We Are The Body

From the choir loft, I notice my friend bend down to my five-year-old son's level.  Her long, brown hair tumbles over her shoulders hidiing his face for a moment.  When she stands upright, I notice that he now stands proudly holding a hymnal, turned to the correct page.  Her finger draws his attention to the correct phrase.  Though, he can't read a word, he is participating in the Sunday ritual of singing praise to God, and the smile on his face reveals that in his sweet mind, he is singing and reading each word with melodic accuracy.

Since I sing in the choir each Sunday,  my husband usually sits with our children, but from time to time, A and C find themselves sitting on an entirely different pew or my husband has to fulfill scripture reading or ushering duties.  Making sure our children are cared for during service, though, is never an issue because a member of our church family always steps in to see to it that A and C are seated respectfully.  Someone is always there to lovingly turn my son's upside down hymnal to the correct position and to the correct page.

I hold my son's hand as we cross the street to the park, where we are meeting friends.  The afternoon sun hangs low in the bright blue sky, its rays filtering through the colorful array of fall foliage.  We manage to open the lopsided wooden gate then C sprints to meet his friends, who are already busy swinging and sliding.  To an outsider, the group gathering on this cheerful autumn day have arrived at the park to celebrate another Saturday of college football victories or the birthday of a child, but this tight-knit band is here to grieve with friends, fellow church members, who are getting ready to say good-bye to their beloved step-mother who recently passed away after a difficult battle with cancer.  While our children's voices echo happily through the air, women of all ages sit in a ring of folding tail-gate chairs sharing stories, swapping memories, and offering solace in ways that only friends can. Though there are no crosses on the wall or bibles in our hands, church is in session and the comforting power of the Holy Spirit can be felt throughout the park.

One favorite argument skeptics use in their thesis, "Why I Refuse to Attend Church," is that they love Jesus but can't stand the church.  I get it.  The church is messy; the church is flawed; the church can be judgmental, harsh, and legalistic; the church is full of sinners.  But, it's hard to love and serve Christ if you don't love His body.  Whether we like it or not, the group of believers called the "church" is how Christ chooses to fulfill His purpose in our world.  The Son of God entered into the brokenness, and He expects us to do the same.  Though skeptics may despise it, Jesus loves the church.  Ephesians 5 says, "just as Christ loved the church and gave Himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her with the washing of water by the word.  He did this to present the church to Himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or anything like that, but holy and blameless....for no one ever hates his own flesh but provides and cares for it, just as Christ does for the church."  Christ is the head of the body, the church, and he loves us so much that he gave Himself up for us.  Christ also calls us to be a unified body, working as his hands and feet, ministering to a hurt and broken world.  

Perhaps our real problem with the church, once we move past the easy, comfortable answer of "I don't like it because it is full of hypocrites," is that it forces us to become vulnerable and share our lives with others whom we fear might reject us.  It challenges us to immerse ourselves in a broken world, where we may be required to get our hands dirty and our hearts broken.  Church membership calls us out of the sanitized safety of isolation and demands we feed the poor, comfort the brokenhearted, love our enemies, and wash the feet of both strangers and fellow believers.  It compels us to work alongside others who challenge us, encourage us, and sometimes, even anger us.  We will witness pain like we've never seen, hurt that causes our hearts to ache, injustice that makes us want to scream, but we will also see the face of Christ reflected in those we serve and in those we serve alongside, and we will see Him move in ways that astonish us.  We will witness the power that Christ has to heal brokenness and to set captives free from addiction, guilt, bitterness, and sorrow.  Though many of us like to proclaim our faith is a private matter, scripture clearly calls us to live out our faith in community.  And, while conflict and division sometimes prevent us from effective ministry, I invite you to see where the church shines:

When a tornado ravages a neighborhood destroying homes and leaving a wake of desperation and chaos, church members of those affected respond even before the rain has ceased falling.  Phone lines are cluttered with the quick chatter of members making plans to provide shelter, clothing, meals, and clean-up assistance.  Long after the branches have been cleared, the church is still there picking up the pieces.

Refugees seek solace from persecution faced by governments in Iraq and Syria, the church through organizations like Samaritan's Purse unite to provide food and clothing.  

Bible study groups and youth groups shop for local food banks and homeless shelters; they meet to pack shoe boxes that will travel thousands of miles to provide smiles to children on the other side of the world, a brief reprieve from the hardship that constitutes their daily reality.  

Missionaries travel into areas where others flee to provide medical care and hope for those dying of disease, thirst, and malnourishment.  While moments of crisis are where we often shine brightest, it is in the quiet, dark moments of everyday heartbreak and stress, where I most feel the grace of Christ, as He reaches out to me through the ministry of the church

I place my head in my hands and roughly push my fingers back through my hair until pieces are clenched tightly in my fist.  I fight the urge to scream.  I've over-scheduled myself, yet again.  If one more demand is made on my time, I may seriously consider crawling into bed and hibernating until spring.  Anxiety consumes me, as I worry over a family member fighting for her life, and watch the threads of my family slowly come unraveled as fighting and finger-pointing ensue a controversial decision. I wonder if reconciliation will ever occur.  Rather than begin the thousands of tasks on my list, I sit, staring at the table, overwhelmed by sadness.  In that moment, I keenly sense the brokenness that surrounds me.  For some reason, I open my computer to check my email and see a message penned by the youth and family pastor at my church.  He sensed the Holy Spirit's prompting to send me a prayer that put into words the groanings expressed by my spirit.  His words bring comfort.  

A dear friend from my Sunday school class senses my stress and invites my daughter over to play for the afternoon to give me some much-needed time to myself.  I receive text after text and call after call from the girls in my Sunday school class and bible study checking on my family and me, all offering a safe place to share my grief and frustration.  A friend brings a meal just because, but I know it's because she understands what we are going through.  Women I only met because of our church membership are now among my dearest friends, even the ones who no longer attend the same church.  Because we are sisters in Christ, unbreakable bonds have been formed.  My own church has faced a season of grief and loss, as several dear, many too young, members of our congregation have died.  Each member could add her own beautiful thread to the tapestry of stories we collectively weave, stories of members selflessly ministering to other members and to the world at large.  Yes, this is how Christ chooses to minister.  "How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!" How messy, human, broken, stumbling yet beautiful is the bride of Christ. 

The Right Fit

I walk in the door from work to discover A sitting quietly on the couch.  Her bright smile that usually welcomes me home has been replaced by a look that clearly conveys hurt feelings.  "Hi, Pumpkin!" I greet her.

"Hi, mommy," is her quiet reply.

"What's wrong?"

She presses her face into her beloved Sparrow, a stuffed African wild dog, that has been loved within an inch of its life.  If the Velveteen Rabbit were a true story, A's puppy would be well on its way to becoming real.  Sparrow, dressed in a dinosaur t-shirt and rainbow-colored tutu, accompanies my daughter everywhere, including soccer practice, from which A has just arrived home, so I suspect that may be the cause for some of her distress.  "The other kids made fun of me for bringing Sparrow. Some little boys I don't know were saying mean things and grabbing her."

"Oh," is my profound response.  I weigh my words carefully.  This is the first time my daughter has been teased by someone other than a cousin or sibling.  Part of me wants to tell her that if she just kept Sparrow at home and played like the other kids then no one would make fun of her; problem solved.  But, that response gives me great pause.  The past year has seen Sparrow become practically an extension of A, much like her hand or foot.  She's a child who loves her buddy and carrying a stuffed animal everywhere is just part of who she is.  Sparrow has replaced A's American Girl doll as her current object of affection and even has it's own wardrobe and car seat.  This love of her stuffed animal has never been a point of contention until now. Having Sparrow accompany her gives her a sense of security and makes her happy, yet I see the impracticality of having a stuffed toy at soccer.  I also think that because A is home schooled, she might not experience the hurrying into maturity that sometimes accompanies children in public and private school, which means she might mature more slowly than other kids her age and cling to dolls and stuffed animals longer.  This is something, though, that I don't personally see as a problem, except for the fact that it might make her the target of some teasing.

I realize this shouldn't be such a big deal, but my words matter here because I don't want to ask my daughter to keep her stuffed dog at home, simply as a means of conforming, so she will be like everyone else, and no one will tease her.  While I could easily address the fact that Sparrow is a distraction and needs to be kept at home,  I still need to address the teasing and its cause.  As a homeschoooling mom, I already worry that my daughter has a target on her back, a universal expectation of social awkwardness, simply because she is home schooled.  That, though, is ridiculous.  I attended public school for 12 years and am the most socially awkward person I know.  Plus, research has found that the type of socialization that school provides is often less than ideal.  A is quirky, unique, and adorable; she isn't afraid to walk to the beat of her own drum, and I don't want that to change, simply because others might tease her.  I want to affirm who she is and for her to feel secure in being herself, regardless of what others think because living her life based on the whims of the opinions of others will become exhausting and frustrating, so yes, this is an important conversation to have with my daughter.

My response reveals what I value and what I want A to value.  Do I want her to fit in to save herself a little discomfort, or do I want her to maintain her convictions and be true to God's design for her?  As a child, I also tended to walk to the beat of my own drum, not always fitting in.  It wasn't just my short blonde "Annie" curls, red-framed glasses, size gargantuan feet, and braces that made me appear awkward.  I was much more at home with a book or a journal than with a group of friends.  I kept a log where I wrote down the definition of one new word each day.  I watched Jeopardy most afternoons, competing by phone with a friend.  Let's just say homecoming queen was never my destiny.  But, I was comfortable in my own skin and found friends who accepted and even loved my quirkiness.  It was when I grew tired of being different and just did what everyone else was doing that I felt this great sense of loss, a crisis of identity, and found myself compromising values I had previously held dear, all to fit in to someone else's expectation mold.  Suddenly, I found myself jumping through hoops to please others and to be liked, and I was miserable.  It's when I'm true to myself that I feel the most freedom and the greatest sense of peace.  It's this knowledge that I want to share with my children.

Because A has been educated at home, she hasn't really had to experience the taunts of children who target differences.  She hasn't been faced with the prospect of changing herself to blend in to the crowd.  She's always been surrounded by friends who love her exactly as she is, who accept that she loves Minecraft, history, NASA, stuffed animals, and Legos.  As she steps out into the wider world, she will find it harder to be true to who she is, that sometimes it's easier to just follow the crowd.  As someone who works with teenagers, I see this happen all the time.  I watch bright young men and women mask their intelligence because it's not "cool" to be smart.  I've especially seen girls compromise their values and hide their delightful personalities to fit in with a certain group.

I think, unwittingly of course, we as parents sometimes subliminally encourage our children not to stand out.  We buy them certain clothing, toys, electronics, and cars, so they will fit in.  We express relief when they outgrow idiosyncrasies that set them apart, rather than celebrating their uniqueness.  We teach them, sometimes by our own example, to look outward for affirmation rather than upward to God and inward to themselves.  I know I'm guilty when I post every accomplishment on Facebook, seeking validation for everything from my parenting to my cooking.  I've perused Pinterest for hours, beating myself up because I can't even get store-bought cupcakes home without turning them upside down and getting the icing all over the top of the box, much less pull off a Thanksgiving feast complete with a homemade centerpiece.  I set the example, and I'm afraid it isn't always one to be commended. That's why, as I sit, watching my daughter wonder why anyone would care whether or not she brings her stuffed friend to watch her practice soccer, I pray for the right words.

This is a conversation I want to get right.  I want her to know that being herself gets harder, but it's always worth it.  She needs to know that there's a billion people out there swimming in the same direction, and that to swim against the stream takes courage, but it's those fighting the current who change the world.  It seems safe on the shore with everyone else, but it's the few exploring in the deep who are really living life, who are overcoming challenges, and depending on God to guide them into the adventure of a lifetime.  That doesn't happen when we're so busy worrying about what everyone else thinks of us that we miss His call.  I want her to know that no two people share the same set of fingerprints or DNA; that God created each of us as individuals with a special purpose and that purpose probably doesn't involve hiding who we are to please others or blend in with the crowd.  She needs to know that she's loved and accepted exactly as she is.

I can't shelter her from the world, from the sad fact that when we're insecure about something in ourselves, we often lash out at others, teasing them, sometimes even bullying them.  Something in our human nature feels threatened when it encounters someone who is completely secure in her own skin.  Perhaps it magnifies our own insecurities.  I can't always protect her, but I can prepare her, teach her how to respond, and give her a soft place to land.  So, this first experience of her being teased  also gives me the opportunity to talk to her about Jesus's call to pray for those who persecute us and to love our enemies.  I know, teasing isn't exactly persecution and elementary-age boys aren't the enemy, but it probably feels that way to an eight-year-old girl.  It gives me an opportunity to teach her to show love and respect even when she'd prefer to lash out and tease back.  I can also use this as an opportunity to remind her that as followers of Christ, we are called to no longer conform to the pattern of this world but to be transformed by the renewing of our minds.  While I want to protect and shelter her, this experience can be an opportunity to teach my girl about herself and about how to respond when faced with something that hurts her feelings. It also challenges me to practice what I preach.

So, I gather her in my arms and ask, "How did that make you feel?"

"Sad," she responds.

"What do you think you should do?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "I like having Sparrow there."

"I know," I respond.  "And that's really all that matters.  It shouldn't matter what others think as long as what you're doing isn't wrong and doesn't hurt anyone.  But, do you think it might be safer for Sparrow if you kept her home?  I wouldn't want anyone to take her or tear her.  I also wouldn't want her to distract you from focusing at practice."

A ponders this for a moment and agrees it might be wise to leave Sparrow at home, but we agree that Sparrow can attend the games and sit with me.  We talk for a moment about the importance of being ourselves and how it's okay to have different interests than her friends.  We also discuss how our words can wound and how we should always be respectful, even praying for people we might not like very much at that moment.  As she leaves to get ready for bed, I realize this won't be the last time we have this conversation.  There will be broken hearts, broken friendships, and broken promises, but each time my daughter comes to me in these moments, it offers me the chance to affirm who she is and to encourage her to be who God created her to be in a world where we so often try to hide what makes us unique, simply so we can fit in.  I will remind my girl and my boy that God calls them to stand apart from the crowd and to shine like stars, illuminating the world with their individuality, and I will remind myself to do the same.