Jesus and Voting for Donald Trump

Everyday my newsfeed seems full of Donald Trump. Now because he is officially the Republican nominee for president of the United States. This alone is unbelievable and horrifying, but far more harrowing is the resurgence of Facebook posts and blogs from people asserting that God told them to support Donald Trump.

Now I'm pretty sure if Jesus was here on earth he wouldn't be engaging too much in politics. I am quite confident if Jesus was here today he would be spending time with those in poverty, seeing the people often unseen by society, acknowledging and validating people's humanity, and engaging in the lives and stories of those marginalized for their skin color, sexuality, or religion.

I'm not sure if Jesus would vote or not, so I'm not going to be one to say who he would vote for. But I'm very sure that if Jesus were to vote, he would not vote for Donald Trump. 

You can tell me that I don't know that, because I'm not God. And this would be true. I cannot speak for God. But I can talk about the Jesus I know, and I can assure you the things that Donald Trump says and does are vastly out-of-line with the way of Jesus Christ. 

Jesus spent his time with those hated most by society. He spent time with the hungry and sick. He spoke to women, which was already radical because he actually stopped to acknowledge their equal humanity, but he went even farther and spoke to the women no one associated with. He touched people who were sick and dying, often making himself "unclean" according to the religious tradition of the day just to with with someone cast out by society. He entered the homes of the "sinner," and spent so much time with those on the margins that the people in power whispered about him behind closed doors. 

Jesus spoke with such radical love and inclusivity that it threatened hierarchical power structures and got him killed. Donald Trump sits at the top of a pyramid of power, using his power to further marginalize, using fear to control people, and spreading hatred and lies. 

Jesus went to those cast out and built relationships with them, the very ones Donald Trump promises to keep and kick out of this "great country." 

In fact, in line with Donald Trump's racism, xenophobia, anti-semitism, lack of compassion for the poor, and so much more, Jesus probably wouldn't even be allowed to enter the United States. 

But if he made it in, I think Jesus would spend time with Donald Trump. Not out of support, because nothing about the way of Jesus in line with what Donald Trump stands for, but because Jesus acknowledged the humanity of everyone. Jesus ate dinner with the oppressed and the oppressor. He ate dinner with the tax collectors too, the ones taking advantage of the system and using it to further themselves while stealing from those already too poor to pay taxes to the government, much less the additional "fees" added on by the tax collectors that went into their own pockets. Jesus spent time with them too. And his love for them, willingness to engage with their humanity also, changed the hearts of the tax collectors (like Matthew) who followed him. I do not believe Jesus would ever vote for Donald Trump, but I think he'd at least try to have dinner with him. 

Whether Trump would ever accept the invitation to dinner with a Middle Eastern poor man is another question entirely. 

Overdosing

We’d asked him to leave a few times, given a 15-minute warning, a 5-minute warning, and finally a we-are-actually-closed-now-please-leave warning. He wasn’t going. I left the room for a moment and when I came back, he was in the cleaning closet, facing the wall.                                                                                     

“Come on, Charlie,” Margo said as she gently grabbed his arm and steered him out of the closet. She guided him, stumbling, out the door. I followed, carrying his jacket and scarf, which had fallen to the floor. Ryan was on the phone, “No, no, we don’t need you anymore. Looks like he is leaving.”

We try not to call the cops on our Network folks, but if a client is clearly and possibly dangerously under the influence of alcohol or drugs, is violent or using violent language, or refuses to leave after being asked and warned, sometimes we have no other choice. This is never to get one of our folks in trouble. It is a last-resort when we have no other options.

We walked Charlie outside and kept checking to see if he was okay. I wasn’t sure what, but he was clearly on something and long-gone. I tried to give him back his stuff. I wasn’t sure he could keep ahold if it, his arms didn’t seem capable of grasping the bundle. His eyes wide open were only half visible from under the black beanie pulled down low, and they didn’t seem to really be registering what was in front of him.

He stumbled off, veering and tripping down the sidewalk. He didn’t seem okay. I felt worried. I watched for a moment, and was about to turn back inside when I saw him stumble while crossing the street. He pitched forward, falling headlong across the white lines marking the crosswalk. He didn’t move.

I froze for a second, then sprinted over to him with a sense of panic. He was lying on his back, feet on the ground and knees bent to face upward, eyes open wide and unmoving. I tried to grab his hand, but it was limp, he wouldn’t grab on so I could help him up.

It was like he wasn’t there, just a wide-eyed body with no mind operating it.

I’ve quite possibly never felt so helpless in my life. Laying in the middle of the road, he was clearly in danger, and I could not lift him out of the way. I thought maybe he'd had a seizure, with the wide, unseeing, unmoving eyes. I hollered for someone to get Ryan and then Brad came over to help Charlie to his feet. I again gathered all his fallen things and we walked him over to a building where we could prop him against the wall. We tried to help him sit down, but I don’t think he could. So Brad just stood here, holding him so he wouldn’t fall back down. He couldn’t even stand on his own.

We waited while Ryan called 9-1-1.

Charlie was a shell. He never looked at us, his eyes still wide and just staring off. He looked paralyzed or petrified, like I imagine a character from Harry Potter would look under a spell or enchantment. It was as though the human inside his body had disappeared.

When the fire truck finally came and the medical responders piled out, I felt oddly reluctant to leave him. I asked multiple times if he’d get to keep his things, which I was still clutching like a safety blanket. Hesitant, I finally handed them over.

My mind went to Michael Lee Marshall. My memory selected the buried image of frail Michael Lee restrained by a number of large police officers in the sheriff’s department where he later died from asphyxiation induced by the brutality of his restraint. I recalled a comment by a Network staff guy about how hard it is to call the police when sometimes our guys don’t make it out of the jail alive.

I know paramedics and fire department aren’t police, but they all have sirens and authority and I get worried and scared sometimes.

How to navigate this broken world?

Where Charlie was getting high on an aerosol can of Old Spice and there’s nothing we can do but call 9-1-1 because we aren’t trained to help someone who is overdosing. But sometimes the very ones tasked to “serve and protect” don’t because the system is so deeply riddled with racism and injustice, and you never know what could happen to in those places, especially to someone black and homeless.

How awful, to be the one who called the cops on someone who just needed help and detox and ends up dying in custody. I couldn’t live with myself.

All those thoughts raced through my mind as I tore myself away from the red and blue flashing lights and the men in navy blue shirts checking Charlie’s vitals.

What are we to do? When we aren’t equipped to help someone overdosing, mentally ill, or violently reacting to their fear or mental illness, we should be able to trust the people we call. I’ve met some really amazing people serving on the police force, like the homeless outreach officer who drove two of our folks to Network a few weeks ago because she didn't want them to have to walk such a long way when they've been sick. But in a world where policing is run by a system so deeply entrenched in systemic racism and oppression, people get churned out reflecting those systems. So what sort of cop will show up when we call, and will this homeless black man live?

It’s overwhelming.

I’m left unsure of where to go and what to after days like this. I want to curl up and cry in my hopelessness, I wanted to while I stood beside Charlie. Standing there with this far-gone man, this precious human being in front of me who I so wanted to help, yet all I could do was stand by and obsessively ask the paramedic if Charlie would get his things back before I surrendered them.

How to be the living room of Christ in this hurting world wrecked by racism and injustice? How to be the living room of Christ in a world that doesn’t often see our homeless folks as humans? How can I trust my friends to actually be cared for if they are viewed as dispensable nuisances?

Sometimes all I can do is cry. Submerged in an overdose of my own helplessness and weakness in moments of incredible brokenness, all I can do is speak out the one thing that’s left…

Jesus.

On Being and Presence

Sometimes days really don't go as planned.

Rolling with life's punches is something to be learned and leaned into. It provides beautiful opportunities and experiences, but at the cost of control and plans, something that deeply pains my plan-loving self who lives for expectations and having some (at least perceived) sense of control over a situation.

It was one of those days.

I had lovely expectations of going home from a nice meeting in the morning to go for a bike ride or a hike, just to enjoy the spectacular "winter" weather we've been having (sorry not sorry to all the skiers and snowboarders wishing for a real Colorado winter...though I guess this is a pretty terrifying example of global warming so maybe I am sorry).

I hopped on Facebook when I got home (never do that) and saw an invitation to an event that had just been planned for later that day. It pertained to issues of social and racial justice I care deeply about and I just had a feeling I needed to go. Making myself presentable, I grabbed my camera and ran out the door.

Soon after arriving at the event downtown, organizers began walking around the park offering coffee and fruit to the homeless who routinely use the park as a place to rest their weary eyes and catch a moment of respite. I quickly joined them, wondering if I would see any friends from Network.

One of the first guys we asked requested a piece of fruit. I handed him the banana and knelt down to shake hands and exchange names.

"I'm Nicholas."

"Nice to meet you, Nicholas, I'm Katy. How's your day going?"

He started to tell me and I just did what seemed like the most natural thing in the world - sat down cross-legged on the ground and gave him my undivided attention.

I stayed there for about two hours, listening. I heard much of Nicholas' life. He told me about his various struggles and events in his life, many stories were told two or three times. I really said very little in those two hours, I sat and listened. Many times I wondered to myself, how long has it been since he had someone to just listen to him? He probably hasn't talked like this, talked about these things, for a long time.

When the sun had begun to set and my meter was about to run out, I finally tore myself away. I told Nicholas how absolutely wonderful it had been to meet him, thanked him for sharing his story with me. The banana I'd given him hours before was just a peel now, and I offered to throw it away for him.

"That would be the kindest thing you could possibly do."

The mere act of throwing away his trash for him, was the kindest thing I could do for him. That struck me deeply in a way I'm not sure I fully understand yet. Such a simple act.

There was something so unbelievably beautiful about sitting there for hours in the chilly grass with Nicholas. The dipping sun behind him framed his head in light, illuminating his hazel eyes.

There was something about just being present. Time flying by because you weren't worrying about the hours passing, but focused entirely on the moment with another human being.

How often do we do that?

The phone is always there in my back pocket, ready to be attended to the moment I feel the buzz of a text message or Facebook notification. I'm ever-aware of the time and how long I'll be here, when I'll leave, how long I'll be in the next place. My days are often planned out down to the hour, when I'll workout and how long it will take me to drive from one meeting to the next.

Yet some of the most beautiful moments are the ones where I don't know the time, because what time it is doesn't matter. What matters are the beautiful things I am seeing when I'm in nature, or the person sitting across the table from me, the moment I am in.

How much life passes by because I am worrying about what comes next, or dwelling on what has already passed.

Someone said to me recently that God is not in the past or the future, He is in the present.

That paused me. Stopped me to stay in the moment and think about this. I cannot encounter God in the past or the future, the only place I can be with God is right here, right now. Planning to be with God later today is not being with God, thinking of the times I have spent with God are not being with God.

How much God passes by because I'm thinking about if I pleased God yesterday, or if I will find time to pray tomorrow. In all that worrying and planning, I missed the God who is right here, right now, hanging out at this coffee shop with me while I write up this blog about being with Him. Whoo. Irony.

If I could put down the phone, stop filling all my time with mindless activities and stupid TV shows and movies, perhaps I could encounter the God whose greatest desire is to simply be with me.

Perhaps if I could stop being so concerned with pleasing God and all the things I am doing to "glorify Him," I could actually pause long enough to see and feel and experience and be with Him. 

But this pausing, this stepping away from the endless cycle of doing into the so simple but so difficult being requires me to believe that God is not most pleased by my actions, but most pleased by my presence.

Henri Nouwen talks about this, saying,

"I am beginning now to see how radically the character of my spiritual journey will change when I no longer think of God as hiding out and making it difficult as possible for me to find him, but, instead, as the one who Is looking for me while I am doing the hiding. When I look through God's eyes at my lost self and discover God's joy at my coming home, then my life may become less anguished and more trusting. Wouldn't it be good to increase God's joy by letting God find me and carry me home and celebrate my return with the angels? Wouldn't it be wonderful to make God smile by giving God the chance to find me and love me lavishly? Questions like these raise the real issue: that of my own self-concept. Can I accept that I am worth looking for? Do I believe that there is a real desire in God to simply be with me?"

It is so hard to be present with people, to be present to our lives.

I learn this through yoga. It is virtually impossible to practice yoga without being present. The moment your mind wanders to what you'll do (or, more likely, eat) after class...you lose balance, wobbling and toppling over on the mat. You cannot fully engage in the workout if you are not mentally present to the moment you are in. And in that it ceases to be merely a workout and becomes a meditation.

Life cannot be engaged in without being fully present. Relationships with other humans and with God cannot be deep and true and formative without being there, at the table, hands open wide to receive the love.

This comes down to what we believe, what I believe.

Do I really believe that others want to be with me? Do I, am I willing to, believe that God simply desires to be with me?

Am I willing to believe this, that is even deeper of a question. For this belief ultimately is a demand to surrender all control. When I am earning the love of another, whether that is the love of God, a friend, or a significant other, I have control. I can do or not do things that will influence the relationship.

But when that person, or this God, simply loves me for nothing more then the delight they receive from loving me, I have nothing left to give. I am left in a place of simply receiving, knowing that nothing I do or fail to do will ever change or lessen the infinite love I am offered.

As I saw with Nicholas, I wasn't worried about the time, or how long until I could leave. I was truly glad to just be there with him, and hear his stories. That being, that presence, that stillness, was everything. And if I enjoyed the simply being with this poor man, how can I not believe God also loves simply being with me, an equally poor spirit?

I believe, with everything in my being, that God is always present offering His love. He is the Father running towards the son who left home and surrendering all dignity just to be able to embrace his son sooner, before the son had even said a word. The son may not have even been sorry, for all the Father knew, but all that mattered was embracing the son he loved.

God is right here, right now, sitting across the table from me in this sun-filled coffee shop. The question is if I will pause long enough to sit with Him and be loved.

The Unexpected Prophets, Part 1

Some of the most influential and shaping things I have heard were not from well-known speakers on stages or platforms, but from passing comments made by unknown prophets - folks full of humble wisdom. 

It always seems to be the most unexpected moments and words that stick in your mind, resurfacing in at unlikeliest times, challenging you to reframe your perspective and move forward with a different understanding, perhaps a broader understanding that allows you more freedom to move and breathe and believe.  

I've found that happening to me, continually my worldview is challenged, my opinions shift, even if ever so slightly. These movements in a new direction are gradual, until one day someone tells you how much you have changed, and you pause to revisit all the moments that carried you this new way.

We all know life's a journey, there are however many thousands of inspirational quotes and pretty Pinterest-worthy text-images about life being about the adventure, the journey along the way, not the destination. It's a nice thought, that I wonder how many of us actually believe. 

I think faith is like that. That journey-thing.

People talk about how faith is just about the journey, not the final destination. But behind that quotable statement, the person behind the curtain is still trying to figure it all out, still trying to find all the answers, still trying to KNOW. 

But what if we can't know? What if God is unfathomable and the journey of faith is finding that you can never really understand, that there is nothing concrete to discover, and that all the things you think you know are part of a vast mystery? What if that is the beauty of God, that He cannot really be known? 

Christianity talks about knowing God, goodness I use that phrase all the time! And I believe God allows us to know Him in part, and I also believe part of that knowing is surrendering to the unknowability of God. 

“The argument is made that naming God is never really naming God 

but only naming our understanding of God. 

To take our ideas of the divine and hold them as if they correspond 

to the reality of God is thus to construct a conceptual idol 

built from the materials of our mind," 

says author and philosopher, Peter Rollins. 

What if God is a mystery and faith isn't about knowing more the older you get, but knowing less? What if wisdom isn't about possessing more knowledge, but developing the humility to acknowledge you don't know?

This was the idea presented to me through an offhand comment made by the husband of someone I know through mutual friends and the beauty of Denver's network of servant-hearted, Jesus-loving folks. 

It's so clear, sitting at a round table at a fundraiser. We were towards the back, a table half-filled with people, but full of depth in conversation. I don't remember his name, and I have no recollection of what our conversation was about, or what brought us to the topic of our journeys with Jesus. But I remember what he said. 

He said when he was younger he thought his faith was all about knowing more about God, and expected that as he grew older he would eventually know everything. "But the older I've gotten, the more I see how little I know, and the more God is a mystery to me." 

How beautiful. This being a child, simply in awe of the love and beauty of the Father/Motherliness of God and not feel the need to know everything to be safe in His love. 

God is with us. He is not for, He is not again, He is with. Can we allow that to be enough? 

He is unfathomable, He is not completely knowable. But like Mr. Beaver tells Lucy in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, "‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.” 

And again later, "“He'll be coming and going" he had said. "One day you'll see him and another you won't. He doesn't like being tied down--and of course he has other countries to attend to. It's quite all right. He'll often drop in. Only you mustn't press him. He's wild, you know. Not like a tame lion.” 

         He's a mystery,

         This wild, untamable God.

         He's safe, 

         This sacrificial, surrendering Lord.

         He's calling, 

         This mother waiting to hold her child.

         He's faithful, 

         This running, open-armed Father.

         He's near,

         This heartbroken, Friend.

         He's scary, 

         This unknown, unfathomable Spirit.

         He's good, 

         This merciful, steadfast King.

         He's kind,

         This God who sees and knows. 

         He's a refuge,

         This Spirit with sheltering wings.

         He's everywhere,

         This God whose name is Love.

         He's a mystery,

         This God inviting you to simply abide.

                        (Original poetry by Katy Owens)

Will you let go? Surrender to the mystery? It may be the only way we can ever "know" this crazy, loving, mystery of a God. 

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  

“Here God is not approached as an object that we must love, 

but as a mystery present in the very act of love itself.” - Peter Rollins

Heaven, Hell and a Disoriented Faith

     Let us imagine we have died and are waiting to stand before the judgement seat of God... Try to imagine how it feels to look over your life - what you are happy about and what you regret... Now imagine being brought into a magnificent room within which there is a great white throne. Upon this throne is a breath-taking being who shines as if full of light...
     After a moment the one who sits on the throne begins to speak: 'My name is Lucifer and I am the angel of light. I have cast your God from his throne and banished Christ to the real of eternal death. It is I who hold the keys to this kingdom. I am the gatekeeper of paradise and it is for me to decide who shall enter and who shall be forsaken.' 
     Now imagine that this angel stretches out his vast arms and says, 'In my right hand I hold eternal life and in my left I hold death. For those who would bow down and acknowledge me as Lord, I shall grant them safe passage into paradise, but for those who refuse I will vanquish to death with their Christ.'
     After this the devil moves his arms so that each of his hands is placed before you and asks, 'What do you choose?'
     It is only as we experience Holy Saturday [the day between Christ's death on Good Friday and resurrection on Easter Sunday] that we can ask whether we would follow Christ regardless of heaven or hell, regardless of pain or pleasure, whether we would follow int he midst of the uncertainty that Holy Saturday brings to our lives. It is only here that we can ask if we have truly offered ourselves to God for no reason other than the desire to offer ourselves as a gift. Faith does not die here, rather it is forged here. 
                                                                            -Peter Rollins, How (Not) To Speak Of God


I picked up one of Peter Rollins' books, The Orthodox Heretic, about six months ago, and read the above story for the first time. Like many of the other tales in the book, it challenged and pushed my faith in an entirely new capacity. I have found myself frequently contemplating what faith truly means, what we are honestly desiring as Christians, what this Christian faith is actually about.

Because too often, it seems to be about what we can get, not what we give. Often the Christian faith gets boiled down to where you will go when you die.

I remember going to a Christian summer camp when I was sixteen. At the time I genuinely enjoyed my time and my faith grew, though I'm sure if I attended it now I would have strong disagreements with the theology preached. It's a beautiful thing that God can use almost anything for our growth. But anyways, the last day of the camp was "evangelism day." I clearly remember awkwardly walking around the college campus with other young teens, pamphlets in hand, the question "Do you know where you're going when you die?" emblazoned in white on the black cover. Approaching random strangers, we asked them this question. Depending upon their response, we would open a different tab of the pamphlet which led them to more questions, further answers, and eventually a place where, if their "faith" was not already "placed in God" they could pray a prayer and do so, thus assuring they would not burn in the fiery pits of hell upon death. I remember not being very fond of that part of the camp, though at the time my reasons for disliking this form of "evangelism" were not yet formed.

That's merely one example of the many, many pamphlets, "evangelism" trainings, and various other plans I have seen and learned about. All are designed to get people to one place: praying the Sinner's Prayer* to earn their get-out-of-hell-free card and can hangout in eternal bliss forever.

But to me, it all misses the true point of faith, which is not to simply avoid the suffering of fiery hell by any means possible. This mentality reduces faith in Christ to something deeply selfish, something that actually has very little to do with God at all.

What if being saved from hell or going to heaven were removed from the equation and faith was simply about knowing Jesus? What if being a Christian was just about Christ? What if serving others had to do with just seeking to look like Christ, rather than good works done in the hopes of earning more jewels in one's crown?


When Christians worry so much about where they'll go after death, the focus of faith is shifted. Like the long, long ago days when people thought the world revolved around the earth, rather than the sun. They thought the earth was the biggest, most important thing in the universe, because it was the most important thing to their understanding of the world. If heaven, eternal paradise, is the most important thing, they miss the point that the sun [Son] is actually the center, and without the glory of that brilliant light, nothing else can exist.

*Note that the "Sinner's Prayer" is not actually in scripture as a means of salvation.

Are We All Sinners If We Sin

Jesus, Jesus, there are those who say they love you

But they have treated me so damn mean

And I know you say 'forgive them for they know not what they do'

But sometimes I think they do

And I think about You

If all the heathens burn in hell, do their children burn as well?

What about the Muslims and the gays and the unwed mothers?

What about me and all my friends?

Are we all sinners if we sin?

Does it even matter in the end if we're unhappy?

These soft-sung words, these deep, crushing questions, have been circling my head for hours. And for days, weeks, months before. Each time I hear the song, lines from that stanza play again and again. 

"Are we all sinners if we sin?"

It's been on repeat...

I know all the answers, to Noah Gundersen's questions. The ones we've all asked, in some shape or form, if we're truly being honest. I grew up in church. I know the theological answer from a variety of doctrines, what various denominations think about "the Muslims and the gays and the unwed mothers." I know we're all sinners and we all sin. 

But that isn't the point of these questions, these questions opening a door into a soul that simply hurts. 

The question isn't one begging a theological answer about one's sinful nature. It's a plea to know, "Lord, how do you see me? Do you just see me as a sinner, just a soul who disappoints you with my sin? Can you see past my sin and love me whether my label is "Christian" or not? Because I know a lot of Christians who sin too. Do you love them more? Are we still sinners if we sin?" 

I know these questions. Begging...

God, sometimes, I wonder

am I more saint or sinner

And how, how can I know

when Your voice feels so far off? 

Am I saint, or sinner?

When Your voice isn't sounding, and, all I hear is silence

I beg, plead. Lord, am I a saint or a sinner?

Sometimes I can't breathe, my soul suffocating

in questions without answers

What do you see, in me?

Saint, or a sinner?

Do I delight or disappoint, 

You and others, with this life I'm trying to live?

Questions begging answers

can't rest until they're found

Saint or sinner?

So what do we do with these questions that often render answerless. Sure, the Bible has answers. It is full of things to tell us how we should feel and what we should do. But sometimes the Bible's answers don't feel like enough. Sometimes I'm tired of the Christian answers telling me if I would only pray more, read my Bible more, then the problems would go away. "Do more, and God will do more for you," is the (blatantly not Biblical) message that often is taught. And so I'm left in a pile of guilt and shame, because dammit I did all the right things! And God still didn't seem to come through. 

So what do we do. 

What do we do when we're walking through the valley of the shadow of death, and we are full of fear. When we feel alone, and the Lord's rod and staff are not only not-comforting, they don't even seem to be present. What do we do when that dark journey is full of fear, the pressing darkness of feeling utterly alone. When comfort has not come and you fear a table in the presence of your enemies because like Noah sings, they seem to know what they do and they have been so cruel. When goodness and love do not seem to follow. When we are walking and the valley is dark, and the shadow is heavy, and the promised comfort is nowhere to be felt. 

What do we do? 

Because who hasn't heard Psalm 23 (and John 3:16, and 1 Corinthians 13 in every wedding ever) and known that the answer is that God is with us and we shall not fear. That the words I used above fit into a very different narrative when David writes, and that there is no fear because of that rod and staff of comfort in the midst of the darkness. We all know the answers, so what do we do when the answers aren't enough and the darkness crushes and your soul weeps because you have never felt so alone? 

I've felt in and out of these moments of darkness and crushing fear for nearly two years, if I'm honest. 

Bar's too high

can't reach that high

How much more do You want me

to die?

When do I get to cry

"it's finished"

Have given enough to

once again feel

Your touch

When all I want

is to know You more

and this world around keeps

pushing me to the floor

Are my ways ever good

when only Your ways are God

Do I only reach higher

when I find myself lower

Cuz every damn day

I fall even shorter

I'm seeking perfection seated

on a throne

and today feels like I'm battling alone

(from An Honest Moment)

I don't know how to answer all these questions. What to do when it feels as though we are battling alone. What to do when I know that God knows me deeply and loves me fully, that He is always for and never against me, that the love He has for me is so great He was nailed to a tree in the face of despise and mockery, so great He conquered death that I might live fully alive in Him...what to do when I know all these things, believe these things, and still sometimes feel so alone I can only sit on my floor hugging my knees sobbing until there is no breath in my lungs and I wake up with swollen eyes and a sore throat. What do I do when I still feel so alone I sleep on my couch for nights in a row because it somehow feels less lonely than my bed in an empty apartment. What do I do, when I know God loves me but it doesn't always feel like it. 

Are we still sinners if we sin? 

Does it even matter in the end if we're unhappy? 

So what do we do when the answers written in Christianese aren't enough anymore, when just handing me a Bible and an order to pray more doesn't suffice anymore? Because I prayed and I read and I still felt alone. My soul has longed for something deeper, some truth that permeated the valley of the shadow of death where I was dwelling in fear, to bring light into those spaces that felt hopeless and give me a more tangible reason to hope, a deeper presence of love than placating quotes typed up on pretty pictures to post on Instagram. 

And so I find myself in a place of beautiful tension. One where I can both make the choice to trust God even on the days when I cannot feel His touch. A place in which I am seeking to thirst for Him more and more each day by choosing to spend time with Him, to sit and listen and wonder. But also a place where I can question and doubt, where the darkness can come and I can press into it, because Jesus is in the darkness too, and I can learn to open myself up to feeling the comfort that never actually went away. And a place of tension where I can still ask, "are we all sinners if we sin?" 

What Does God Look Like?

What does God look like?

God looks like Jesus.

Often the religion of Christianity says God looks like a judge, says God looks like an old, long-bearded white man far away from humanity who demands perfection and demands glory and homage. Sometimes God is painted as harsh, as a law-maker and rule-enforcer. Rarely is He loving, but rather He is judge and executioner, casting punishment and spitting fire to burn the disobedient. Sometimes people "become Christians" because they're just so afraid of hell. Sometimes Christians forget it's not about fear and escaping hell - it's not even about going to Heaven - it's about being in love with Jesus and longing to be with Him. On this side of eternity and the other.

So what, who, does God look like?

God looks like Jesus.

And in Jesus we see love and forgiveness before repentance. We see a man scorned by the law-keepers because He spent time with the law-breakers. We see a man who said "come to Me all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." A man who helped those who felt worthless to know they were loved because He wasn't afraid of what people would think if He was with "people like them." A man who saw those who so often went unseen. Who gave them the precious gift of time and touch. We see a man killed by the religious because He made a way for the lowly. A man whose life was ruled by mercy and grace. A man who is Love.

What does God look like?

God looks like Love.

Who does God look like?

God looks like Jesus.

Justice and Jesus

Someone asked me what "got me into social justice work."

I didn't really know how to respond.

I told him nothing really "got me into social justice work," that I honestly couldn't pinpoint a time when suddenly justice work began to matter to me.  I can't imagine not caring.

I told him that I've always seen brokenness and longed for restoration. From a young age I found myself wanting to help people, the earliest I remember is being eight and wanting to adopt kids when I grew up. It was never a question, for me, of if I would help people, but rather who I would help. Because the reality is my heart is constantly in a state of brokenness.

My heart was breaking.
My heart is break
ing.

For me, Jesus and justice have never been separate. Loving Jesus and living out that love in acts of justice, compassion, kindness and mercy are utterly inseparable concepts.

I got lucky. I was raised in the church and had the unique joy of being raised by a family and in a community that practiced what it preached, looked around and reaching out to those in need.

For example. I remember when I was little, maybe 7 or 8, I had a friend named Dimesha. I honestly don't know how we knew her, or where she lived, but I know she was at our house a lot. She was like a sister to me. I think she lived with her grandma, and somehow we kinda adopted her. My mom homeschooled her along with the rest of us kids for a bit. She was always over to play, for holidays, birthdays. She belonged. As a kid, that was completely normal. I never questioned why she was there, why my parents would add yet another child to the many they already had, why they would care for a kid not their own, why she would become one of their own. Looking back, I can see how unique that was. Parents so willing to lay down comfort and normalcy to care for someone who just needed someone.

Justice and Jesus were never separate concepts. I was raised hearing about Jesus' love and seeing it lived out in the way my parents and my community cared for those around them.

So when my friend explained to me that most people involved in activism or social justice work have experienced some great injustice or oppression to propel them into justice-work, I had to respond that I didn't have a trigger point or a defining moment. I've simply always cared.

I honestly hesitate to say that because I feel like it's just me tooting my horn. But here's the thing. It's not. Because the reality is that Jesus and justice absolutely cannot be separated, and I've just been incredibly lucky that those never got separated for me.

The tragedy is that so many people do separate Jesus from justice-work, as if social movements and "sharing the Gospel" are separate actions.

See I think we've done a terribly thing in the world of Christianity by acting as if there is a difference between a "social Gospel" and one that you share with people on street corners and on airplanes that tells people they're a sinner in need of a savior.

The Gospel was never about praying a prayer that would save your soul from hell.

The Gospel is the good news of a God who cares so deeply for the oppressed that He died, conquered death, and rose victorious. The Gospel is about the Kingdom of God and restoring a broken world. And at some point we forgot that the Kingdom of God is here and now and that restoration isn't to be saved for some time far away with golden streets and angels floating on clouds. Restoration is for today.

And restoration is justice, mercy, compassion and grace.

The reality is, I shouldn't have to tell someone I'm a follower of Christ. My life should look so much like Jesus people don't even have to ask. Our lives should look so much like Jesus that people want to know Him.

And what does it look like to live like Jesus?

Justice, mercy, love, compassion and grace.

We are missing so much when Jesus gets boiled down to a few points and a pretty painted picture hung on a wall. We forget that actions speak louder than words, and that Jesus modeled that by caring for the poor. He came to heal the brokenhearted, set the oppressed free.

We, as people who say we follow Christ, cannot continue separating justice from Jesus. Justice is not something some are called to. If you believe in Christ, then you believe in a God who is heartbroken over injustice, who cares deeply for the poor and oppressed, who tells His people that true religion is caring for the poor and needy, for the widow and orphan in their need. If you believe in Jesus, you believe in a God who is restoring this broken world and that means binding up the brokenhearted, setting the oppressed free, releasing the captive.

We must stop asking if we will engage in a life of justice, but rather where God is leading us to live and give and who He is leading us to serve.

Justice and Jesus are inseparable, and that is why I have no moment of choosing to care about justice, other than the moment I chose to surrender my life to Christ.

- - - - - - - - 

I spent the past few weeks in Ferguson, MO, participating in non-violent protests about Mike Brown's death, the non-indictment of Darren Wilson, the mass incarceration of black and brown men in the US, and other systemic injustices. This experience has truly changed my life. As I just said, I've always cared about justice, my passion runs even deeper now. I'm processing the many things I have seen, the ways I've been challenged, the places I've grown. My faith and relationship with the Lord have grown and my eyes have been opened to seeing God as so much bigger than ever before. Over the next few weeks and months, I will be writing about this experience. Some of these writings will be more about what I've seen and more in regards to the issues regarding Mike Brown and this movement that has sprung from his tragic death, my experience in Ferguson, giving more information than the mainstream media gives, and such. I will also be writing about how this has challenged me and grown me as a person and in my faith. I'll share photographs, potentially some poetry, and the random ramblings of my 2:00AM brain (aka this post). Please engage with me, with questions, comments, concerns. I have been changed, I hope you will be too.