I have been sitting here for some time. I can hear the clanking of the dryer over the music being piped in through my earbuds. Pondering, per usual, as I pick the chipping polish from my nails.
And why do we tend to want things that look polished and perfect? Maybe it's easier to pretend, to portray that everything is perfectly fine. And we do such a disservice to one another when we don our Sunday best, our plastered smiles, and the response, "couldn't be more blessed."
But maybe, just maybe, it's understandably the only response considered amid the perfectly straight pew rows, filled with perfectly acceptable people, surrounded by perfectly clean windows, and an alter with perfectly arranged flowers and shiny communion trays.
And it just isn't real. I wonder how much room we leave for the workings of grace in our lives when we are so busy convincing others {even Jesus himself} that we are perfectly fine.
There is something freeing about acknowledging imperfection and just being real.
Jesus was real. Jesus always got right to the heart of the manner. Jesus came for the broken.
And my communion doesn't come from stale wafers and perfectly portioned cups of wine. No, it is more like the bleeding woman who touched Jesus' hem. I will take the broken cup and bread crumbs. I know I would hemorrhage without Him.
2 comments:
Amen! Well said. My Pastor often says that church is a hospital for hurting people. I can be broken there, in my pew, on a perfectly sunny Sunday morning. I can touch the hem of His garment being healed. It has not always been this way at other churches I have been a member of. I am thankful that I am free to show my hurt, pain, and brokenness and thank you for pondering that thought. We are works in progress, not always on the mountain, but travel through the valleys where it gets dark. We are not always the light, but sometimes need our pathetic lit by others. May we grow and support each other in love.
Correction, we need our paths lit by others.
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