Photo at stocksnap.io by Benjamin Faust
The church was quiet except for a few adults clearing their throats and us kids fidgeting restlessly in our slick seats. The sanctuary, bright as the morning sun, flooded through the windows. The song leader said, "Turn your hymnals to 'Standing on the Promises,'" and told us the page number. He set the note with his harmonica. Everyone began to sing acapella at the sway of his hand. I stood close to my grandpa, his last beautiful note hung in the air.
We closed our songbooks and the preacher said, "You may be seated." The whole congregation fell back obediently onto the wooden pews, except for four men. My grandfather was one of them. He went forward and joined the others at the front of the room. They walked behind a rectangular table that had the words, Do This In Remembrance Of Me, stenciled in bold letters on the front.
The men stood up straight with their hands folded neatly. One asked us to bow our heads. I dropped my blonde curls and slid my hands under my legs to sit on them. The man prayed, "Lord, bless this bread and cup that we are about to receive. We do so remembering the blood you shed on the cross for the forgiveness of our sins."
When he said, "Amen," I raised my head. I watched the elders pick up the communion plates and methodically distribute them. As they came close to our row, I dropped my head again. I already knew I couldn't have any. I rehearsed the rule I'd been taught, "You are not a member of The Church."
I felt the painful awkwardness of being where I didn't belong. But eventually I realized that my exclusion was not about Jesus playing keep-away with a stale wafer and grape juice. Even as a kid, I sensed something they had yet to see. We don't have to rely on rules to find love rather His love will lead us to the rules.
For years, I have been sorting through my own frustrations with religious exclusivity and what it means when I claim Christianity. I have struggled to own it beyond my small and relatively safe community because of the ugly stereotypes that can accompany it.
However, lately, I sense an invitation to write about faith before a larger community. I want to offer solace to those of who have been bruised by establishment and agenda. I want to be a voice for those who love Jesus but don't want to be typecast for saying so. I want to be a fresh expression of what Jesus brings to the world, which is goodness and grace.
If you have experienced condemnation, fear, or exclusion from inside or outside the Christian community, I am deeply sorry. I invite you to separate those wrongs from Jesus. Because as someone who has experienced those things and experienced deep, redeeming love, I promise you the ugliness is not at all what Jesus is about.
Jesus is not about condemnation; Jesus is about the human condition.
Jesus is not about elevating any rule over this one -We are to love God with all of our heart, mind, strength, and soul, and love our neighbor as ourselves.
Jesus is not about standing to the right or left of any issue; Jesus is about bringing us together through love.
It's time for those of us who claim (or have been hesitant to claim) "Christianity" as our badge of belonging, to repurpose its definition. We will do so through kind, inclusive, generous living. We can speak up and act out the Christian's most important commandment of all -- to love.
Together, we can shift the stereotype.
While speaking up on behalf of love has me fidgeting my in slick seat, I am willing to stand before the collective congregation and make sure the plate gets passed to everyone who wants it.
Who wants to join me?
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