Grace comes in birdsong rising on the wings of dawn from branches of white oak, ponderosa pine, quaking aspen – the bright, joyous sounds of our feathered relations.
Grace comes new every morning, hinting at heaven’s eternal song in which oceans swell and retreat, forests breathe, replenishing earth’s body, and waves of tall grass splash like surf in the summer-scented breeze.
This is how grace comes— untamed, unearned, unexplained but deeply felt – a stirring in the heart, a resting in the knowing.
In the fresh morning air grace catches up with you, fills your senses, buoys your spirit, and rouses you to life with its wild audacious nature.
(Interestingly, with the exception of indigenous native people, we all belong to one of the many streams of immigrants to this land)
We have in recent days witnessed the brutal tactics of ICE agents as they terrorize immigrants in the midst of normal daily activities, often detaining and removing them from their families in broad daylight. As I thought about the fear and confusion brought on by this state of affairs, I was moved to remind us of the sacred place the scriptures give to the stranger, the alien, the foreigner in our midst:
“Do not mistreat or oppress a foreigner, for you were once a foreigner in a strange land.” ~ Exodus 22:21
“The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt. I am the Lord your God.” ~ Leviticus 19:34
“For I was hungry, and you gave me food. I was thirsty, and you gave me drink. I was a stranger, and you welcomed me.” ~ Matthew 25:35
Then I penned the following blessing for my immigrant neighbors:
Bless the immigrants who play by the rules, who want only to provide for their families, who work hard in jobs most of us are not willing to do, who pay taxes, who contribute to the strength of our communities, who give love and laughter to their families and friends, who seek only to live in peace.
Bless the immigrants who fear daily for their safety, who become scapegoats for larger societal issues, who suffer the abuse of malignant policies and leaders, who must constantly look over their shoulders, who are the objects of continual ridicule, who are gravely misunderstood and maligned, who deserve our gratitude yet too often are met only with hostility.
Bless the immigrants, dear God, and protect them from the dangers and threats of this world.
Bless them and keep them, our sisters and brothers from other lands, languages, and cultures, that together with them we may experience life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, and together with them we may create the beloved community where all of God’s children are welcomed, in this place we all lovingly and gratefully call home.
A few weeks ago, I had the privilege of traveling back to Santa Barbara and presenting some reflections on Christmas to an ecumenical Christian group. The title of my presentation was:
The Word Becomes Flesh: Christmas as a Holy Invitation to Incarnational Living
It’s always good to begin with a story, so here’s one that’s been around:
Excited about Christmas, a little boy was finishing a letter to Santa with a list of the Christmas presents he badly wanted. And then, just to make sure he had covered all of his bases, he decided to send his Christmas wish list to Jesus as well. The letter to Jesus began, “Dear Jesus, I just want you to know that I’ve been good for six months now.” Then it occurred to him that Jesus knew this wasn’t true.
After a moment’s reflection, he crossed out “six months” and wrote “three months.” He thought some more, then crossed out “months” and replaced it with “weeks.” “I’ve been good for three weeks,” his letter now read. Realizing Jesus knew better than this, he put down his paper, went over to the Nativity set sitting on a table in his home, and picked up the figure of Mary. He then took out a clean piece of paper and began to write another letter: “Dear Jesus, if you ever want to see your mother again …”[i]
The Word Becomes Flesh: Christmas as a Holy Invitation to Incarnational Living
I titled my presentation before I really knew what I would say – I only knew that I wanted to reflect on what Christmas means to me. I’ve always thought of Christmas as an invitation – an invitation to more fully understand God’s deepest dreams for our lives and our world, that we might become more fully human and reflect the divine image within us, embracing just how unconditionally loved and accepted we are. Jesus is the exemplar of what it means to live a vibrant human life deeply connected to the Source of Life … the Divine Center!
Christmas is a season of special significance for those of us who follow the Christ of the Gospel. It is a season that brings to fulfillment the promises God made to humankind from the very beginning – that God comes near to us when our hearts are open and attuned to the Divine Presence. In the fullness of time, Jesus came near to us in human flesh and lived among us as the very revelation of God’s love, grace and peace. This Jesus of history becomes for those of us who believe the Christ of faith.
In Matthew’s account of Jesus’ birth, he quotes the prophet Isaiah, saying, “Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call him Emmanuel,” which means, “God is with us.” (Matt. 1:23) We use the word Incarnation to describe what we believe God has done – in God’s child Jesus the divine Word “becomes flesh.” It’s like having all the promises of scripture revealed in the clearest possible fashion as God is enfleshed in the Human One, Jesus of Nazareth.
How this happens remains a mystery, and I won’t try to further explain it. Rather I want to spend the next 20 minutes talking about why God would come to us in Jesus and what this incredible gift of Divine Life among us might mean for the ways we choose to live in this world!
As we approach Christmas, I encourage you to see this season as a holy invitation to incarnational living! As you contemplate the mystery of Emmanuel, “God with us,” in the days ahead, I hope you will begin to more fully celebrate all the ways you already believe that to be true – where you notice the nudges of the Holy in your life, where you experience God moments, where you glimpse the Sacred amid the ordinary moments of life, and where Grace becomes especially real and transparent to you as you move through each day.
Those of you who know me, know that I include poetry in just about anything I do, since the language of poetry is especially suited to convey mystery.
So, because we are in the season of Advent, we begin with a portion of a poem by Ann Weems, called “In Search of Our Kneeling Places”
In each heart lies a Bethlehem, an inn where we must ultimately answer whether there is room or not. When we are Bethlehem-bound we experience our own advent in his. … This Advent let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that the Lord has made known to us. In the midst of shopping sprees let’s ponder in our hearts the Gift of Gifts. … In the excitement and confusion, in the merry chaos, let’s listen for the brush of angels’ wings. This Advent, let’s go to Bethlehem and find our kneeling place.[ii]
We only begin to appreciate the Incarnation when we approach it from a place of awe as we kneel in wonder, prayer, and praise!
The life of a Christian is by definition a life that seeks to follow the Christ, and this act of following begins in adoration. So we need to find our kneeling place each morning as we set out on the journey of faith.
If the birth of the Christ child prompts within us a holy invitation to take up lives that incarnate the love of God, it’s wise to take some time to reflect more fully on how this kind of incarnational living is embodied or comes alive in us.
I want to suggest three possible ways of living incarnationally. They are, of course, not the only ways, just a start!
Incarnational living means recognizing the Divine Presence in all of creation, including you and me.
Richard Rohr – Franciscan priest, author, and teacher – whose work is grounded in practices of contemplation and compassion for the marginalized, writes that “the core message of the incarnation of God in Jesus is that the Divine Presence is here, in us and in all of creation, and not only ‘over there’ in some far-off realm.”[iii]
In 2 Peter 1:4, we read that God “has given us something very great and wonderful … we are able to share the divine nature!” Or, as The Message paraphrases this verse: “We were … given absolutely terrific promises to pass on to you—your tickets to participation in the life of God…”
So, the Divine Presence – the eternal Christ presence – is here in this place, in each one of us, and in all creation. There is a Life at the heart of all life that is holy. There is an essential interrelatedness in all that lives within God’s good creation. We are able to link our lives with the Divine Life. This is an amazing truth to contemplate, because it means that wherever we go the Divine Presence – the eternal Christ presence – is already there, and whatever we do we are potentially participating in the life of God.
I like how one modern-day teacher of Celtic wisdom, John Philip Newell, calls us to practice sacred imagination in our day. He believes that for the sake of our world we need “to truly wake up to the sacredness of the earth and every human being and do what we can to serve this sacredness in one another and the creatures” of this earth. He says we need “a consciousness of soul” to wake up to the sacred interrelationship of all things, “a strength of soul” to commit to live in accordance with this interrelationship, and “a beauty of soul” to be willing to serve this oneness with love, even at the cost of sacrifice.[iv]
So, in saying that incarnational living has to do with recognizing the Divine Presence in all of creation, we are saying that the gift of Christmas is that it invites us to expand our narrow vision of who and where God is. Jesus comes to help us see with compassionate eyes the whole world – a creation deeply and eternally loved by God! Christ is present among us to help us see how our lives are lovingly interconnected with all life on this swirling planet we call home!
II. Incarnational living means exercising your capacity for blessing.
You are an instrument of blessing from the very heart of God, for blessing is God’s incarnate love unleashed on the world. Think of Jesus blessing the disciples and commissioning them to go out and bless all they meet, even those who mean them harm (Luke 6:27-31). “Do to others as you would have them do to you,” Jesus commands. “Love your neighbor as yourself.”
Blessing is a commitment to truly seeing others. Has anyone ever said to you that they feel seen by you? Seeing someone as the unique person they are is an essential first step in blessing them.
Blessing literally means “to speak well of someone,”[v] and Jesus instructs us to do so whether that person is a friend, a stranger, or an enemy. Blessing is a way of communicating the amazing grace of God who pours out grace upon grace in our lives! “Life itself is grace,” Frederick Buechner likes to say. It is a “fathomless mystery.”[vi]So we need to listen with care to our own lives and to the lives of others as well.
“Listening is a form of worship,” says poet James Crew, “but you don’t have to kneel / on the floor with folded hands / or mouth the perfect prayer. / Just open the door of yourself / to another, become the space / they step through to show you / who they are. This is holiness: / two people seated together / on the pew of a park bench, / at the altar of a kitchen table. / Even if no one says a word / for a while, receive the silence / until it’s like a language / only the two of you can speak.”[vii]
Blessing is our gift to the world. We bless others by seeing them, by listening to their lives with them, and by giving away some of our own life so that they can experience more life.
Ronald Rolheiser compares the act of blessing to “a blessing grandmother or a blessing grandfather, not suffering but joyful, smiling and beaming with pride at the life and energy of the young, basking in that energy and radiating from every pore of his or her being the words of the Creator: ‘It is good! Indeed, it is very good! In you I take delight!’”[viii]
Still, blessing takes different forms at different times. When someone is grieving a deep loss in life, blessing needs to be filled with compassion. When my wife Dallis died four years ago, the book of blessings for times of grief written by Jan Richardson consoled me. Here’s one of her blessings, written following the death of her husband Gary, that may help you understand better the gift of blessing you have to offer someone as they wade through the troubled waters of grief.
Do not tell me there will be a blessing in the breaking, that it will ever be a grace to wake into this life so altered, this world so without.
Do not tell me of the blessing that will come in the absence.
Do not tell me that what does not kill me will make me strong or that God will not send me more than I can bear.
Do not tell me this will make me more compassionate, more loving, more holy.
Do not tell me this will make me more grateful for what I had.
Do not tell me I was lucky.
Do not even tell me there will be a blessing.
Give me instead the blessing of breathing with me.
Give me instead the blessing of sitting with me when you cannot think of what to say.
Give me instead the blessing of asking about him— how we met or what I loved most about the life we have shared; ask for a story or tell me one because a story is, finally, the only place on earth he lives now.
If you could know what grace lives in such a blessing, you would never cease to offer it.
If you could glimpse the solace and sweetness that abide there, you would never wonder if there was a blessing you could give that would be better than this – the blessing of your own heart opened and beating with mine.
No one escapes loss or grief in this life – it’s part of the human condition. Jesus knows the suffering of the human heart and he chooses to heal, to forgive, to love and to bless everyone he meets. In Jesus – “Emmanuel, God with us” – we see the compassionate heart of God for the world.
Shortly after I retired and moved to Ashland, I joined the spiritual care team at a local residential Hospice house. In our training, we learned that our role as volunteers was to be present, to be kind, and to be honest.Notice the phrasing “to be” rather than “to do.” In the company of those experiencing deep losses, it was important for us to understand our role as those who accompany another on life’s journey through death. These guidelines also seem to me to be a good philosophy for living in relationship with others in the spirit of Christ.
As we read the gospels, so often these are the ways that Jesus meets whoever is before him. He is presentwith them. He sees them exactly as they are, but through eyes of compassion. He is kind. He illumines the loving-kindness of God. And he is honest. He tells the truth without recrimination and only so that the one before him can recognize it and decide what they will do with it.
We who follow Christ have the capacity to bless others as well with our presence, our kindness, and our honesty. We can look upon the world with eyes of compassion for we know we have been recipients of such generous love ourselves. We can see others through the lens of grace for it is only grace that has saved us.
Incarnational living means breathing in the life of God and breathing out blessing for all that God has created and loved.
III. Incarnational living means doing the work of Christmas every day.
Christian preacher and teacher Tony Campolo once said, “Jesus never says to the poor: ‘come find the church’, but he says to those of us in the church: ‘go into the world and find the poor, hungry, homeless, imprisoned.”
Christmas is an invitation to follow Jesus into the world and embody the same kind of compassionate presence that he did. It’s an invitation to befriend the lonely, heal the broken, bless the one wounded by life. Incarnational living means picking up the mantle of Jesus’ ministry and letting it live through you. It is to “let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,” as we read in Philippians 2:5, and emptying yourself in order to serve those around you.
To mark the day when the Christmas season comes to an end on the feast of Epiphany, Howard Thurman, an African-American theologian, educator, and civil rights leader, wrote this benediction.
When the song of the angels is stilled, when the star in the sky is gone, when the kings and princes are home, when the shepherds are back with their flocks, the work of Christmas begins: to find the lost, to heal the broken, to feed the hungry, to release the prisoner, to rebuild the nations, to bring peace among the people, to make music in the heart.
“Jesus came to incarnate God’s presence and love to humanity. But before he left this earth, he called us to do the same in his name. Jesus’ followers are intended to put flesh on the invisible God, to incarnate God for the world. We know what this looks like because we see incarnation in Jesus as we read the Gospels. (The apostle) Paul … (calls) the church … ‘the body of Christ.’ We are the ongoing incarnation.”[xi]
We who seek to incarnate the unconditional love of God for the world can choose to live as justice-seeking, love-creating, truth-telling, hope-birthing people![xii]Or as biblical theologian Walter Brueggemann states it: “Like the ancient prophets, we are dispatched back to the good work entrusted to us. It is the work of peace-making. It is the work of truth-telling. It is the work of justice-doing. It is good work, but it requires our resolve to stay it, even in the face of forces to the contrary that are sure to prevail for a season.”[xiii]
Christmas is a holy invitation to:
recognize the Divine Presence in all of creation,
exercise your God-given capacity for blessing others, and
continue the good work of Christmas every day.
May we, by the grace of God, more fully embrace incarnational living this Christmas so that our lives are a blessing to others and to the world, showing forth the light and love of Christ!
Mark Lloyd Richardson
[i] Adam Hamilton, Incarnation: Rediscovering the Significance of Christmas (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2020),pp. 46-7.
[ii] Ann Weems, Kneeling in Bethlehem (Philadelphia, The Westminster Press, 1980), p. 19.
[iii] Richard Rohr, The Universal Christ, p. 29. St. Athanasius (296-373) says that God reveals God’s Self everywhere in creation, “so that nothing was left devoid of his Divinity … so that ‘the whole universe was filled with the knowledge of the Lord as the waters fill the sea.’’” (Athanasius, De Incarnatione Verbi 45).
[iv] John Philip Newell, Sacred Earth Sacred Soul (New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 2021), p. 143.
[v] The English term “to bless” comes from Latin benedicere, literally “to speak well of” (as in bene – meaning well or good, and dicere – meaning to speak). Thus, at its root, to bless someone is to speak well of him or her.
[vi] Frederick Buechner, Listening to your Life: Daily Meditations with Frederick Buechner.
[vii] James Crew, poem “How to Listen,” San Luis Obispo County Arts Council email.
[viii] Ronald Rolheiser, Sacred Fire: A Vision for a Deeper Human and Christian Maturity (New York: Image, 2014), p. 242.
[ix] Jan Richardson, The Cure for Sorrows: A Book of Blessings for Times of Grief (Orlando, FL: Wanton Gospeller Press, 2016),pp. 53-4.
[x]The poem “The Work of Christmas” is from Howard Thurman’s The Mood of Christmas and Other Celebrations and is used by permission of Friends United Press. All rights reserved.
“To have memories, happy or sorrowful, is a blessing, for it shows we have lived our lives without reservation.” ~ Tan Twan Eng, The Gift of Rain
I remember the smile you wore when I first came to your door. I remember our first embrace, so full of yearning. I remember our first kiss, so full of delight. It was a tender time, wasn’t it? The sweetness held us, even as we revealed the pain that we each had known.
I remember lazy walks with you among pine and cypress trees, the ocean’s soft roar in the distance calling us.
I remember deep conversation interspersed with comfortable silences, as though our two souls needed time to breathe – to breathe in the fullness, the beauty, and the terror, of all we had experienced before meeting, all we were experiencing now with each other.
I remember quiet days and sleepless nights.
I remember worrying I might not be enough for you, confident you were everything I needed.
I remember you always being there for me, with a fierce and tender loyalty and love.
I remember making mistakes and being forgiven.
I remember the long waiting hours for the doctor to return from the operating room and invite me into a private space to talk. And I remember the distress I saw in her eyes as she delivered the awful news – your abdominal cavity was riddled with a rare form of cancer, they didn’t yet know its origin, but they had done their best to get all of it.
I remember the years of oncology visits and the many tests and scans and invasive procedures the medical world inflicted on your body to save you for another day, another month, another year.
I remember the silent toll it took on you, even as you wholeheartedly embraced each day of living.
I remember time – measured, sifted, scattered — that we received as gift and blessing.
I remember your hand slipping into mine whenever we walked.
I remember the places we still wanted to go together, the life we imagined living together.
I remember the times we were apart, wanting only to return to you.
I remember joy and sadness mingling so often as one.
I remember being deeply humbled and grateful to have you in my life.
I remember not being able to imagine your absence. And now, there is no need to imagine it. It meets me unwanted around every turn.
Mark Lloyd Richardson In memory of Dallis April 2024
Award-winning photo of Morro Rock by Dallis Day Richardson
Blessing for When You Don’t Know Where to Begin
This blessing isn’t sure where to begin. So many steps are just steps in the dark. So much of life is shaped by uncertainty. So many questions litter our paths. Where to begin.
Where to begin in mending one’s shattered heart. Where to begin in creating a life on one’s own. Where to begin in accepting joy when it comes. Where to begin.
Even if there are discernible first steps, then what? At the core of being human the heart beats with a force originating in the earth’s beginnings where fire and water and soil and air collide and explode into wondrous breathtaking life! Is this the place where healing begins – as you immerse yourself in this cosmic life force? If so, where do you learn how to do this?
This blessing sees how often you lose your way as you unsteadily chart a strange new path alone without another soul truly able to guide you. What could anyone possibly say? They would be trying to piece you back together into their vision of wholeness.
This blessing admits defeat when necessary. There is no winning the wrestling match with grief when it approaches with muscles bulging and gaze focused squarely on your weaknesses. It will pin you every time. Every damn time.
Maybe though, just maybe, this is precisely what you need – a sweeping wide-ranging battle to live with the very things you fear most – loneliness, meaninglessness, being forgotten left behind as the world moves on, accepting undeserved joy – as you spar with your muscled opponent who looks surprisingly familiar, like someone you’ve encountered before but haven’t seen in years.
When we fell in love it was a long and lovely fall tumbling heart first into a trust so deep and wide neither of us recognized it at first.
Here where the soul is bare and unashamed and caught off guard by the beauty of another we discovered home for the first time in our lives.
It is not to be taken for granted – this serendipity of finding what we knew our souls needed but had never been able to find – a shelter from the storm, a refuge amid life’s troubles, a sanctuary of healing grace.
Your dying shook the foundations of this home we fashioned out of love and sweat and laughter and tears.
Now many questions travel with me in this liminal territory I’ve entered – where am I to turn for shelter, how will I recover a sense of home, how do I cultivate a circle of trust, how does one pray with a heart bereft, how do I travel this long, lonely road?
Travel with me, sweetheart. Please, I pray, travel with me, as I wait for answers and go in search of them.
Travel with me, sweetheart, and in the traveling hold these questions with me until a new dawn arrives.
Travel with me and be home for me, and in the sweet mystery of love be home with me.
You who wonder if a time will ever come when contentment comes calling again.
You who limp through most days on legs weary from carrying the heaviness of grief.
You who look for signs amid the trees and birds of the air that there is yet some life able to flourish and fly.
You who struggle with even the simplest things.
You who have given up on the why, and need to know how – how to be, how to move, how to breathe, how to live.
The heart knows its way home. It does. The heart – your heart – has always hungered for wholeness, has always delighted in joy, has always longed for love, has always looked for the truest way.
This blessing may not be the one you expect. Yet it is the one you receive – even as your heart aches, and healing seems slow, and days long.
This blessing meets you where you are and remains with you – in the silent spaces, in the open wounds, in the private pain, for as long as you need.
This blessing knows that even though it seems impossible – you will be well again, you will be whole again, in the fullness of time.
Church on Red Bluff Road, south of Quesnel, British Columbia, Photo credit: blog Cruising Canuckistan
Bless the people
who labor for a better life
a better neighborhood
a better country
a better world,
who love family
create community
and give of themselves
so that seeds of hope
planted in places of despair
may be watered
and grow
and emerge as new life!
Bless the artists and poets
who see what might be
with a piercing clarity
of what now is.
Bless the journalists
who ask uncomfortable questions
and expose inconvenient mistruths
in their dogged pursuit of truth.
Bless the churches and mosques and synagogues
that dot the prairies, hills and valleys
of this precious landscape,
breathing a spirit of prayer and goodness
into the shared life of their communities.
Bless truck driver, crop picker, waiter and cook.
Bless coal miner, windmill farmer, and solar installer.
Bless single mother, newly married, aging couple, and widowed.
Bless teacher, student, leader, and follower.
Bless dreamer, shaper, thinker, and friend.
Bless the fraying edges of relationships,
the absences and separations,
the losses and heartaches,
the holy disruptions,
the sacred silences of peace.
Bless it all, Creation’s Lord.
Let the sunlight of your grace
shine upon poor and rich alike
exposing the treasures nearest each beating heart –
love of neighbor,
love of God.
Bless the whole world, we pray –
no exceptions.
Blessing is
the feeling you get
when the day’s gifts
are more
than your gratitude can hold.
Blessing sings
in the sunlight
and dances in the rain
knowing
each is irreplaceable.
Blessing favors
no one
it is not stingy or reluctant
it seeks new ways
to express itself each day.
Blessing sleeps
on the pillows
of the just and the unjust
yet truly awakens only in those
who seek God with pure hearts.
Blessing reaches
the furthest limits
of human endeavor
and sets those who receive it
on holy ground.
Blessing surprises.
Blessing breaks open that which is closed.
Blessing speaks to our deepest need.
Blessing wraps us in God’s grace.
Blessing completes.
Here’s a topic most pastors don’t want to talk about – what to do when someone leaves your congregation. I don’t mean because they are moving out of the area or being relocated by their employer. We have rituals for saying goodbye to people as they make these life transitions, especially if they have been intimately involved in the life of the church. We acknowledge the pain in farewell and pray God’s blessing upon them. We celebrate the gifts and graces they have brought to our faith community and express our thanks. More often than not there is cake and ice cream! Grief, grace and gratitude mingle in such moments.
I am not referring to these expected partings when people are simply living their lives and for a time we are blessed to be in beloved community with one another and then their life circumstances change. I am referring instead to those occasions when people make a conscious choice to leave a church because they no longer feel in sync with the direction the church is moving.
It’s never easy. Maybe that seems obvious, but I just want to acknowledge the pain. For everyone involved. For those choosing to leave. For those being left. For those charged with spiritual leadership of a congregation. Even for those who are only minimally aware of what has happened. The sudden unexpected loss hurts. There’s no way around it.
You may have guessed by now. This happened recently in the church I currently serve. A couple who had been involved in many dimensions of church life for years informed us one Monday morning that they were withdrawing their membership, effective immediately. It is not an understatement to say that most church members who knew them were left in stunned disbelief when they heard the news. No one, not even close friends, saw it coming.
To their credit, this couple had fulfilled their annual giving, completed various assignments on committees, and tied up loose ends. They did not leave angry or maliciously. Over a period of some time they had simply determined that their spiritual path no longer lined up with the theological emphases they were hearing from their pastors or their denomination. It was not a decision they made lightly, and I have no trouble affirming them as a sister and brother in Christ.
Every pastor who has been at this work of shepherding congregations for more than a year or two has experienced this kind of significant loss. We each have our own ways of walking through the aftermath with those we are called to serve. My own pastoral response involved first going to visit this couple in their home, listening as carefully and lovingly as possible, praying with them, telling them they are loved and will be missed, and asking God to bless and keep them. Then of course, I needed to leave, not wanting to prolong the new reality that I was no longer their pastor.
I was troubled by one thing though, and I heard myself verbalize it in their home that day, saying something like, “One thing I am struggling with is my belief that a community that follows Christ is going to be diverse and have many gifts and viewpoints. There is room for all of us at the table of grace. We don’t have to be in agreement on everything to have community. In fact, an important part of our church’s role is listening and caring for one another in our differences so that the world knows it’s possible.”
My pastoral default position will always be to bless people as they choose other paths. However, that morning in their home I wish I had gone beyond blessing and been bold and alert enough to venture, “I think you may be making a mistake. I think Christ calls us to something more than finding like-minded people to be our community. It would be better if you didn’t leave because of differences of opinion. It would be better if you stayed and continued the hard work of being in community with people who don’t always agree on everything, because honestly, that is what you are going to find wherever you go.” Those are the thoughts that were left unsaid because they were not yet clearly formed in my mind.
Creating genuine Christian community is never going to be easy, but a good place to begin is with the shared commitment to talk things through before heading for the exit in search of greener pastures!
dreamprayact 