When Love Shows Up: Weekly Reflections about God's Presence

...for many people – myself included, 10% has always felt nearly impossible. If we are seeking some respite from such a high percentage, the New Testament is no help: It turns out all the first Christians held their possessions in common and shared all their resources equally among one another. There’s a word for that and we American Christians don’t like it. So, what are we to do?

As an adult, I have pledged 10% not knowing how I’d make that work, and then had some miracle money fall in my lap to pay that. It’s pretty exciting once, but it’s no way to structure your life. I’ve made pledges and had to double back and decrease the amount or ask for forgiveness. These have been painful experiences that did not leave me feeling closer to God or closer to my worshiping community: Mostly I felt like a bad Christian for not getting it right, and a worse Christian for not being cheerful in giving because I was living in a scarcity mindset and was not sure how it would all work.

In every situation I’m describing to you, I always loved my church. I’ve always wanted to get it right.

As part of our When Love Shows Up Throwback Series we are re-posting this blog post which was originally posted on July 22, 2020.

"What happens when, instead of asking, “What would Jesus do?” you ask the question, “What is Jesus doing?” or “Where do I see Jesus in this?” The emphasis shifts dramatically. “What would Jesus do?” is like a game of make believe – treating Jesus’ presence as hypothetical. “What is Jesus doing?” pushes you to see Jesus working in your life. “Where do I see Jesus in this?” forces you to recognize there is no part of your life where Jesus isn’t Lord, where the life and love and peace and mercy of God aren’t meant to be expressed."

We are told we are unworthy of God’s love – that we are no good. We are told that God loves us even though we are no good, and that what God really wants for us is to become better people. And, lucky for us, if we do exactly what God asks us to do – which is impossible – we can actually become better people. We are even told it is impossible! But if we just believe the right things about Jesus, we can basically trick God into liking us just enough until we actually become good enough to love.

This is garbage theology and many of us accept it as Christian doctrine without batting an eye.

These traits we attribute to God, we recognize them as abusive in human relationships. We know it in our bones. And the idea of our loved ones thinking they are unworthy of love is horrific to us, yet we often believe this to be true about ourselves

The people of God made a decision, God can call themselves whatever God wants. As for us, we’ll agree that there are some things we just can’t say.

This year Church of the Redeemer is doing some work to think through how we worship – assessing our liturgies, and naming our core values as a worshiping community. In August parishioners and clergy alike responded to a worship-related survey, then gathered one weekend to begin that process with a liturgy workshop. Today on When Love Shows Up, I have invited our Minister for Liturgy Anny Stevens-Gleason to share with you some of the results of the survey, and some of the things we’ve gleaned from our shared work, as well as what’s next for our community and the importance of worship to each and every one of us.

We lived about one block from the church, and I thought, “I could make it home and back!” The sermon had just started. I scooted down the pew to exit out the side door, quietly tip toed down the stairwell and snuck out the door. Once my feet touched the parking lot gravel, I was off. Full cassock and cotta, I began to run. I did unbutton the cassock for some mobility, but in my platform suede slide sandals, I ran home. I’d be curious who saw me that day - and if you were wondering, the iron was off. But that Sunday didn’t seem out of the ordinary, my life was intertwined with the church even at that point of my life. So, to run home made sense. We attended regularly and I served often, and typically during more than one service. This is not to boast, but to say that worship has been a common variable for my entire life. It is the one constant whether at college, studying abroad, or away from home, worship is grounding for me. It is foundational.

And worship is grounding for us all because we keep showing up. For some reason we keep coming back, week after week. It matters deeply. It is sacred. It reminds us of something greater than ourselves. We attend desiring a connection with God and then making connections with each other, communally, together. As humans we are wired for connection.

There’s a book on my shelf that says on the cover, “The more you love music, the more music you love.” I have found that to be truer and truer since letting go of the numbers game.

Since becoming a parish priest, I have been obsessed with church growth. I have been obsessed with attendance numbers, with membership numbers, with pledge numbers. These have historically been the markers of “success” for a congregation and I, of course, want to be successful. And our church – Church of the Redeemer – wants to be successful too. We want to grow.

We even put it in our Vision Statement! And to our credit, for what it’s worth, we were growing in the years leading up to the pandemic: In attendance, membership, and giving, we were growing. We were successful.

And then the pandemic.

It’s a tale of two churches.

Editor's note: As part of our When Love Shows Up Throwback Series we are re-posting this blog post which was originally posted on March 18, 2022.

Six months later I found out my parents were getting a divorce. My mom came into my room and, with an unusually delicate gravity, said we needed to talk. “Did someone die?” I asked. “No,” she said. I followed that immediately with, “Are you and Dad getting a divorce?” “Yes.” She was sort of surprised and relieved that I said it before she had to. I was grateful for her bluntness. But the thing I remember the most about that moment was that I had guessed it. You know what that means? It means I knew it was coming. It means that even though I wanted to be a perfect kid with a perfect family and a perfect life, not too far under the surface I knew things were a mess. My parents weren’t separated. They had never mentioned splitting up in front of me. We were all trying so hard to be ok and to seem ok. We weren’t. None of us were. I had no idea how to admit that, much less articulate it. I couldn’t ask for help because I didn’t even know I needed help.

We might think we grow out of this, that I’m just describing adolescence, but I wonder if that’s true. Do we really grow out of not admitting we’re not ok? Do we really grow out of not knowing we need help? The most significant growth and maturity I have experienced has not come simply with age – it’s come through practice and intention. So if we do not practice the ownership of our broken feelings, how do we think we will ever actually get good at being honest with ourselves? If we only practice putting on the best face possible and moving forward as if things are ok, aren’t we just getting better and better at denial?

Nirvana’s music, that grunge, that angry beautiful wall of sound, tapped into the part of me that was not ok and gave me something I couldn’t even ask for: It made it ok for me not to be ok. It made anger beautiful. It gave melody to my fears. We’re all so afraid of being alone. They made me less alone.

Editor's note: As part of our When Love Shows Up Throwback Series we are re-posting this blog post which was originally posted on September 30 2021.

"I could not see past my own life, my own comfort. And there were a lot of things happening around me that I chose not to see. The word “privilege” is another word that is politically loaded right now, but it is a fitting description of me: I was allowed to not pay attention to people’s lives that were worse than mine. I was able to focus on what was working for me and could filter out the pain and strife of others...

I’m paying attention now. To the degree that I can. I bet you are too. The need for hope is so obvious to everyone I meet, and I’m sure that includes you.

Hope doesn’t thrive well in privilege. Hope requires acknowledgement of need. Hope is born in the midst of sorrow and strife. Hope is the purple sky that accompanies the sunrise and is so beautiful because it signals the end of the sleepless night."

Editor's note: As part of our When Love Shows Up Throwback Series we are re-posting this blog post which was originally posted on December 1, 2021.

"Christians often refer to Jesus as the Prince of Peace. Paul simply calls Jesus himself Peace - the way John calls God Love. And yet Jesus rarely makes people like us comfortable or unbothered. Jesus doesn’t strive to create a happy and content middle, but heads to the margins of our lives and communities in order to reveal God’s presence and blessing in the places most unlike us.

“Blessed are the peacemakers,” Jesus declares, and then lives the rest of his life as an exclamation point to that declaration. Jesus makes peace, and he doesn’t do it by creating false binaries or forcing others into his way of seeing things. Jesus shows up. Jesus makes himself present. Jesus listens. Jesus recognizes faith and beauty and holiness and humanity in lives that look nothing like his own."

Editor's note: As part of our When Love Shows Up Throwback Series we are re-posting this blog post which was originally posted on May 20, 2022.

The prevailing narrative in our country is that Christianity and abortion rights are incompatible with each other. This narrative exists despite the fact that, outside of White evangelical protestants, the majority of Christians in America support a person’s right to terminate a pregnancy. This also despite the fact that the majority of people who terminate a pregnancy identify as Christian. But the narrative persists that Christians oppose abortion. And it persists so strongly that many Christians who believe in reproductive rights end up thinking that their beliefs are inherently at odds with their religion – even when they are not. And there’s a reason this false narrative continues.

We don’t talk about abortion.

We Christians who support reproductive rights are mostly silent. We may not be silent individually. Some of us may work at Planned Parenthood. Some of us may vote for candidates and resolutions in favor of reproductive rights. Some of us may attend rallies. But as Christian communities, we are mostly silent. Some of us may stand up and speak out for abortion rights, but we don’t do it in Jesus’ name.

And we should.