People say that the first step to recovery involves admitting that you have a problem. Well, in that case… I am today’s church, and I am obsessed with lines. I am obsessed with drawing lines, and combining lines into shapes. In fact, I get so preoccupied with the shapes and the lines that I forget. I have forgotten the purpose behind my existence.
Lines and shapes can be pretty and useful. They keep things where they are “supposed” to be. Neat. Lines keep the good things good, and the bad things bad. They keep the insiders inside, and the outsiders outside. That’s just it, though. I got too obsessed with “the proper way to do things,” “the protocols,” and “the rules” that I forget to love people. The lines come first.
I’m so obsessed with the line that separates right and wrong. In my opinion, either you are on the right side of the line or you’re on the wrong side of the line. Being on the wrong side of the line means you’re heading straight to hell. I don’t really need to take the time to know who you are and what God has in store for you. If you’re not on the right side, then I bid you farewell.
I put people in neat, little boxes. Of course, I expect them to fit. If someone wants to be a Christian, then they have to fit in the little box labeled “Good Christian.” This box clearly defines how a Christian should dress, talk, act, etc. Even though the person doesn’t have the box’s dimensions, I utilize every effort to make them fit. Let’s take a new Christian, for example. People experience the awesomeness of Christ’s love and decides to follow him. However, they aren’t anywhere near being shaped like this box I have created. So I push and tug and do whatever is necessary to make them fit. Naturally, if they really desire to be a Christ follower, they eventually relent to the confines of my box.
Take pastors, for our next example. I have created a nice little box I label the “Pastor or Great Spiritual Leader” box. Just like the previous box for good Christians, this particular box defines what makes someone a pastor. This box is quite different from the previous one. It fits in the “Good Christian” box, but it’s much more intricate when it comes to its design. I make sure these pastors are to be elevated to a higher status than the “regular” Christians - putting them on pedestals, to be exact. Furthermore, they are to be perfect - well, at least very close to perfect. Among the different intricate lines that make up the pastor box, you might find these: they should always be called by their title, “Pastor” (it differentiates them from regular folks); they should look like they have it all figured out (and if they don’t really inside, then they must act like they do); they must have the answers to everything; and they must be the people that uphold the moral code (who’s right and who’s going to hell). If you have ever seen the television show, Dollhouse (where people are being used as dummies imprinted with whatever personality customers want), it looks just like that. I forget that these pastors, these leaders, are human beings. I forget that these people are still struggling with the baggage that comes with being human. I forget that they are people that love Jesus despite their struggles and then spend their time and energy loving other people.
I even draw lines around myself. I make this other box, labeled “The Church.” It’s what I think I should fit in. I make sure I have the “necessary” church elements: upbeat, contemporary Christian music; passionate yet safe sermons; midweek services for every age group; a little taste of outreach and evangelism, just enough to make people feel good about themselves; and a huge building with pews and big honkin’ crosses. I forgot. Oh, how easily I forget. I’m not mine to define. I didn’t create myself. I was created by Christ - he’s the only one that is supposed to do the defining. I was created to accept people. People are messy. And they definitely don’t fit in boxes.
Long, long ago, when Christianity was born, I looked different. There were no big buildings, no big crosses. There were meals, family meals - a place where everyone is welcomed. Slaves sat next to their masters, as equals. Romans, Greeks, and Jews called each other brothers and sisters. When one grieved, the others grieved with him. When one celebrated, the others celebrated with her. I didn’t tell people who they should be, or what they should do. It wasn’t my job. The Spirit leads, and like the wind, it blows wherever it so desires. Pastors did not have official titles, big offices, or an appropriate dress code and conduct guidelines. Leaders were the people that walk alongside others, urging them to continue on their journey of faith. Although the world around them was shocked by the leadership of women, I didn’t draw lines around that issue. I didn’t make a big deal out of the issue I now dubbed the “Women in Ministry Debate.” I didn’t put them in boxes. I didn’t put anyone in boxes.
I forgot. I have forgotten. After all these hours, days, years, and decades of drawing lines, I realize that I owe the world an apology. I am sorry. I am sorry I hurt people by shoving them in boxes. I am so sorry I forced leaders to lock their humanity in the closet. I am so sorry I passed judgment on people, the people I should have been loving.
With that said…
To the world that I should have loved, I apologize.
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