Where do we hide? In solitude inside our own homes, away from the world? Or is it in plain sight, walking through each day without a sense of belonging. I’ve swam in this topic quite a bit lately and I’m beating the drum pretty damn loud. When you have community and suddenly you don’t, you start to think about what fills you up. And what is missing.
My thoughts reflect on what we really are. Vessels of clay, filled with all that we take the time to place inside. I don’t have community here. I am working on that. But I do realize the depth of love I had even in a place that my soul desperately wanted a reprieve from.
My words:
“I have no pain here.”
“Emptiness, not pain.”
“Hollow.”
“Empty vessel that’s closed off for now.”
These are words from a text exchange earlier today. I’m hiding a little in plain sight, and for the next couple of months I hope to keep a reserve of me safely hidden inside my ‘fortress of solitude’. Some of this stems from my first two interactions with a local church here. I hope to explain that a little later. I absolutely despise the typical guise of the church. The modern center of religion and ritual flavored with ‘Jesus’ colored glasses. It is a lesson that continues when you actually expect the church to do what the scriptures say, not just prance around on mission projects around the globe and concert styled praise meetings without truly reaching the ones right in front of us that are really hurting. Not in Ecuador or Seattle. Sing the praise songs as work-songs of the slave labourers who truly knew the value of freedom and faith. I have seen real churches, but few and far between.
Show me the heart and I’ll show you a dozen jaded spirits who deny any form of deity because of the lack of humility and connection in the local pews. Those of us who cringe at the term “christian” because we can’t really see the Jesus from the scriptures in most modern era congregations. Scarred humans who might be a little wary of going back into the world of the church. Did you know that Jesus was kind of hard to handle? The message of love was absolutely there, but there was also the blunt calling-it-like-it-is to Samaritan women, Jewish Leaders, Romans, Hard-headed Fishermen. He kind of pissed a lot of people off.
I love that Jesus. I can dig the truth. The way he’d look at me right now and sure, show love, but he’d also tell me like it is. He’d call me out for my crap (and I’ve got my share). Not give me some cookie-cutter story that takes the highlights and promises prosperity or blessings (those kind of come later, folks).
He has sent people into my life to remind me that it isn’t all a scam, a pyramid scheme of so-called faith. At the church I attended in Atlanta he gave me a young, alternative friend who served (yes, served) on the parking team. She was the ONLY person who ever truly put effort into learning me. And I was ripe, people. I was willingly walking into a church! Hello, that’s a pretty big F*cking STATEMENT! Without ropes and chains and the promise of a stake and a fire! He also sent me a precious person who’s faith I wish I could capture. Her spirit blew my mind. And we sat together in a service and I cried. Big, ugly tears that were so full of love – they actually came later in my truck. Not just for her, but of there being some reality to this whole ‘religious’ experience. She’s the type of light you don’t get to see very often, so watch out. She’ll call your bluff if you start to be all PC and crap!
Recently I’ve seen more of how we fail. How we still wallow in the muck of commercialized Christianity. So, I met a pastor here over the phone. He’s actually from Gainesville, Georgia, out of one of the big corporate churches there, and he’s a little shit. I’m sorry, but I call it what I see. First Strike – not returning a text to a person who had just talked with you on the phone and reached out to you for help. Like NEVER. I got ghosted by a 20-something year old pastor with tight jeans and funky hair! Second Strike – his people being way too Martha, when Mary was closer to Hey-sus’ heart (come on people, more of the world calls him Hey-sus than Jesus. Just deal with it, wall or not!). And I witnessed this at his church, amidst some of his workers and leaders. Crickets… Third Strike – when I emailed him about my interactions and he gives me the most underwhelming statement of excuses I’ve heard. Come on people, these are the people you’re putting out there as “missionaries”? So, I’m done with you church. I tried. I’ve given you my last effort. Swan Song. There’s really nothing left for me with any of you.
What I do have left is a belief. It’s simple. Almost too easy. One God that might actually have been there through all the shit. You see, I don’t want to see your programs or your outreach. I really just want to see your heart. I got a message out of the blue today from the couple at my church in Atlanta who simply said, “We miss you!”. It doesn’t matter how much time I get here with my son; I still need community. And though I miss it, I know it will come. But at a time when I would have really considered jumping back on board with something more organized, I was left alone again. And that is a pain I have no desire to actively put myself through.
So the story of the Widow with the jars of olive oil strikes a chord in this direction…
The Widow’s Olive Oil
“The wife of a man from the company of the prophets cried out to Elisha, “Your servant my husband is dead, and you know that he revered the Lord. But now his creditor is coming to take my two boys as his slaves.” Elisha replied to her, “How can I help you? Tell me, what do you have in your house?” “Your servant has nothing there at all,” she said, “except a small jar of olive oil.” Elisha said, “Go around and ask all your neighbors for empty jars. Don’t ask for just a few. Then go inside and shut the door behind you and your sons. Pour oil into all the jars, and as each is filled, put it to one side.” She left him and shut the door behind her and her sons. They brought the jars to her and she kept pouring. When all the jars were full, she said to her son, “Bring me another one.” But he replied, “There is not a jar left.” Then the oil stopped flowing. She went and told the man of God, and he said, “Go, sell the oil and pay your debts. You and your sons can live on what is left.”
2 Kings 4:1-7
That empty vessel. Yeah, that’s me. And a ton of others that are just wanting someone to really, in love, reach out with compassion and not with an agenda of the steps to righteousness. All that woman did was ask for help. And then she poured. Before that the prophet (Elisha) actually listened. What a crazy idea!!!! Instead of holding to the script, what if we just stopped and took the time to hear one voice crying out in need? If one person started pouring out themselves to others, could a radical new thought of how we share come to be? That’s a ‘church’ I’d be interested in. Not a video screened message from ‘on-high’, but honest, painful at times conversation about just how devastated some of us are.
As I said, I’m closed off at the moment. I have a path to continue to follow. And I know that my prayers aren’t lost on the wind. But what I wouldn’t give for a community built around people like Laine and Annie. They are the church I want to attend. We’re given the empty vessels. They’re just waiting there to be filled. And if they aren’t filled with something good, they’ll get filled with something. I can guarantee that.
