Struggling to Love the Bride

It's Sunday around Noon. Normally, I would just be arriving home from church. Last week, I walked by myself around the corner to a service held in the Masonic lodge. Today, I had planned on walking past the lodge to a Baptist church across the street, but couldn't muster enough emotional energy to do so.

It's Sunday past Noon, and I am home. I am wearing pink pajama bottoms with penguins on them and a school t-shirt. I still have bed head and have not painted anything on my face to make myself more presentable.

Yep, it's the Sabbath. And I have iTunes and Spotify and Pandora. I can listen to hymns, gospel songs, contemporary worship music, even Mumford & Sons for that matter.

It's the Sabbath and I have the Internet. I can watch live services around the city, the country, around the world for that matter. I can pick my topic, pick my denomination.

Churches have become the new e-tailers. I will be the first to say that there is something missing with that formula and that something is face-to-face community. What's missing is the meeting together (Heb. 10:25). Matthew Henry had this to say on the topic:

The communion of saints is a great help and privilege, and a good means of steadiness and perseverance; hereby their hearts and hands are mutually strengthened. To exhort one another, to exhort ourselves and each other, to warn ourselves and one another of the sin and danger of backsliding, to put ourselves and our fellow-christians in mind of our duty, of our failures and corruptions, to watch over one another, and be jealous of ourselves and one another with a godly jealousy. This, managed with a true gospel spirit, would be the best and most cordial friendship.  

But what if you don't receive exhortation? What if no one knew you and could even decipher if you were backsliding? What if no one watched over you?

So, I look to other ways in which I do have community. I have accountability with one or two. I have a Bible study with a sister. I can tell of my sins. I attempt to encourage those around me. I attempt to love with Christ's love.

It's just that...

I am really struggling with is loving the Bride. And I know the Bride consists of the broken {including me}. It's not that. It's when she maintains her virtue while clothing herself in harlotry. It's the church of the convenient, the congregants that turn a blind eye in favor of the status quo, in favor of the two hours every Sunday that make themselves feel good. It's the gospel of hate that the world sees preached outside the sacred, stained glass walls by careless words and deeds. It's those who would irrevocably and callously condemn people to hell while waiting three hours for a chicken sandwich only to later go home and watch Internet porn. It's those that would mock the alcoholic on the freeway off ramp and then throw back a few too many while watching the big game {yet God loves them all}. It's all of the ways in which we aren't teachable. It's all of the ways in which we exclude those that are different. It's when I hear the pain in my sister's words because after working with the youth for many months at her church, she finds herself the focus of a witch hunt because of her personal conviction not to pledge her allegiance to a flag.

It's all the ways we have tried to make Jesus like us. To make it all easier to swallow, we have tried to make Jesus into someone who would prescribe to our programs, our political views, and someone who would sit idly by in the pew next to us. Nondescript, not radical.

And it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. As I have been trying to read through the Bible, I have been praying.  I have really wanted to focus on what Jesus said. What Jesus taught. The real Jesus. The real Son of God. How Jesus lived and loved.

And He loved His Bride. And He died for her. And I am inextricably a part of her. So, I look to the Bridegroom. I have been praying to fall in love more with Him, and with His Bride as well. I have been praying for Jesus to bind up all of the wounds I have received by her in His name.

Even in taking that small step, I can feel hope swell.

And grace abounds.

Labor Pains

Twenty years ago, I was about to deliver my first child. I had already been in labor for 36 hours and in the hospital for 5 days. I was very sick with pre-eclampsia.

I remember at one point thinking that I wasn't sure if I would make it through. The labor pains kept coming and I was so very exhausted to the point of almost blacking out. I remember all of the people and the blinding lights and the nurses yelling at me to "push!"

And the process of birthing is all very messy. And painful. The pains of bearing a child never go away. They are just felt in the womb of the heart instead.

I felt them 5 days later when I brought him back to the hospital with a fever of 103 and an infection {from a prolonged labor}. There were inconsolable tears, lumbar punctures and bruised heels from blood draws and an IV in his head.

And my mother's heart has felt the pain of my boys' sicknesses, skinned knees, hurt feelings, wounded spirits, and the loss of loved ones.

And my mother's heart has felt the pain of careless words, poor choices, defiance, lessons learned the hard way, and all of the ways in which growing up is challenging {and frustrating}.

It has been messy. I have made my share of mistakes. It has been painful. But, in it all, it has been so rewarding. I think it is the things that are hard - the things that we endure no matter what - that ultimately give us the most joy.

At the end of each day, even on the hardest of days, I have always been thankful to be a mom.

I can't help but think how much more our Heavenly Father cares for us. Even in the mess. Even in the pain. Even when we choose to learn things the hard way.

My prayer is that my boys will always know that they are loved no matter what and that no matter what they have a Savior that loved them enough to die for them.

In which I relate to Ecclesiastes

For Lent, I wanted to add something and not take something away.

I saw a challenge from Margaret Feinberg to read through the Bible. I thought that this was a great idea. The first two weeks I stayed the course, but eventually fell behind. Instead of completely giving up, however, I jumped back in. Today's reading included all of Ecclesiastes.

And all the "Meaningless! Meaningless!" resonated with me.

It wasn't but two or so weeks ago that I found myself  in the parked car in my driveway. Hiding in the dark, holding knees to chest and crying. Silently at first. Then, it all welled up and spilled out, this uncensored grief. "Shit! Everything is shit! And I can't take it anymore. I am so very tired of all of this shit!"

In that moment, that was all that I had. In that moment, I cried out to God and all I could offer was my brokenness wrapped in expletives.

It was raw. It was honest. And somehow, down deep, I know it meant more than all of the prayers I've muttered with careful words devoid of any true feeling.

And God meets us in the mire {and there is a season for everything}

The charge at the end of Ecclesiastes is to fear God and keep His commands. The Shema {Love God. Love others}.

Tonight, I am grateful beyond words for a God that can handle my gut-wrenching honesty. Tonight, I am so humbled by His merciful love and the people He places in my life that love me and uplift me by their words and deeds {they are my people, my community}

As this Lenten season moves closer and closer towards the Cross, I, too, am moving. And I leave my heart there at the foot. All bare. And I, in all of my brokenness, will love Him and others {therein, after all, lies the true meaning}