For a long time, I've blamed the church for it's faults. I never meant to finger point, but I've always wondered why the church that God loves so much is functioning so opposite of the way God intended it to. I don't understand why our agenda has, in some ways, altered focus from glorifying God and service to each other into focus on ourselves.
I love the idea of the church, universally, as one body. Some people make up the fingers, serving with their hands, some people serve by going into the world as the feet. Still more people listen to the painful stories of hurting hearts as the ears, some people see the good in everyone as the eyes... and our Lord, Jesus Christ, is the head of the church. It's so hard to see something that could be so effective as one body functioning together tearing itself apart. Thumbs oppose the pinkies and the pointers, feet can't agree on which direction to go, ears choose not to hear what they don't want to hear, and eyes are closed to the hurt and the good in people.
God still loves the church, and indeed the church does still serve the purpose of sharing the gospel and of being a place to corporately worship, but sometimes I wonder why it stops there. (Please do not misunderstand me - I do not believe the church is corrupt, nor do I believe that this occurs in every single church!)
The thing that gets me is God loves the church, but we don't seem to be an outlet of that love in the way that God intended. It's in the way that people are walking into churches and not being welcomed by anybody. It's in the way that people can have been attending a church for years and still be asked, "Is this your first time worshipping with us?" It's in the way that no matter how hard people try to become involved, they can still be left on the outside.
Why?
Another thing that bothers me about the church is the politics. The judgment. Instead of focusing on the heart of worship, we focus on the clothes someone wears. Instead of reaching out to those hurting, maybe with divorce, homosexuality, sexual sin... we turn them away. I'm guilty of going to church on Sunday and putting on a face, pretending like me and God are in such a good place, when really, God and I haven't talked in months; and I don't think it is unfair of me to assume that this is the case with many more people. What I don't get is why I can't be comfortable to go to God's house and share that I am struggling, I am hurting, and to receive encouragement and accountability. Instead, under God's own roof, we cast judgment. We can't show weakness in the church, we can't misrepresent God, so instead we tell those people that THEY AREN'T GOOD ENOUGH FOR GOD. And we wonder why there are so many bitter hearts in the world? Can you imagine what church would be like if we went with our sins written on our shirts? How many kindred strugglers would we find to fight the battle with?!
I believe so strongly that God intended the church to be a place of acceptance and of love, where when you walk in you are greeted, and people ask about your week, and they want to know where you are at, and they want to pray for you and be a part of your walk. I believe He longs for us to go out in the world with urgency for souls, not intending to "sell" them on anything, but instead introduce them to His love and let Him do the rest.
I have long held the faults in the church in my heart. The church hurt me. It has hurt people I love. I remember dreading going to Sunday School because I was an outcast, never being a part of "Purple Sundays" or the adventures every other girl had gone on the week before- the adventures I had never been invited to. But I still love the church, because God loves the church, and He loves me.
The church has faults, but what I realize now, is the problem lies in me. I'm too scared of rejection and judgment that I still put on my Sunday morning face. I don't welcome people to church. I don't pursue loving a good percentage of the people God puts on my heart. And how can I find fault in people with a self-pleasing agenda when I clearly have one to serve myself as well?
The problem is me, but I can change things. Maybe not universally, maybe not even in my church. But maybe for at least one person who felt like I once did.
And I think that's worth it.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Uncaged and Re-Defined by Grace.
Impossible is written on the walls,
failure is written on my face.
I am labelled.
This cage was made for a sinner,
and my sins have trapped me here.
The guilt presses upon me
and the hopelessness sucks the air out of this prison.
I do not breathe in oxygen,
but despair.
My shackles hold me,
chain me to my fear and to my shame,
and I am seen for what I am.
I am put on display,
paraded naked to the world,
so that my deepest shame is transparent
and I am condemned for it.
They laugh. They mock,
they shout out words that feel like stones upon my skin
and leave bruises.
Unworthiness becomes my cloth
and disgust crowns my head.
And I deserve this place,
this sinners place,
these chains.
And as they crowd around,
so anxious to add to the labels
and spit at my feet,
One face in the millions stands out.
A piercing gaze.
A penetrating stare
that looks beyond the words burned into my skin,
written into my flesh
and shaped into the steel bars.
He see's further
into the very depths of my heart.
It hurts, to know that being naked is not enough
that there are no secrets left unknown,
and then something astounding happens,
He whispers my name.
He doesn't call me failure,
loser
disgraceful
repulsive
vile
or unworthy.
He calls me by name.
He is standing right in front of the cage now,
and it's just me and Him,
or at least it seems that way.
He holds me in His gaze
and I see love in His eyes,
and I wonder,
what does he see in me?
He slowly, delibrately reaches His hand
through the twisted steel of the bars
and as His hand slides through,
it slices into His skin
and yet, He does not waver.
Not as the blood hits the ground,
or as the cut grows deeper.
I reach back in my chains
and the minute His hand folds over mine
I am changed.
The ground is stained red,
and He is standing before me,
no cage to seperate us,
no crowd around us,
and the words that have labelled me
are gone
cast away
and forgotten.
He has re-defined me in grace.
And I am free of my chains because of His blood.
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound
that saved a wretch like me,
I was once lost, but now am found,
was blind but now I see
Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
and grace my fears relieved,
How precious did that grace appear,
the hour I first believed.
My chains are gone,
I've been set free
My God, My Savior, has ransomed me,
And like a flood, His mercy reigns,
unending love, amazing grace.
failure is written on my face.
I am labelled.
This cage was made for a sinner,
and my sins have trapped me here.
The guilt presses upon me
and the hopelessness sucks the air out of this prison.
I do not breathe in oxygen,
but despair.
My shackles hold me,
chain me to my fear and to my shame,
and I am seen for what I am.
I am put on display,
paraded naked to the world,
so that my deepest shame is transparent
and I am condemned for it.
They laugh. They mock,
they shout out words that feel like stones upon my skin
and leave bruises.
Unworthiness becomes my cloth
and disgust crowns my head.
And I deserve this place,
this sinners place,
these chains.
And as they crowd around,
so anxious to add to the labels
and spit at my feet,
One face in the millions stands out.
A piercing gaze.
A penetrating stare
that looks beyond the words burned into my skin,
written into my flesh
and shaped into the steel bars.
He see's further
into the very depths of my heart.
It hurts, to know that being naked is not enough
that there are no secrets left unknown,
and then something astounding happens,
He whispers my name.
He doesn't call me failure,
loser
disgraceful
repulsive
vile
or unworthy.
He calls me by name.
He is standing right in front of the cage now,
and it's just me and Him,
or at least it seems that way.
He holds me in His gaze
and I see love in His eyes,
and I wonder,
what does he see in me?
He slowly, delibrately reaches His hand
through the twisted steel of the bars
and as His hand slides through,
it slices into His skin
and yet, He does not waver.
Not as the blood hits the ground,
or as the cut grows deeper.
I reach back in my chains
and the minute His hand folds over mine
I am changed.
The ground is stained red,
and He is standing before me,
no cage to seperate us,
no crowd around us,
and the words that have labelled me
are gone
cast away
and forgotten.
He has re-defined me in grace.
And I am free of my chains because of His blood.
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound
that saved a wretch like me,
I was once lost, but now am found,
was blind but now I see
Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
and grace my fears relieved,
How precious did that grace appear,
the hour I first believed.
My chains are gone,
I've been set free
My God, My Savior, has ransomed me,
And like a flood, His mercy reigns,
unending love, amazing grace.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
the beauty of worship
Perhaps you meet in a large church
with fancy pews and stained glass windows,
or crammed with your fellow believers in a tiny room
adorned by the dirt floors and mud walls.
Maybe you meet in the secret of the underground
or outside the rubble of your fallen church,
or maybe you worship in the middle of a tent city...
Perhaps you worship on Sunday morning,
or in your car on the way home from work,
maybe it's at the top of your lungs
without caring where you are,
or maybe it's under your breath as you walk down the street.
Maybe it's simply the song of your heart as you go about your day.
Perhaps you worship when you feel joy,
and your heart has a song
or maybe you worship when your heart is heavy
and you long to be close to your Father.
Perhaps you worship when you are sad,
and the act of meeting with God brings you joy.
Maybe it's just the fact that we need that closeness with God no matter what we're feeling.
Whether you worship in song,
or speech,
or actions,
or in love,
what joy is there in knowing that worship is not confined to a church, or a day of the week, or in praise alone! That worship is not restrained to a culture or a language?! It is not overdone or extravagant, but rather the simple act of meeting with God, as you are.
Some of the volunteers at God's Littlest Angels went into the tent cities in Haiti, and this is the incredible story as told by Melissa Friesen: "As Stephanie and I were walking at one point, we were drawn to a lady who was sitting on a piece of cardboard off to the side. We sat down on the ground and began to talk with her. The first thing that she asked us was if we had accepted Jesus. I smiled, and said “yes” and asked her the same. She said that she had also accepted Jesus. She went on to tell us that when her house collapsed, two of her children died. She had four remaining children who were living with her there. I asked her to show us where she was living, so we walked over to her tent, which was a tarp draped around wooden poles stuck into the ground. This is where she now sleeps with her four children. I felt so humbled in that moment, as I stood inside that tiny space with her. She asked us if we would pray for her, and we said we would love to. The three of us knelt down in the dirt and I asked her if it was ok if I prayed in English. She smiled at me and said, “Jesus knows.” It brought tears to my eyes as I lifted up this beautiful lady to the Lord, a lady who had lost her home and her children, and yet still smiled and still had faith in her Lord." (excerpt from Tent City Ministry-Tattle Tales from the Balcony at godslittlestangelsinhaiti.org)
with fancy pews and stained glass windows,
or crammed with your fellow believers in a tiny room
adorned by the dirt floors and mud walls.
Maybe you meet in the secret of the underground
or outside the rubble of your fallen church,
or maybe you worship in the middle of a tent city...
Perhaps you worship on Sunday morning,
or in your car on the way home from work,
maybe it's at the top of your lungs
without caring where you are,
or maybe it's under your breath as you walk down the street.
Maybe it's simply the song of your heart as you go about your day.
Perhaps you worship when you feel joy,
and your heart has a song
or maybe you worship when your heart is heavy
and you long to be close to your Father.
Perhaps you worship when you are sad,
and the act of meeting with God brings you joy.
Maybe it's just the fact that we need that closeness with God no matter what we're feeling.
Whether you worship in song,
or speech,
or actions,
or in love,
what joy is there in knowing that worship is not confined to a church, or a day of the week, or in praise alone! That worship is not restrained to a culture or a language?! It is not overdone or extravagant, but rather the simple act of meeting with God, as you are.
Some of the volunteers at God's Littlest Angels went into the tent cities in Haiti, and this is the incredible story as told by Melissa Friesen: "As Stephanie and I were walking at one point, we were drawn to a lady who was sitting on a piece of cardboard off to the side. We sat down on the ground and began to talk with her. The first thing that she asked us was if we had accepted Jesus. I smiled, and said “yes” and asked her the same. She said that she had also accepted Jesus. She went on to tell us that when her house collapsed, two of her children died. She had four remaining children who were living with her there. I asked her to show us where she was living, so we walked over to her tent, which was a tarp draped around wooden poles stuck into the ground. This is where she now sleeps with her four children. I felt so humbled in that moment, as I stood inside that tiny space with her. She asked us if we would pray for her, and we said we would love to. The three of us knelt down in the dirt and I asked her if it was ok if I prayed in English. She smiled at me and said, “Jesus knows.” It brought tears to my eyes as I lifted up this beautiful lady to the Lord, a lady who had lost her home and her children, and yet still smiled and still had faith in her Lord." (excerpt from Tent City Ministry-Tattle Tales from the Balcony at godslittlestangelsinhaiti.org)
yearning
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3EbJDsuzOWU&feature=related
I feel thirsty. I feel longing. I feel like there is so much to depth and richness to this love, and this holiness, and this humble King that I have yet to discover. I feel like I haven't even scratched the surface in knowing my Savior.
I feel thirsty. I feel longing. I feel like there is so much to depth and richness to this love, and this holiness, and this humble King that I have yet to discover. I feel like I haven't even scratched the surface in knowing my Savior.
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