Oh my… it’s been a while.
I suppose that’s fairly normal. I
did write a post on ‘seasons’ a time ago, and it seems to still apply, even
with blogging. I think for a while I was
subconsciously freaked out by the ‘permanence’ of the internet and the thought
of writing something I’d later feel stupid about. But then there’s Facebook—so who am I
kidding? We’ll all someday look back on
a former version of ourselves that has since “matured” significantly. Maybe.
And maybe we’ll just be that same person, with different
flaws and questions, but still working out what it means to live a meaningful
life. I’m finding this to be true.
This morning I picked up a book I had long ago set down
unfinished. I read the final chapters of
Philip Yancey’s Soul Survivor and
came across a description of something the author had learned from Henri
Nouwen. He wrote:
In
countless personal appearances, in more than forty books, and most of all in
his daily life, Nouwen demonstrated that flaws
and faithfulness do not supplant each other but coexist.
Can I just tell you… this was like a cup of cool water to
soothe my soul. If you’re not familiar,
Henri Nouwen was a Catholic priest, university professor, and prolific author
and speaker who spent the last ten years of his life serving the mentally and
physically handicapped at a place called L’Arche Daybreak in Toronto,
Canada. Many people didn’t understand
why such a successful theologian and professor would step out of the limelight
into a place of such seeming insignificance.
But Nouwen found that while his former lifestyle swelled his ego and his
sense of external worth, the move to L’Arche was the better choice for his
spirit and a place of true belonging and love.
He identified both with the elder brother in Jesus’ parable of the
Prodigal Son, but also secretly with the younger (and later also with the
Father, who attempts to show mercy to any wayward sons sitting on his steps).
Right now, I also feel like the older brother—trying,
sometimes desperately, to do all the right things to earn the respect and love
of my Father and other people around me.
But my flaws show up all the time.
It’s infuriating.
To give an example: this
morning we skipped church. (I know, I
know… flaw, really? But as someone who’s literally spending years of her life
and thousands of dollars training to lead
and serve this very church, it’s a
little hypocritical, don’t you think?) I
woke up at 10 AM with a twinge of guilt.
Occasionally, we’re out of town and have a legitimate excuse to
miss. But here’s a sliver of how this
worked itself out today instead:
[12:30 AM last night:] Oh,
geez—it’s late. I should go to bed. I need to go to church in the morning. But
Matt asked for help gluing these flash cards.
And it’s the second to last episode of this show, so… I can stay up a
bit longer.
[2:00 AM:] Shit. It’s so late. Sleep or church? Sleep or church? Sleep.
[10:00 AM this morning:] Damnit.
I should’ve gone to church. We’re
going to miss the next two weekends, and showing up once in a month is pitiful. The pastor knows I’m studying for
ordination. This looks so bad… What kind
of church is going to want a pastor someday who can’t even convince herself that going to church regularly is
important?
[11:00, reading my book:] Okay, this isn’t so bad. I’m not at church, but I’m reading a spiritually-edifying
book. This still counts as worship, right?
AND it’ll give me extra time to clean up this hurricane-aftermath of a
condo. This place needs help.
[11:15:] Ugh. Bre, who are you
kidding? You’re a wanna-be pastor who
can’t walk the talk. You’d rather sit in
your pajamas than get out of bed early to fellowship and worship with your
community at church. That’s so selfish.
[11:30:] You know
what, self? Let’s just take it easy.
Sabbath is okay. Rest is
okay. Not showing up for church for one
Sunday doesn’t make you anti-church or a bad human. Jesus isn’t interested in seeing you do your
best to be perfect. He’s just here,
always here, right now. Will you
continue to go to church? Of
course! Let’s just settle into this opportunity to learn to take yourself a
little less seriously. That’s
probably good for everybody.
This is approximately where I’ve landed. Flaws
and faithfulness. Two sides of the
same coin. As Yancey pointed out, Jesus doesn’t spend much time in the
Gospels with the people who seem to have it all together. And those same people don’t seem to need
him. It’s the people who know their
life is flawed and hopeless that flock to Him, and that he touches, blesses,
teaches, and shares his meals with. The church
was built on believers—like Peter and Paul—who have a (canonized!) history of
rejecting and persecuting Jesus, of not being perfect. Who am I trying to learn from, and what am I
trying to prove?
Perhaps my mental and spiritual energy is better spent
simply recognizing the presence of Jesus, at church or in any space that I find myself, at any given time. Amen to that.
