday my pastor gave a sermon about how Jesus is a reconciler and how He pursues us. He gave the example of the disgraced Peter, who had denied Jesus three times, even after he was so cocksure he would never do it. Peter is remorseful and worried that he's finally blown it for good so he runs off to go fishing and clear his mind. In the morning, as the sun is rising, he sees Jesus standing on the beach, inviting him to breakfast. In his relief and excitement Peter literally lobs himself out of the boat into the water like a crazy person, even though they weren't very far from the shore. This has got to be my favorite passage in Scripture for so many personal reasons. It may not directly relate to my experiences with online dating but I love it because Jesus pursued Peter and Peter was smitten.  

I do not need to, nor can I earn love from anyone. Not boys and not God. Jesus knows my story and He knows how much I want and need to know that I'm worth pursuing. If I get married, I will be pursued first. And if not, if the only one that ever pursues me is Jesus, then so much the better. He's a pretty good pursuer. 

Wednesday chuckle fest

I've been staring at the screen for a long time but...I got nothing. At least for now.

I know I've really made a reputation for myself as a hard-hitting, intelligent blogger, so for today I thought I'd keep it classy by sharing a funny cartoon. Enjoy a  little chuckle to get you through the rest of the week.

Happy Wednesday!

Don't make eye contact

Love hurts.

Love makes us vulnerable.

Love opens us up to suffering.

These are probably not the first things that pop into your mind when you think about love. We like to think about the warm, fluffy stuff. At least I do. But the hard stuff, the truths listed above, are what make me cringe when I see a care-worn old man on the street corner in need of spare change. Or what makes me look away, fiddle with the dials on my radio, when a woman comes to my window holding a sign that says "On my last leg" and she literally is on one leg. Or what makes my heart shut up like a startled clam when I hear about a little boy in my neighborhood who was removed from his home by CPS when he prayed at an after school program for his mom to stop hitting him.

I don't want to love these people because I know how bad it will hurt.

In 2007 I spent a month in Kathmandu, Nepal encouraging the local church and doing street ministry. On one of the days that I had opted to stay home, hanging out by the toilet, my team had gone to do a prayer walk at one of the largest temples in the city. White people were a pretty exciting attraction for kids at these sites. Usually we'd attract a crowd of miniature followers pretty quickly, asking to see our cameras, or ipods and joyfully receiving the little candies we typically had in our pockets. This time though, a few of the kids stood out to my friend Lindsey. They were a little dirtier than normal, not as outspoken, and if I remember correctly Lindsey gravitated towards them immediately. There wasn't much to say because of the language barrier, but our Nepali friends informed us that these girls were temple orphans. Not knowing what else to do, Lindsey pulled a bottle of lotion out of her backpack and motioned to the girls, asking if she could put it on them. They nodded and Lindsey began massaging it into their dry, cracked arms and hands. Tears started seeping out of the little girls' eyes and then eventually out of Lindsey's. It's easy to assume this was probably the first time in a long time that these children has been touched in a loving way. Lindsey lingered with them as long as she could, silently hugging them, holding their hands as they walked around the temple. When it was time to go all three girls cried freely and held each other. Lindsey came home and told me everything, her face visibly registering the heart break behind it all. This story haunts and moves me even now.

When we love someone the strings of our heart become attached to theirs. You mourn their losses, cheer their wins. And I have been closing myself off to these things. At least for the ones that I'm sure will hurt the most. I put my head down, secure the blinders, turn up the music, and tune out my heart. And it's time to stop.
1 Corinthians 13:1-3
If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.


Maybe this means I will be weak with the pain of it all, but "His strength is made perfect in my weakness." Maybe this means that I will suffer great loss, but "I will count it all loss for the excellence of the knowledge of Christ Jesus." 

Raging insecurities and the promise of a new name

I won't lie. Sometimes I have raging insecurities. This should come as no surprise because I hardly know anyone who doesn't have them. We do our best to keep the voices at bay. You know, the ones whispering, "You're not good enough, smart enough, pretty enough." The ones who slowly engrave lies on the walls of our heart- "That thing you did? You'll never be able to live that down." Or- "That guy you think might like you? It won't be long before he figures out who you really are and walks away."

My personal journal is filled with admonitions to myself, to cling to the truth that Jesus thinks I'm pretty great. He thinks I'm beautiful. He desires to have me all to himself. But I confess that sometimes it feels about as lame and insufficient as the twelve year old boy complaining to his mom, "No one likes me." Only to get a response of, "Well I like you." "Thanks mom", he replies, sulking off to his room.

Sometimes, for better or worse, this is how I feel. But other times the weight of the idea that Jesus thinks I'm worth something comes crashing down and ruins all my paltry self deprecation. Revelation 2:17 talks about God giving a white stone with a new name on it to those who overcome, and no one knows this new name except that person and God. I've always loved when people in the Bible received new names but I've never really given much thought to what it will be like to receive my own.

George MacDonald further explores the implications of the new name:

" "God has cared to make me for Himself", says the the victor with the white stone, "and has called me that which I like best, for my own name must be what I would have it, seeing it is myself. What matter whether I be called a grass of the field, or an eagle of the air? a stone to build into His temple, or a Boanerges* to wield his thunder? I am His; His idea, His making; perfect in my kind, yea perfect in His sight; full of Him, revealing Him, alone with Him. Let Him call me what He will. The name shall be precious as my life. I seek no more." Gone then will be all anxiety as to what his neighbor may think about him. It is enough that God thinks about him. To be something to God- is not that praise enough? To be a thing that God cares for and would have complete for Himself, because it is worth caring for- is that not life enough? ....Surely to know what He thinks of us will pale out of our souls all our thoughts about ourselves! And we may well hold them loosely now and and be ready to let them go."

I'm done with allowing such silly lies to find a place in my heart over the truth. I'm not naive enough to think I won't ever struggle with insecurity again, but I am ready to hold my thoughts about myself with a looser hand. Jesus is not just an idea, He's a person. He really does know me, and He really does love me in spite of myself. Sometimes I forget that. 

* I googled Boanerges and it means fiery, passionate preacher. I generally have to google every other word when I'm reading MacDonald.

Good Friday meditations : The only thing you ever need to know

I've written on here before about how much I identify with "Doubting Thomas", even though, there's not too much written about him. What we know is that he was a follower of Jesus, and he asked a lot of questions. When Jesus died, the disciples didn't really know what to do with themselves. Their world was falling apart. The person they had pinned all their hopes on had just died a gruesome, humiliating death. A few of the disciples were in disgrace, having abandoned and even denied Jesus in the hour He needed them most. I honestly don't know what I would have done if I were a disciple at this time. The little mustard seed of faith in my heart is so small and frail, I fear it would have faltered along with the rest of his crew.

So when the women come running to report that the tomb was empty, that Jesus was indeed alive, word among the followers spreads fast. John 20 says that soon after Jesus appeared to Mary in the tomb, he also appeared to the disciples who were hunkered down in a locked room, for fear of the Jews. The disciples rejoiced at the return of their Lord. But Thomas wasn't there to see it. And when he was told about the event he said he would never believe until he put his own fingers in the holes in Jesus' hands. A week later Jesus appears the group again, this time with Thomas present. He immediately turns to Thomas  and says, "Here, put your fingers in my hands, place your hand in my side. Do not disbelieve but believe." Thomas is overcome and exclaims, "My Lord and my God!"

I always used to take comfort in the fact that Jesus accommodated Thomas' need for verification and his questions. Jesus did indeed accommodate those for him. But as my own questions began to get more complex and seemingly more urgent, I couldn't help but feel left out. "Jesus, why did you accommodate Thomas and not me?". I found it disheartening and eventually stopped hoping for answers. A while ago I was sharing this with my friend Sarah Coker and she suggested that maybe the only thing Thomas (and I) needed to know without question or doubt was that Jesus died for us. "Put your fingers in my hands, see what I did for you? I never ever want you to doubt this, or question this." The suggestion was like a light bulb that finally went on in my head.  In all the other stories in the New Testament, Jesus seems pretty content to keep people guessing, to get them to search for deeper meanings. He hardly ever said anything straight up. He was always telling stories, always answering questions with more questions. But this- this question required all doubts to be put to rest. It was important to him that we know without wavering, how far His love went for us- the love that took Him all the way to the cross.

Good Friday meditations : A feast for your heart

Good Friday is just a few days away. This is the first year I have observed lent, having given up Facebook for the duration. This week we mourn our sin and celebrate the cross and its triumphal results for us, the fallen. I don't often allow myself or rather make myself ponder the reality of the cross- what it must have been like to have the weight of the sin of the entire world crushing down on you. Truth be told, I've heard it so many times I've become numb to it. I hate the numbness, so I begged for God to reveal this story to me in a new way.

Over the past few months I've been reading sermons from George MacDonald's "Unspoken Sermons". Like CS Lewis, he is one of the few people who act upon their spiritual liberty, dreaming up new ways to tell old stories, to wake my slumbering heart. Here he expounds upon the exclamation of Christ on the cross, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" Trembling in humility to ask what might have been going on in Jesus' head at that moment:

"And now, after three years of divine action, when his course is run, when the old age of finished work is come, when the whole frame is tortured until the regnant brain falls whirling down the blue gulf of fainting, and the giving up of the ghost is at hand, when the friends have forsaken him and fled, comes the voice of the enemy again at his ear: "Despair and die, for God is not with thee. All is in vain. Death, not Life, is thy refuge. Make haste to Hades, where thy torture will be over. Thou hast deceived thyself. He never was with thee. He was the God of Abraham. Abraham is dead. Whom makest thou thyself?" "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" the Master cries. For God was his God still, although he had forsaken him—forsaken his vision that his faith might glow out triumphant; forsaken himself? no; come nearer to him than ever; come nearer, even as—but with a yet deeper, more awful pregnancy of import—even as the Lord himself withdrew from the bodily eyes of his friends, that he might dwell in their profoundest being....This is the Faith of the Son of God. God withdrew, as it were, that the perfect Will of the Son might arise and go forth to find the Will of the Father. Is it possible that even then he thought of the lost sheep who could not believe that God was their Father; and for them, too, in all their loss and blindness and unlove, cried, saying the word they might say, knowing for them that God means Father and more, and knowing now, as he had never known till now, what a fearful thing it is to be without God and without hope? I dare not answer the question I put."

Most Christians have been told at some point in their lives that Jesus was thinking of them on the cross. But what beautiful new imagery of Jesus Christ, our intercessor, the One who goes before us, uttering what we cannot utter to the Father. What magnificent empathy, completely unfathomable to us, that He must have felt for His children who did not then and still do not respond to the love He so freely offers. I'm blown away. Completely ruined. My heart will never know a Lover as sweet as Jesus. 

As we prepare for Good Friday and then Easter, let your heart feast upon the love of Christ. Who in the darkest moment of the universe was faithful, crying out even without sight or feeling that God was still His. Who rent the curtain of the tabernacle making a way for us to march boldly inside and dwell with our Maker. Who not only thought of us in those last moments but spoke on behalf of us. He truly is a friend of sinners.