There is a vine of morning glories that has crept into my neglected garden bed (and a little bit into my heart). Actually, it’s crept into, and out of, and up, and around. They’re sort of unwieldy little beauties – so much so that many gardeners consider them a nuisance. But I have found them to be an unexpected gift as summer ends, and a new season begins. They greet me each morning at the foot of our worn and weathered deck stairs; so interesting to observe as they stretch over the stone border, choking out their weedy neighbors as they declare, well… their glory.
These blossoms only last a day. You wouldn’t necessarily know it because the vines are so productive. At sundown, they close their wide-shaped mouths forever, and new blooms greet me the following day, alive with promise and hopeful expectation. Every evening they wither, and each morning – new life.
With their heart-shaped leaves, they’ve been known to symbolize love, rebirth, and renewal; hope, and new beginnings, and fresh starts. It seems like an appropriate metaphor for this season of life that I find myself in: reimagining my faith, watching my teens stretch their not-so-little limbs toward adulthood, the birth of new projects for me. So many new beginnings, and lots of letting go. (I’m not always good at that.)
As we wind down our homeschool journey, I see that my role is changing. My job description is shifting – from “manager and CEO”, where I once made almost all of the decisions about my kids’ lives, to “guide” or “coach” as they develop more and more autonomy. Parenting has been, and is, the most challenging and sometimes heartbreaking, yet beautiful and rewarding call on my life.
I often tell my kids that they are my heart walking around in the world – my very best creations. And even as I say that, I know that they are not “mine.” They are their own unique beings, and my job is simply to love them and guide them. I watch with hopeful anticipation as they continue to explore their passions and learn more about themselves. I’ve done my part – teaching, supporting, advocating – allowing them to grow and mature at their own pace and encouraging their interests. And now I remain that safe space that they can come home to, where I can continue to love and guide and encourage as they lean into this next phase of living. I think all moms want to hold on just a little bit longer, but they’re ready. I think they’re always ready before we are.
Part of me grieves what was. These brisk fall mornings remind me of time spent at the apple orchard. Play dates with friends, pumpkin pie playdough, Thomas the Train tracks lining my hallway, matchbox cars in hand (always). It’s true what they say: “It all goes by so fast.”
These blossoms only last a day.
I’ve felt this kind of grief before. I suspect you have, too. Grief over someone who has passed away is expected – a natural, human response to having loved someone so dearly. That deep sadness is sacred; holy and enduring – oftentimes relentless and unpredictable. And yet we know that there is grief for the living losses, too. We tend to minimize these losses because they may seem small in comparison to what other people go through. But loss is still loss, and I want to acknowledge that.
❥ A medical diagnosis that now divides time into “before” and “after.”
❥ A loved one struggling with addiction, or other mental health conditions that impact how they relate to others.
❥ Family estrangement
❥ A move
❥ Infertility
❥ The loss of a marriage, or a job –
a faith community, or a friendship.
Grief over life changes, past experiences, dashed hopes and dreams, and unmet expectations – all of that is hard, too. We don’t often talk about that kind of grief.
I’ve experienced many living losses over the years, and I’ve tried to manage that grief in so many different ways. But I’ve only found one thing that actually works:
I have to walk right through it. I have to let myself really feel it. Pull up a chair, and sit with it.
Cry. Rage. Mourn. Vent (to a trusted person). And when I can, I practice gratitude. No numbing, no avoiding, no distracting (anymore). Just wading through the messy, exhausting, uncomfortable feelings of grief. I tend to myself gently: sleep when my body calls me to rest, eat nourishing food, engage in gentle movement like walking or yoga. And I ask for help when I need it.
After the shifting and the changing, the twisting and turning, the fear and the uncertainty, the discomfort and the pain, comes a new way of being. Like the end of the morning glory, and the awakening of fresh blooms – a new season. On the other side of grief there is another place that will hold beauty, too.
I can count on one hand how many times I’ve been alone in my house in the past five years. And even though I welcome a little extra space, the stillness feels new to me. That first week of school, my spirit led me to the apple orchard – the same one where we once took wagon rides, and picked blueberries; where we planted peach trees and spoke gently to horses as we fed them grass through the fence. Those memories are tucked into my heart, as new memories are being made. I whispered a word of gratitude, and found my way to the farm stand. As I selected the perfect ears of corn for supper, I thought of those wild and free toddlers, now turned responsible and determined teenagers, who would be gathering around our dinner table later that evening. Conversations now shifting from Matchbox cars to Honda Accords; from Halloween costumes to Homecoming dresses.
Things are changing,
and there is still goodness.
It hit me this week that it’s been over three years since I’ve regularly attended my local church, something that was such a huge part of my life prior to Covid. And now I stand in the in-between, the space between the before and after. Many people would call this “the wilderness,” a time and a place where we wait for what is yet to come. In the scriptures, the wilderness is a place of preparation. It’s where people learn to turn their ear toward God, listening for where God will lead them next. And I know people can remain here for a long time.
These days, there’s a whole lot of talk about the wilderness for those of us who are reimagining faith. I’ve transformed out of some old ways, and I’m trying on some new ways, but nothing has made me feel like I’ve arrived in the promised land. I’m reminded that Moses never made it there either. Maybe I’ll never find a place that feels exactly like home. Maybe instead we help carve a path for others.
I think deconstruction has brought a lot of people closer to Jesus. Because when your community is stripped away, who else can we depend on but the One who is constant? To be honest, I’m getting pretty tired of all this wilderness talk. How do we begin to put things back together? What do we do with this loneliness, this lack of community that seems so prevalent? Unfortunately, there isn’t an easy or prescriptive answer.
God’s love is infinite. Wide, and long, and high, and deep. I’ve experienced Immanuel, “God with us,” and I’ve known El Roi, “the God who sees me.” So most days, I believe this is true. But beyond that, I don’t really know what God is up to as He sifts the Church.
I do know that church is not a building. It is the community of believers; we are God’s heart walking around in the world. And if the meeting space, the budget, the staff, and the programs all ceased to be, the church would still stand. We know that. We don’t have to protect structures, or specific doctrine, or the policies we’ve created. God never asked us to. He only asked us to follow Him.
So I cling to a stubborn hope, out here in the wilderness. I am the Church, and if you follow Christ, you are too. And I wait in the in-between for God to guide us into a new reimagining. Will it be a local church as we know it? A home church, perhaps? Would it be some other kind of faith community? Beers, Bibles and Burgers at a local pub? Will it be something else? Is my own reimagining too small for God? (I suspect it is.)
Still, so many more questions than answers.
So I wait. With persistent faith and hopeful expectation, I will wait.
9 Spiritual Practices for a Reconstructing Faith
There’s a lot of talk about faith deconstruction, but what about faith reconstruction? What spiritual practices help us remain connected to God when the old ways don’t seem to work anymore? New subscribers to my Substack newsletter are getting my free resource: 9 Spiritual Practices for a Reconstructing Faith. It includes some practices that have been good companions for me on my journey toward a deeper, more embodied faith. And I hope they will be helpful for you, too.
This is a follow-up to last month’s essay entitled, “An Open Letter to the Curious Christian: A call for LGBTQ+ inclusion in the church.” If you haven’t read that one yet, you might want to start there.
There are essentially two beliefs when it comes to LGBTQ+ inclusion in the church. They’re typically referred to as Side A: those who are affirming, and Side B: those who hold the more traditional view of marriage as between one man and one woman. There are people who I love on both sides, and in general, those I know who hold the traditional view do so because they deeply desire to honor the scriptures. I just happen to think you can honor scripture and hold an affirming view too; many scholarly Christians do. As I mentioned in my last article, it’s a matter of interpretation, and I tend to gravitate toward texts of welcome.
Regardless of where churches stand on this issue, I think most gay people and allies would agree that clarity is kind. They want to know up front where they stand in any given congregation. They may be welcome, but can they truly belong?
Welcoming versus Belonging
We must be careful not to confuse welcoming with belonging. Many churches will say they are “welcoming” of the LGBTQ+ community. Sure, they can come to our worship services and potlucks, they can drink our coffee and eat our pizza, they can put a tithe in the offering plate. “Welcoming” sounds really, really good. Loving even. But welcoming is not the same as belonging. When you “belong,” you are accepted and loved for who you are, your gifts (including leadership gifts) are valued, and you have equal voice within the community. There is a big difference. No one wants to invest in a church community only to be turned away from membership down the road. Members have a voice within the church, and they help make significant decisions that help govern the church. In many evangelical/non-denominational spaces, this is an important aspect of church life that LGBTQ+ people are not invited into.
“True belonging never asks us to change who we are. It demands that we be who we are.”
-Brené Brown
Are churches intentionally unclear?
The answer is yes. And no.
Many mainline churches have been open and affirming of our LGBTQ+ brothers and sisters for a long time. They’ll likely have a welcoming message on their website, or on their sign board just outside their church. You may find a pride flag on their property, beckoning people to come as they are, a symbol of a safe, inclusive space.
My church experiences have largely been in evangelical/non-denominational spaces, and I will tell you that the vast majority of them are not affirming of LGBTQ+ folks. To be fair, some churches are forthcoming about their polices. I may not agree with their theology, but I appreciate knowing where they stand. In my opinion, these churches do less harm because the message is clear, and people can then choose whether or not they want to worship in that community.
In my experience, the churches that are most harmful are the ones who are not transparent. And that lack of clarity seems to be intentional.
Perhaps they don’t want to appear unloving, so they hide behind the mantra that “All are welcome.” True, but not true entirely. Remember, welcoming does not equal belonging. Perhaps in a changing world they don’t want to appear discriminatory. According to a report by PRRI, Americans’ support for LGBTQ+ rights is higher than ever. Perhaps they want to maintain the unity of the church, so they avoid the conversation entirely. They take the “nothing to see here” approach until someone starts asking questions. This is a false peace. Perhaps they don’t want to see congregants leaving over hotly debated theology because the income of the church is tied to the number of people who attend. Perhaps they’re not sure about, or can’t agree on, how to interpret the scriptures. Maybe they’re going through a season of discernment. Perhaps they hope that LGBTQ+ people will be transformed according to *their* ways, which are too often confused with God’s ways.
These churches will have no statement on their website. If they are a part of a denomination, these unspoken policies may be handed down to them – but sometimes they are made unilaterally by pastoral staff, even in a congregational model of governance. These churches usually appear to be modern and more progressive, but their theology is often quite conservative. Their unofficial policies are often not revealed until someone desires to become a member. By this time, people are already committed to the community. They’ve been attending, giving financially, volunteering, participating in church events – they are welcomed in and then turned away. This is referred to as the “bait and switch,” and it is incredibly harmful. 
This applies to families too – some people have invested their lives in the church and raised their families in the same community for years. Then, when their child is brave enough to come out, parents understandably have questions regarding how their child will be received in the church. This is when the truth is often revealed. Even if sexual ethics are never preached from the pulpit, silence speaks. And our youth are receiving the message: Same-sex couples don’t exist here. LGBTQ+ people aren’t celebrated here. “Don’t ask, don’t tell” is the M.O. here. Families inevitably leave, never to be heard from again. I’ve talked to so many parents who have had this experience. It is incredibly hurtful.
It doesn’t have to be this way.
“The moment we Christians think we have all the right answers for
another person, for a group of people, or for an entire nation, that’s when we know
we’ve not only begun to confuse worshiping God as being God ourselves
but we’ve also confused controlling others as loving them.”
-Rev. Benjamin Cremer (@Brcremer)
So. How can we tell if a church is affirming or not?
Look at their website: Documentation is not always easily accessible on a church website. You might have to dig around a bit, but you may find a statement about marriage, usually in the “statement of faith” or the “what we believe” sections. Some churches might offer subtle hints, like a book recommendation that encourages a life of celibacy for gay Christians. Ask the Pastor or someone in church leadership, but you must be specific. Move beyond the question of, “Does your church welcome LGBTQ+ people?” The answer will always be, “Yes, all are welcome.” Ask specific ‘yes or no’ questions, like:
Can LGBTQ+ folks participate fully in the life of the church? Can they become members? Can they serve in leadership positions? Would the pastoral staff marry same-sex couples? Would you hire a gay pastor or staff person?
Check the denomination of the church, or the denomination of which the pastor is ordained. Most denominations will have a statement regarding marriage, even if individual churches don’t.
Enlist the help of other online resources:
At gaychurch.org you can enter your zip code and find an affirming church near you. Church Clarity believes that transparency is reasonable and necessary. Churches in their database are rated from most clear (verified clear) to least clear (undisclosed), as it pertains to their women in leadership and LGBTQ+ policies. Churches who are affirming will want to be “verified clear.”
As allies in the church, what can we do?
I suspect some of us are sitting in our church pews, not knowing what the policies are regarding LGBTQ+ inclusion in our congregations, because it is never discussed. So I encourage Christians to get the conversation started: around your dinner tables, in your circle of friends, in your church communities and with church leadership.
The way I see it, there are three options for allies in the Church:
We stay, and say/do nothing. This is quietly consenting to the harmful, non-affirming theology of the church. This was no longer an option for me.
We stay, and we advocate for change. This is the hard, but important work. And it’s scary, because ultimately you’ll be stepping outside the clearly defined lines established by the church. It will not be comfortable, and you may be perceived as disruptive, but that’s just part of the painful process of advocacy. As Jeff Chu says, “We wait patiently, but not passively.” It begins by educating ourselves, which really is an ongoing process. Then we have conversations with anyone in our church community who will listen. Meet people for coffee, start a book club and explore some resources together, talk to our pastors and other church leadership. Perhaps advocate for a church-wide conversation, one that centers LGBTQ+ voices. Be persistent. Church culture will only change if enough people express their concerns and desire for inclusion. Maybe it will mean stepping out of church membership in solidarity with our LGBTQ+ siblings. Maybe it will mean not giving financially to an institution that continues to discriminate against an entire group of people – and giving more to other churches or organizations that align with our values. We could stay in this space for a while – this can be holy work, but it can also be exhausting because change is s..l..o..w….
“I can’t begrudge those who want to stay evangelical and work for change,
but I hope to remind them of just how resistant evangelicalism is to change.
Efforts to reform evangelicalism spanning a century have almost always failed
and have typically been met with overwhelming backlash.”
-Issac Sharp
I firmly believe that some people are meant to stay. We need allies in the church working for change from the inside. But sometimes, it’s time to shake the dust off our feet and move on. Sometimes our work there is done. Sometimes our outsides don’t match our insides, and we can no longer hold the tension. Sometimes, we’ve transformed so much that we just don’t fit anymore – like new wine busting out of old wineskins. Sometimes God is calling us to something else, something new. Sometimes it’s just time to go. This too, can be holy work.
Here’s an additional action step: Send a letter of encouragement and financial support to a church that has made the shift to inclusion. I’m not insensitive to the fact that there’s a lot on the line here for pastors. Conservative evangelicals are often very faithful tithers,
and these churches pay the price financially when members choose to leave. Towne View Baptist Church in GA comes to mind, but even most recently there are other churches who have been ousted from their denominations because they choose to truly welcome all. Consider sending just a simple note that reads, “You give us hope,” along with a donation.
…………………………………………………………………………………….
In time, I think the church will come around on this issue. I think in order to survive, it will have to. I suppose time will tell. In general, we’re already seeing a mass exodus in America’s churches, for a variety of reasons. Research shows the evangelical landscape in the US is shrinking, down from 23% of the population in 2006 to 14.5% in 2020. You can read this article about why some people are stepping away from Christianity. Among younger evangelicals in particular, the church’s views on sexuality seem to be one of the bigger reasons why they are leaving their pews. In my wanderings, I find that most people aren’t actually leaving Christianity. Their faith was never confined to a church building on Sundays. Their faith is much bigger than that; they cannot separate themselves from God. In fact, many people who wander in the wilderness grow deeper in their faith, and that has been true of my experience. So I am not advocating that people step away from Christianity entirely, though some do, and I don’t fault them for that. I am advocating for change.
As loving Christians, we must view belonging through the lens of the marginalized group. When LGBTQ+ Christians tell us that they have been harmed by non-affirming theology, the church’s silence, efforts to change them, and “bait and switch” tactics, we have to believe them. These are people who want to belong in a faith community, in *their* faith communities, who have been met with barriers to belonging. It’s wrong. (Luke 11:52)
But we have a voice. Please don’t forget we have a voice. We can literally use it to advocate for change for the marginalized among us – or, we can speak with our actions by no longer participating in institutions that cause harm. We have the power to change church culture by encouraging churches to become inclusive of the LGBTQ+ community, or by insisting that they are at least clear about their policies. And after all that, if you don’t have a friend left in the world, you have me. And thousands of other Christians roaming around in the wilderness. I promise it feels more loving, and diverse, and free out here.
And all are welcome.
Nothing haunts us like the things we don’t say.
-Mitch Albom
I confess it’s taken me too long to write these words. So first, an apology to my LGBTQ+ friends/family/neighbors:
You are beloved. I hope you already know that.
I’m sorry the Church has caused you so much pain – in word, in deed, in silence.
I’m sorry I contributed to that hurt. I sat quietly in my church pew for far too long.
I’m sorry the Church continues to exclude you and/or debate LGBTQ+ inclusion.
I’m sorry they literally debate whether or not you belong.
You belong. In the Kin-dom of God, we belong if we want to belong.
It’s taken me a long time to hit “publish” on these words. With every attempt, my words have felt inadequate. But the time is now. According to the Human Rights Campaign, there have been more anti-LGBTQ+ bills introduced in state houses this year than in each of the previous five years.
Hate crimes are on the rise, with some of the highest increases in LGBTQ+ people. There will never be a better time to lift our voices. As imperfect as my words may be, I am reminded that stories change us. Sometimes they get us to think outside of our own lived experiences. So this is my humble attempt to add my voice to the choir of other Christians who stand with the LGBTQ+ community.
Here’s what this essay will not attempt to do: debate Christian sexual ethics. I’ve already tried to do that, and it is utterly exhausting. I’ve spent countless hours and so much energy trying to persuade others who never wanted to be persuaded. It left me hurt, sad, angry, disoriented, and depleted. Pete Enns says, “the Bible doesn’t speak…we interpret.” If Christians do not take on a posture of humility and curiosity, if they hold tightly to the traditional view of marriage (as between one man and one woman) because “the Bible is clear,” then it becomes nearly impossible to persuade them to consider other interpretations. This perceived certainty ends all nuanced conversations. All I can do is share my experiences and perspectives – and leave the real work to the Holy Spirit. I’m convinced that’s how true transformation happens anyway. My job now is to stand as an ally, if you will allow me to call myself that. I stand in solidarity with my LGBTQ+ loved ones. I boldly proclaim that the world is better with you in it, just as you are, with all of the many gifts only you can offer the world.
And I also want to be a friend to the curious Christian – those who sit quietly in their pews with a hunch that the Holy Spirit just might be up to something. Because when you’re sorting out what you’ve been taught in light of new evidence, it can be a lot, it can be lonely, and it can be scary, knowing that these new convictions might mean losing your entire community. That is a legitimate fear, and I will not sugarcoat it: if you follow Jesus into the margins, standing outside the city gates – it will cost you. But I assure you there is goodness there, and there is hope beyond those city walls. I have been convinced that the Kingdom of God is much greater, and wider, and expansive and inclusive than we were ever taught to believe. And I have been convicted for a very long time that being an ally within the Church is important and necessary work.
Church is supposed to be a place where we find community, a place where everyone should find belonging. After considering the statistics on suicide among the LGBTQ+ community, we must feel a sense of urgency. We must be willing to ask the question, “Could we have been terribly wrong about this?” And could we imagine a world where LGBTQ+ people felt safe to come to church exactly as they are, without fear, fully welcomed and accepted and included in all aspects of church life?
In 2021, I walked away from my church. Sometimes I feel like my church left me. I walked away after trying really hard to move the needle forward on LGBTQ+ inclusion, only to find myself at a crossroads. My outsides did not match my insides, and my conscience would not allow me to stay. For too long I was a silent ally in the church, mostly because the church just didn’t talk about it, and regretfully because I didn’t think it impacted me. But I began to understand that when our neighbors flourish, we all flourish, too. “Seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper.” -Jeremiah 29:7
I also began to consider what message I was sending to the LGBTQ+ community as I participated in an institution that did not honor them and their God-given gifts, without placing heavy burdens and expectations on them. Knowing and believing what I do now, how could I continue to be a member, and participate in leadership capacities knowing that my LGBTQ+ friends were not afforded the same privileges? I served my church whole-heartedly and with gladness, I loved my church. In the end, we couldn’t agree on the matter of inclusion, and I could no longer hold that tension. I understand that full inclusion for many evangelicals is just a bridge too far to cross, but sadly many of us become church casualties when policies are chosen over people.
In response to George Floyd’s murder in 2020, many churches started recognizing the importance of denouncing racism, as we should. In fact, we need to continue educating ourselves, we must be willing to engage in uncomfortable conversations, we need to confront racism and practice lament, repentance and reconciliation. We need to welcome diverse voices and leadership. This work of course should be ongoing. (Should be.) And as I considered racism in the American church, I began to look around and ask the question, “Who else are we missing? What other voices are not being given a seat at the table?”
I started asking more questions. Just as I was trying to diversify my library with books by people of color, I started reading books by queer authors. I started paying attention to what other churches and denominations were doing, the good and the bad. I listened to podcasts, and followed more LGBTQ+ voices online, particularly queer Christians. We can learn so much from them about faith and hope in the face of persecution. Because even after they’ve been let down by the Church – often misled, rejected and shunned – they still love God. They seem to be able to separate the God who loves them from the Christians who have deeply wounded them. They still want to belong. They still keep showing up. They are some of the most faithful people I know.
What about Scripture?
If you want to do violence in this world, you will always find the weapons.
If you want to heal, you will always find the balm.
― Rachel Held Evans, A Year of Biblical Womanhood
It’s become clear to me that we can use the Bible to support any argument we want to make. We can find Bible verses that support slavery, and we can find those that oppose it. We can find Bible verses that subjugate women, and we can find verses that liberate us. We can find Bible verses that wage war, and we can find verses that advocate for peace. We can use Bible verses as “weapons” against LGBTQ+ people, and we can find verses that support inclusivity – the “balm.”
In my daily wanderings, I seek to find the balm. I am not a theologian, and the more I learn it seems the less I know – but I choose to read the Bible through a liberating lens, which naturally leads me to texts of welcome. And there is one story in particular that widens the circle of inclusion for me.
Transformative Encounters
In Acts 10, we read about Peter’s vision and his encounter with Cornelius. Cornelius, a captain of the Italian Guard and a “good man,” was prayerful and compassionate, and kind. His faithfulness caught the attention of God, who sent an angel to him through a vision. The angel told him to send some of his men to the town of Joppa where Peter was staying with Simon the Tanner. They were to find Peter and bring him back to Cornelius.
The men did as they were told. About noon the next day, as the men made their way to Joppa, Peter went onto his roof to pray. “He became hungry and wanted something to eat…” (This made me chuckle. A devout Jew, a disciple of Jesus, a leader in the Early Church distracted by food in the middle of prayer time. 
) “…and as the meal was being prepared, he fell into a trance.” (v. 10) Then the vision:
He saw heaven opened and something like a large sheet being let down to earth by its four corners. It contained all kinds of four-footed animals, as well as reptiles of the earth and birds of the air. Then a voice told him, “Get up, Peter. Kill and eat.” (v. 11-13)
He resisted. A devout Jew would never eat anything that was not kosher. Levitical law had strict guidelines regarding what foods were clean and unclean. Then Peter heard the voice again: “Do not call anything impure that God has made clean.” (v. 15) Three times this message was repeated before the blanket was taken back up to heaven.
As Peter sat there, trying to understand the vision he just encountered, Cornelius’ men approached Simon’s front door and asked to see Peter. They explained that Captain Cornelius was instructed by an angel to bring Peter to his house to hear what he had to say. “Then Peter invited the men into the house to be his guests.” (v. 23) Perhaps this encounter alone reveals the beginning of a transformation. It would have violated strict religious rules for a Jew to invite a Gentile into his home. Perhaps Peter’s thoughts were already shifting and evolving. Proximity does that.
The next morning, they made the long trek to Caesarea where Cornelius was waiting for them. Cornelius greeted Peter and then got down on the ground to worship him. “Stand up,” he said, “I am only a man myself.” (v. 26) Perhaps Cornelius was trying to show honor to Peter as God’s messenger, but Peter made it clear he wasn’t to be worshipped and that they were on equal footing. Could he have acknowledged Cornelius, a Gentile, as someone who was also created in the image of God?
You are well aware that it is against our law for a Jew to associate with a Gentile or visit him. But God has shown me that I should not call any man impure or unclean. So when I was sent for, I came without raising any objection. (v. 28-29)
God had shown him.
Peter was beginning to realize that his vision had greater significance than he had originally thought. It went much deeper than its literal meaning and his limited understanding – it went far beyond the traditional rules and rituals regarding clean and unclean foods. Ethnic divides existed between Jews and Gentiles, often resulting in violence. Here, God was working through Peter and Cornelius to break through that barrier. And through this transformative encounter, Peter began to understand.
Cornelius began to tell the story of his vision with the angel, the one who told him to send for Peter. And they waited for whatever God had put on Peter’s heart to tell them.
I now realize how true it is that God does not show favoritism but accepts men from every nation who fear him and do what is right. (v. 34-35)
Then Peter shared about the good news of Jesus Christ to all of the Gentiles in the home, and the Holy Spirit fell upon them. The believing Jews who had come with Peter couldn’t believe it! The gift of the Holy Spirit, given to “outsiders.” The non-Jewish “outsiders” were now “in.” God was making all things new.
God had shown him. Through this transformative encounter, God revealed to Peter that we are all equal in His eyes. Would we recognize a transformative encounter if God presented us with one? Are our biases preventing us from seeing what God is doing among us? Does the church place barriers to belonging?
This story is repeated in Acts 11. Whenever there is repetition in the Bible, it reminds me to pay attention. It’s like God is saying, ‘Perk up, dear ones. This is important.’ Could he be trying to pull our attention back from our easily distracted minds and hearts and desires, prompting us to consider what we may not be ready to hear? What could this story mean for us in our current time? Isn’t God still making all things new?
And since God gave these Gentiles the same gift he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I to stand in God’s way?” Acts 11:17, NLT
The Character of Christ
As followers of Christ, we should be transforming into His likeness, taking on Christ-like characteristics as best we can within our human limitations. And what is the character of Christ? He is loving, unconditionally. He is humble. He is compassionate. He is inclusive. He is just. He serves the underserved. He stands with those deemed ‘other.’
And how do we know if we are transforming into the likeness of Christ? We look to the fruit. Is the evangelical church bearing good fruit? Who is flourishing under our policies and practices and theology? -not just in our own households, but among our neighbors’ households, too. When we consider the effects of purity culture, sexual abuse and sexual abuse cover-ups within the Church, abuses of power within the Church, restricting women’s leadership potential within the Church, Christian Nationalism, refusing to enact common sense gun reform, neglecting to welcome refugees, etc. etc. – I would say that the evangelical church is producing some really rotten fruit. And yet, we are quick to dismiss loving, covenantal same-sex marriage. We’re so consumed by trying to control trans kids that we haven’t the time or empathy to love them or seek to understand them. And after listening to the stories of gay Christians, I think it’s fair to say that the non-affirming theology is not bearing good fruit. Let’s remember – all believers are members of the body of Christ, the Universal Church. Who are we to tell them they can’t become members of the local church? Who are we to stand in God’s way?
Resources to Consider
I am under no illusions that Church culture and beliefs will change overnight, or that one essay is going to change anyone’s mind. But if you’re unsure of what you believe about LGBTQ+ inclusion in the Church, I ask you to follow that curiosity wherever it leads. There are LGBTQ people in your pews. There are youth who are wondering if it’s safe to come out. Now is the time to choose a position because standing in the center doesn’t help those on the margins.
I am not an expert on any of this, and there’s still so much for me to learn. I share my thoughts and experiences and perspectives here, but they have been shaped (and continue to be shaped) by so many who have been brave enough to share their own stories. A quick Google search will guide you to a variety of resources, but here are a few that have informed me on my path:
Torn: Rescuing the Gospel from the Gays-vs.-Christians Debate, by Justin Lee
Changing Our Mind, by David Gushee
The Reformation Project, Matthew Vines
A Moment of Pride: Jen and Sydney Hatmaker on Being Gay and Loved
Blue Babies Pink: B.T. Harman shares his journey of being a gay Christian in the American south.
Eugene Peterson authorized biography backs up that ‘yes’ on LGBTQ inclusion
The End?
I wrestled for a long time with how to end this piece. And then it occurred to me: Maybe this isn’t this end. For some of us, maybe this is just the beginning – an invitation to follow our curiosity toward our own transformation. We can have our own transformative encounters, just as Peter did. When we love, support, befriend and listen to people in the LGBTQ+ community (as well as their families/allies), it changes us for the better. Our lives are enriched by those relationships. Proximity does that.
Love God, love people. It really is that simple.
If you’ve gotten this far, perhaps you too have a hunch that the Holy Spirit might be up to something. And maybe that hunch isn’t just a hunch. Maybe God is guiding us to create a more diverse and inclusive Church. Remember, we were all once outsiders, made insiders through Christ. Follow your curiosity to the margins. And I’ll meet you there.
xo. Jana
In her memoir, Leaving Church, Barbara Brown Taylor writes about a time when she was asked to speak on a topic called, “What is saving your life right now?” She says the question is so good that we must revisit it on occasion. Most of us can name the things that are suffocating us, the things that threaten to break us at any given moment. The things that cause us to worry or despair. But what things – big or small – are saving us? What things are sparking joy, particularly when the world feels upside down?
Books, backpacking, builds, and babies. These are some of the things that are saving my life right now.
Books
You should probably know this about me: I don’t really read “for fun.” I like faith books. Creative non-fiction mostly. I read to learn more about God, and others and myself. Some books are inspiring, some cause me to see God in unique ways, and some cause me to retreat to my bed and hide under the covers for days. I’ve gotten better at not letting new knowledge send me into a pit of despair, but you should know that you’re probably not going to get many fiction reviews from me. Here are some books that have been on my nightstand more recently:
The Sin of Certainty, by Pete Enns
If you’ve spent any time in evangelical spaces, you’ll know that there is this near-obsession with certainty. Evangelicals will use words like the “inerrancy” or “infallibility” of scripture that ends a lot of nuanced conversations. “There’s no discussion on [this] because the Bible is clear!” As I reflect on my experiences and the experiences of others, I’m convinced that this certainty has led to a lot of pain and divisiveness within the church. The Sin of Certainty is refreshing in that it embraces the posture of curiosity, and considers that those of us who doubt and ask questions do not do so because we lack faith, but because we are faithful. This book encourages me to embrace the mysteries of God – it’s actually very freeing to not have all the answers, and I don’t think we’re expected to.
The Making of Biblical Womanhood, by Beth Allison Barr
I had seen this book floating around for a while, but it never really sparked my interest until I saw the author getting significant pushback on Twitter. I wanted to support her and her writing, so I decided to buy the book.
As a woman with a PhD in History, Beth Allison Barr was told that she could not teach a Sunday school class to teenage boys at her church because women could not teach men, and according to their church, manhood began at age 13. (This is my “What in the world?!” face: 
) Her husband, who was the youth pastor, was later terminated from his position for challenging the policy on women in leadership. These experiences prompted her to research and write the book, The Making of Biblical Womanhood.
Barr argues that biblical womanhood, the idea that God designed women to be submissive to men, is not actually biblical, but is instead more about maintaining human power structures. The book is well-researched and reflects on the history of Christianity and patriarchy, challenging complementarianism, and using history to inform our future as we work to create more equitable, Christ-like community.
This book reminds me of Kristin Kobes Du Mez’s book, Jesus and John Wayne. If you haven’t read that one yet, brace yourselves. It’s a doozy, but a must-read for all Christians.
A Burning in My Bones: The Authorized Biography of Eugene Peterson, by Winn Collier
I love to read a good biography, and this one had been on my book list for a while. Eugene Peterson was a well-respected pastor, theologian, and author. His paraphrase of the Bible, The Message, was originally created for the congregation in which he pastored and made the Bible accessible to everyone. A Burning in My Bones reveals Peterson’s humility, authenticity, and humanity, offering small details of his life from church ministry to his quiet life in Montana; from his successes and strengths to his struggles and insecurities. Generally one to shy away from controversy, Peterson found himself smack dab in the middle of a big one in 2017 when he affirmed that “yes,” he would perform a same-sex wedding ceremony. The backlash from evangelicals was severe, and the next day he retracted that statement. For years, Christians wondered where he really stood. This biography, which was published nearly two and a half years after his death, seems to back up that “yes.”
Grounded, by Diana Butler Bass
This is an older book (2015) that somehow seems prophetic now. Even at that time, people were moving away from organized religion, and that movement has only continued. In Grounded, Bass explores new ways in which people are practicing their faith, connecting and experiencing God all around us, and not confining God to a building on Sundays. She calls it “a shift, from a vertical God to a God found on the horizons of nature and human community.” Sometimes I feel that God is sifting the church, and this book helps me imagine new ways to practice my faith.
Devotions, by Mary Oliver
This is a collection of the Pulitzer Prize-winning poet’s greatest works. I’ve been reading a few each day, and it has been a source of inspiration for me as she writes about her daily wanderings, reflecting on the physical world around her and the connections between all living things. A perceptive creative, Mary Oliver had the gift of presence that I so admire. In those days when I couldn’t open my Bible, her poetry reminded me that God is present in everything. The forest became my sanctuary; her words a healing balm.
Backpacking
Hundreds of acres of state forest surround our tiny home. I spent years trying to upgrade my life, but I think God knew we would need this place. The forest, the river, our neighbors, the wide open spaces, and the endless trails have been a refuge from the world at times. I am content here, and I am grateful to call this place home.
There is a familiar trail that circles our property. I must have walked it a thousand times. I’ve walked it with littles, and now teenagers. I’ve walked it in moments of joy, and with tears in my eyes. I’ve walked it with two separate dogs, and once with a chicken in my arms. I’ve walked it in the cool shade of spring, and in the blistering summer heat; with the crunch of leaves beneath my feet in autumn, and with snowshoes strapped to my boots in winter. I’ve seen her in all her beauty, and she’s seen me. It’s been nearly 18 years, and in some ways, I grew up here.
At the top of the hill about halfway through, there is a sit spot. A humble, simple bench that someone built between two trees overlooking the reservoir. One day, as I paused to observe my surroundings, a slender man came barreling up the hill. It was a little unusual, as I don’t often bump into people on this trail. I could see he had a water bottle with a filter attached, prepared to collect drinking water from the nearby lake and streams. He was going some distance. “How far are you going today?” I asked. “As far as I can.” He stopped to catch his breath. This particular trail connects with others, and one could hike for miles and miles. “Good for you! Are you training for something?”
“Life,” he said. “I’m training for life.” And off he dashed down the trail.
Those words were so profound and spoke clear to my soul. In many ways, the trail has been my church. I’ve worked out many things in my mind, body and spirit on the trail. The woods become a sanctuary. The birds and wildlife our companions. It offers a respite from the world; an opportunity to unplug. A chance to pay attention. In so many ways, the forest heals.
For years, I had wanted to backpack. I am inspired by minimalist living, and there is just something so empowering about carrying everything you need to survive for a few days in a pack that becomes an extension of yourself. I spent hours online watching videos, learning everything I needed to know about living in the woods for a few days.
I knew I wasn’t prepared enough to go into the woods alone, so I signed up for a beginner backpacking trip with the Appalachian Mountain Club in West Virginia, the closest I could find. I rented some gear online, and in August of 2020, during Covid, with masks on, I spent my first night out in the wilderness. I was hooked.
I was hooked, but I didn’t have any female friends who shared my enthusiasm for backpacking. Then, a few months later, to my surprise and delight, a friend of mine asked me if I wanted to hike the Appalachian Trail that runs through Connecticut. We were both completely inexperienced, so I agreed to go after some careful planning. We found a few more friends to join us on our crazy adventure, and that spring we hiked most of the CT section. We came back to finish it and then did three more trips tackling the Massachusetts section. With two states and about 140 miles under our feet, we’re staring down Vermont or New York in the fall.
Here are a few pictures from our latest trip to MA just a few weeks ago. If you’re local and interested in learning to backpack, I saw this Introduction to Backpacking course that I wish was available a few years ago.
Builds
I think you already know about my love affair with my impact driver, so I thought I’d share a few of my projects with you.
My writing desk is just a 5’ piece of butcher board countertop with metal table legsattached. Super easy and barely a build, but I love how much space I have to write, homeschool and work on various projects.
This living area was missing a coffee table, and I wanted to teach Logan how to use the chop saw. So together we cut the pieces for this simple farmstead table, and then I assembled it myself. My saw isn’t big enough to cut through the 4×4 posts, but Home Depot will do it for free. Score!
Babies (
+ 
, not 
– though those are cool too.)
We introduced three new baby chickens to our flock, because we’ve completely lost our minds. Stella and I have been working our way through the Gilmore Girls, so in honor of those crazy characters we have named these cuties Babette (Babs), Sookie, and Miss Patty. (Don’t ask me who’s who.)
An update on my plant babies: I planted peas, spinach and lettuce seeds in one of my raised beds and they are doing well. I started my pepper plants and tomatoes from seed indoors several weeks ago. They’ve been hardening off outside, acclimating to the outdoors in a small greenhouse on our deck, and they will be ready to go in the ground in the next week or so. Gardening is a lesson in patience, perseverance and hope. Oh we can learn so much from a garden.
Enough about me. How about you?! What is saving your life right now? I would love to hear from you!
Thanks for reading, dear friends. If you like to read my newsletter and have yet to subscribe, please consider doing so. This newsletter comes out just once a month, and I know your time is precious, so I promise not to get all spammy on you. And if you know someone who may enjoy it, please feel free to share away! Until next time, friends…
xo, Jana
Perhaps you’ve gathered that I’m in a bit of a faith deconstruction season. Or rather a faith reconstruction season. Truth be told, I think I’ve been deconstructing since the moment I became a Christian twenty years ago, asking (too many) questions when I didn’t see Christian behavior lining up with the gospel that I was reading about and experiencing for myself. I find that the term “deconstruction” is overused and deeply misunderstood by Christians who aren’t actually deconstructing themselves. They make it sound like we’re burning our faith to the ground, abandoning it completely. Sometimes this is true, and I cast no judgement on people who travel down that path. Of course there are people who have been deeply hurt by the Church who throw spirituality away entirely. Sometimes they can’t find their way back, and sometimes they don’t want to. But in my wanderings, I’ve found that most people who leave church are not leaving their faith, and they’re not leaving God. In fact, many of us leave *because* of our faith. We no longer want to be a part of an institution that has caused so much harm yet refuses to acknowledge it and make amends for it. Instead of burning it all down, I like to look at deconstruction as taking my faith right down to the studs. The foundation is solid, the structure is there, but all of the other pieces that make a house a home are up for reexamination.
For a time, I had to tuck my Bible away. I couldn’t bring myself to open it because I had seen how its words could be used as a weapon against others. And I didn’t feel guilty about setting it aside. Experience has taught me that Jesus is not condemning. He is gentle, and He is patient. And structured Bible reading time is not a requirement for being a “good” Christian, no matter what anyone says. God is with us anyway.
The presence of God is infinite, everywhere, always, and forever. You cannot not be in the presence of God.
There’s no other place to be. -Richard Rohr
When I was ready, I began to reread the gospels over and over, to remind myself of who Jesus is. And I found a more loving, generous, grace-filled, inclusive God than the one I had learned about in church. My NIV Bible, cracked and worn from years of study, underlined, and circled in pen, lay off to the side as I explored new versions: The Message, The NRSV Cultural Backgrounds Study Bible, The First Nations Version – all offering me new language and insights to consider. The walls of my house began to take on a new shape. Sheetrock, then paint. Do I choose the color of the evangelical churches I left behind? Black and white seem so limiting. Or is God’s kin-dom more colorful? Varied and unique in all its many ways.
Lately I’ve been thinking about prayer and how complicated it has become. How do we pray when we don’t know what we believe anymore? When questions and doubt make us so much less certain than we were before. How do we continue to offer prayers when they don’t seem to reach? When injustice surrounds us; when fear and anger continue to dominate our headlines. How do we pray when the miracles we hope for are never realized? When cancer takes our loved ones; when broken relationships are not restored. And how do we explain why some prayers are answered and others aren’t? Certainly it’s not because we are less faithful or less favored.
I’ve always had a complicated relationship with prayer. In the past, I’ve often compared myself to others who sit on prayer teams for hours and use flowery language to express their thanks and desires to God, and I have felt insignificant. I am uncomfortable praying in public. Sometimes the words won’t come. Prayers at mealtime and scripted prayers at church can feel like ramblings or wish lists to me – inorganic, forced even and rote. I mean, if we believe that God is good, don’t we also believe that He only wants goodness for us? And if he knows every hair on our heads, doesn’t he already know what we need?
The longer I live, the less I understand, it seems. Faith deconstruction permits me to have more questions than answers, and to live with the uncertainty. I’ve gotten cozy with the words “I don’t know.” I’ve become comfortable with ambiguity, even. With my certainty blown to shreds, I now simply consider how I can advocate for the underdog, the underrepresented, and the under-served. How can I help to make the world just a little bit better for my neighbors, whom God has called me to love?”
I want to believe in prayer. I believe that God hears us. I believe that He is with us, and loves us, and wants goodness for us. And though I don’t often pray for outcomes anymore, I do still pray for miracles – because I cling to a stubborn hope that has become a daily discipline. A spiritual practice, like a muscle that needs to be flexed and strengthened. Sometimes prayer changes things, but mostly prayer changes me.
I’ve never considered myself a gifted pray-er, and it seems I’m in good company. In her book, “An Altar in the World,” Barbara Brown Taylor confesses, “I am a failure at prayer. I would rather show someone my checkbook stubs than talk about my prayer life.” But then she goes on to consider that perhaps we have the wrong idea about prayer. Perhaps much of what we do in our everyday lives is in fact prayer.
“Prayer is more than saying set prayers at set times. Prayer, is waking up to the
presence of God no matter where I am or what I am doing.”
-Brother David Steindl-Rast
These days, my prayers look much simpler. They might be a few whispered words of gratitude, acknowledging a godly encounter:
“Thank you.”
”You see me.”
I might seek guidance when I’ve come to the end of myself, particularly in situations I can no longer control. (That whole control thing is a myth, btw.)
“Help me.”
“Lord, give me strength.”
“What the heck do I do now?”
I’ll pray for presence, when someone I love is suffering, and I feel powerless to do anything about it.
“God be near.”
“Through your people, meet every need.”
“Show me how I can lighten a burden.”
And sometimes prayer might look like wailing and lament when that’s the only true response.
These prayers, though simple, are a true revelation of my heart – my gratitude, my longing, my deepest hopes and desires. I’ve come to believe that this is what God actually asks of us, too. In my questions and in my doubt, I was relieved to see Jesus’ words jump off the page in Matthew 6:7:
“When you are praying, do not heap up empty phrases as the Gentiles do; for they think that they will be heard because of their many words.”
There are books and books on prayer, and essays about how to pray effectively. But He makes prayer and communing with God accessible to all of us. Not just to those with the gift of many words. He makes it clear: use few words because He already knows what we need. Maybe I’m not doing this wrong after all. Maybe it is a daily dance of acknowledging and expressing joy, and gratitude, and contentment; grief, and longing, and lament. Just everyday life, in communion with God.
Several spiritual mentors have introduced me to the practice of breath prayers – a simple, ancient form of prayer. Breath prayers have helped me to center myself, and they remind me to slow down and breathe. Deeply. I think most of us can benefit from a few moments of stillness and a few deep breaths. It has become a helpful practice for me to choose just two lines to meditate on, and breathe through them. So I’ll close with a few breath prayers that I wrote this month. You can create your own for your circumstances, or search for others online. The beautiful thing about these prayers is that you can do them anywhere: in a quiet corner in your home, beside the river, in your car, or in the bathroom (I see you parents of toddlers.)
Inhale: There is a river that brings joy;
Exhale: The sacred home of the Most High.
Inhale: God is the very breath I breathe;
Exhale: You are with me.
Inhale: I breathe in God’s light and love;
Exhale: I exhale all of my cares, knowing God cares for me.
Inhale: Love;
Exhale: And be loved.
Let’s take care of ourselves and each other in this upside down world. Breathe. Settle into a mantra. Practice hope like our lives depend on it. (It does.) And go out into the world to love and be loved. 
xo,
Jana
A voice is heard in Ramah,
mourning and great weeping,
Rachel is weeping for her children
and refusing to be comforted,
because her children are no more.
-Jeremiah 31:15
American author Barry Lopez once said, “The storyteller’s responsibility is to remember what we are all prone to forget, and to say it memorably.” This quote sits above my desk – as a reminder of why writers write. I don’t know if I will share something memorable, but I do have a sense that we have forgotten some things. I’m afraid we’ve forgotten what’s important. I’m afraid we’ve forgotten that we belong to each other.
We grieve once again for lives lost due to senseless gun violence. We’ve been here so many times before. I don’t even know how to pray anymore, because my prayers don’t seem to reach. But I persist, and with stubborn hope I whisper,
God be near.
Be so very close.
Be the tangible presence in those surrounding the suffering,
The light that shines in the darkness.
I read an article yesterday morning that made me so upset I couldn’t breathe. Prone to bouts of low-level anxiety, I reminded myself that there are times when feelings of anxiety and anger and despair are warranted; our body’s way of telling us something isn’t right. And this is such a time, albeit familiar. I decided that this was a topic worth talking about, setting aside the pages of words I’ve been working on, to share these thoughts instead.
This essay is in response to Scott Sauls’ article in Christianity Today – a reflection on the Nashville school shooting that left six people dead this week. He is a pastor in Nashville, and aside from this article, I do not know him. His piece is entitled, “Go Ahead. Get Mad at God for the Nashville Shooting.”
Right away, I’m irked by the title. Because it never once crossed my mind to be angry at God for yet another mass shooting in America. It’s like the author is immediately trying to shift the blame to the Almighty, diverting our attention away from any possible solutions to this truly American problem.
In the very first paragraph he describes parents dropping off their kids for a magical day at school, stating “no one could fathom” how the day would unfold. He obviously hasn’t been in a school lately. The reality is, teachers can fathom. Administrators can fathom. Students can fathom. And parents can fathom. Yes, we can fathom. We fathom every day when we send our kids to school among bomb threats and lockdown drills; anxiety rising and receding as often as the tides. Sadly, this is just another day in America.
The author permits us to ask several questions: Why would God allow this to happen? Why would he not intervene? Why didn’t God change the heart of the perpetrator? Why would he allow students to experience such trauma? Where was God in all of this?
The questions were infuriating, but the answer made my spirit wail:
“We’ll never know the answer to these questions. The ‘Why?’ question really cannot be answered from our earthbound perspectives.”
In the words of my teenage son, “This is bullshit.”
We should be feeling a lot of things, but bewilderment and confusion should not be among them. We know the “why.” It’s because we have a gun obsession in America. We’ve made guns into idols that we worship above anything else. We have more guns than people in this country, and gun violence has become a public health crisis. We have politicians who won’t enact common sense gun reform because the gun lobby lines their pockets. Guns are big money here in America, and money is power.
This isn’t a cancer diagnosis. This isn’t a tragic accident. These aren’t just some unfortunate circumstances we’ve been handed. Such heartaches would have me crying out to God “Why?!,” and they do. But this? This is another preventable, predictable slaughter of innocents. And we have to look at what our responsibility is in all of it.
Are our eyes blind?
Have our hearts been hardened?
Do we value human life?
Do we want to see this nation healed?
I never questioned where God was in this. I never wondered why God “allowed this to happen.” Because he didn’t. If he did, he’d be a callous, cruel, unloving, and unjust God, and that simply is not true. To say he allowed this to happen is offensive. Jesus is not our scapegoat. The blame does not belong with him. Scott Sauls’ essay feels like a lengthy version of a familiar refrain: “thoughts and prayers.” Let us not be fooled. It aims to silence us, something evangelicals are prone to do when they want to protect something that they hold dear. Pray – that’s all we can do. Go ahead and mourn with those who mourn; we just can’t understand God’s ways. I can’t believe this is a Pastor’s message to a grieving nation. It sounds so hopeless, and we are not powerless. This is not the end of the story.
To me, Pastor Sauls’ shows insensitivity when he reminds us that “none of us is guaranteed another day.” Of course this is true. But his words follow a tragedy that could have been prevented if we had lawmakers who cared enough to act. Katherine, Mike, Cynthia, Hallie, Evelyn, William. They should all still be here.
“Thoughts and prayers” are empty words without action.
“But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” -Acts 1:8
As Rachel Held Evans used to say, “On the days when I believe,” the truest thing I cling to is that God is with us. Immanuel. If I know nothing else, that’s the promise I hold close. And we know how he accomplishes things here on earth. Through us. (What was he thinking? We can’t understand God’s ways.
) We are his witnesses. We are his hands and feet. If anyone is not showing up, it’s us. He gives us beautiful minds to think freely, and hearts that can be moved to compassion, and choices so that we can flourish more fully, along with our families and our neighbors.
This gun violence? It’s a choice, and we are choosing it.
Let’s consider some of the data:
Firearms are now the leading cause of death in children.
There are more guns than people in the US, and the US has far more guns than its peers. More guns = more gun violence. If guns kept people safe, we’d be the safest country on the planet, but that’s not what the data shows.
3. Research shows that most Americans want stricter gun laws. And according to Everytown, gun safety policies reduce gun violence.
4. From 1994-2004, the US had an assault weapons ban. Gun violence increased when it expired in 2004.
There are reasonable solutions to decreasing gun violence in America. Over and over again, tragedy after tragedy, I see the same people wailing, like that voice heard in Ramah. We are praying. We are marching. We are learning. We are educating. We are voting for politicians who stand for sensible gun reform. We are giving money to gun-sense causes. There is not much else we can do without the unified support of our conservative and moderate friends. We need more than thoughts and prayers. In addition to prayers for victims’ families and first responders, we need prayers that transform us, mold us and shape us. Prayers that are inextricably linked to action. What action can we take to ease the yolk of suffering and injustice?
Here are some suggestions, and I welcome others:
Learn more about the gun violence epidemic in America.
Donate time and money to gun-sense organizations like Everytown, Moms Demand Action, or March for Our Lives. Their websites also have great resources.
If you own firearms, practice secure gun storage.
Republican and moderate friends, please contact your state representatives. Tell them to pass common sense gun laws, or you will withdraw your support. Republican lawmakers often block meaningful gun reform, so you can have a great deal of influence here. Silence is complicity.
Lift your voice. Literally. On social media and in your spheres of influence. Add your voice to the choir of others that say “enough!”
Scott Sauls references lyrics from a song by Charles Ashworth: “Silence the people with all of the answers. Gently show them that now is the time, now is the time, now is the time for tears.”
For those of us far removed, our tears will eventually dry up. Not so for those who grieve. And not so for the ones who come after. There will be more casualties in this war. So my question is, when is the time to talk about this? When is the time for solutions? Because we seem to forget so easily. If not now, then when?
The time is now. The time was yesterday. The time was ten years ago, and many more years before that. With each ensuing gun death, we will continue to rail against systems that place idols and policies over people, knowing that the process is slow and the fight is long. In the meantime
we wail,
we work,
and we wait…
If I am not good to myself, how can I expect anyone else to be good to me?
-Maya Angelou
It’s taken me a lot of work to learn to love myself. I often describe myself as a “recovering perfectionist.” I can be hard on myself. My expectations are high. I’ve often felt like my voice doesn’t matter.
As a Christian, I’ve shouted from the rooftops about how much God loves us (meaning all of you) but I’ve had a hard time believing it for myself. That sounds so sad to say, but I know many people have felt that way too, because they’ve told me. After all, we’re taught to put others above self.
In Philippians 2:3, Paul says “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves.”
I understand that the point is for us to imitate Christ’s humility, but I wonder if we’ve taken that message and used it as a weapon against ourselves.
Several years ago, my spirit brought me to the river that meanders through the acres of forest behind our home. That river’s name? Mount Hope. Overwhelmed and completely depleted, it was there that I first learned to sit with myself before I even knew what that meant. As a constant “do-er,” I didn’t understand this stillness that my spirit was calling me to. But I’d later understand that this moment was the beginning of a transformation for me as I began to sift through all of the chaos and overthinking and expectations that ran through my mind. It was like pulling items out of a backpack, taking a good look at each piece to determine what I still needed to carry and what I could leave behind.
This “thing” that’s causing disruption, can I set it aside?
This expectation that doesn’t feel right, can I loosen its grip?
This problem I can’t solve, can I let it go?
It was the first time I dug deep to find out who I was and what I wanted; an unexpected act of self-love. I’m doing the same thing now as I dive deeper into my faith – sifting through what I’ve been taught about God, deciding what beliefs stay and which ones I can let go. But this time, I (mostly) know how to listen to myself and trust her. The Christian faith has often discouraged us (women) from trusting ourselves, because “our hearts can lead us astray.” That’s one belief I have set aside. In my experience, that message has mostly been used to silence us. But Jesus told us to love God with all of our hearts, souls, and minds, so he doesn’t actually call us to check our hearts at the door.
As I do this inner work, I find myself re-reading the gospels to remind myself of who Jesus is. After all, we are Christians, not Paulians and sometimes I think Christians place the words of Paul over the teachings of Christ. They make Paul’s words an idol. In the past few years, part of my practice has been to read different translations of the Bible. I’m inspired by Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase of the Great Commandment:
Jesus said, “‘Love the Lord your God with all your passion and prayer and intelligence.’ This is the most important, the first on any list. But there is a second to set alongside it: ‘Love others as well as you love yourself.’” Matthew 22:37-40 MSG
As Christians, we are conditioned to put others before ourselves. But that’s not actually what Jesus commands here. Of course I believe in the sanctity of community. Of lifting one another up. Of helping where we’re needed and making the world a better place. I believe in being on the receiving end of that love, too. All of that is holy work. We were made for healthy community, connection, and belonging. But we can honor others as the unique people they are – created in the image of God, while also honoring ourselves, created in that same image. I think we forget that.
Love others as well as you love yourself. Not more than, not less than. As well as. It’s not enough to love our neighbors – we must learn to love ourselves, too. Only then can we better understand how to love those around us.
Perhaps that’s what is missing in this world full of fear, anger, heartbreak, and injustice. If we were kinder to ourselves, would we be kinder to others? If we were gentler to ourselves, would we be gentler to others? If we extended more compassion, grace, and forgiveness to ourselves, would we do the same for others?
I suspect most people avoid this kind of work – to learn to genuinely love ourselves. I mean, it’s not exactly easy. It’s much easier to scroll, to numb out, to escape; to be consumed by work or to focus on “fixing others,” or even “helping others.” But perhaps we all need to abide by the sacred calling to sit with ourselves. Only when we get quiet enough can we hear the still small voice that guides us.
I’m not an expert by any means, but these are some of the self-love practices that have been helpful to me:
Practice gratitude. Make a habit of writing down three things you’re thankful for each day. In these days of human suffering, heartbreaking headlines, and half-truths, we can start to feel pretty low. But there is always something to be grateful for, even if we have to squint our eyes to see it.
Practice the reframe. For those of us who tend to fall into negative thought patterns, or who have perfectionist tendencies, reframing our thoughts is key.
Thought: I can’t do this.
Reframe: I can’t do this yet, but I’m still learning.
Be gentle to yourself. Drink water. Eat a nourishing meal. Have an epsom salt bath, take a nap, read a book, light a candle. Speak kindly to yourself, as if talking to an old friend. Forgive yourself for past mistakes and learn from them, vowing to do better next time.
Engage in joyful movement. If you can combine this movement with the outdoors, even better. Walking and yoga are gentle exercises with tremendous health benefits. I once took an outdoor yoga class on a llama farm! 
Accept the compliment.
Friend: “You look so nice today.”
Resisting response: “I washed my hair today.”
Better response: “Thank you!”
Take time to be still. Meditate, spend some time in silence even if it’s just for a few minutes. It’s a noisy, messy world; we need to regulate our nervous systems. Don’t know where to start? Try this Meditation for Self Love.
Set boundaries. Learn to be okay with disappointing others. Honor others yes, but honor yourself too by asking yourself what you need.
Get outside support if needed. Find a therapist to talk to. (I acknowledge the privilege here in saying this. Not everyone has access to good healthcare and skilled therapists often don’t take insurance.) Talking with a friend and/or finding online support can be helpful too.
Spend quality time with yourself. Make time to engage in activities that bring you joy. Go on a “date day” with yourself: visit a museum that inspires you, find a new hiking trail, take yourself to lunch. It doesn’t have to cost a lot of money; you just have to be alone.
Learn to let go. For those of us with squirrely brains, this one can be a challenge. It has been life changing for me to ask myself the question, “What do I have control of here? What is my responsibility in this?”
What do you think? Have any of these tools been helpful for you? Do you have any other suggestions? I’m always looking for more tools for the toolbox!
]]>I could barely get the needle beneath the yarn to create the next row. This was my umpteenth attempt to create a scarf, but my efforts had produced little fruit. My mother is a knitter, and my grandmother was a knitter, too. For most of my life, my grandmother rarely strayed from her reclining chair, but she always had a basket of yarn and her knitting needles close by – creating sweaters for children and blankets for babies, she was always working on a knitting project. Even in her later years when her eyesight failed her, she could knit by memory – my mother, roles reversed, helping her fix any mistakes.
When I started homeschooling my daughter three years ago, we thought it would be fun to learn a new handicraft. When we saw that the local library was hosting a knitting group, we showed up with eager hearts. The older women were gifted and skilled artists, far beyond our novice abilities, their years of experience on display in the intricate details of their work. But they were so generous with their knowledge, and patient with us as they taught us how to cast the yarn onto the needles and knit our first rows.
Of course, COVID hit soon after and those group classes were put on hold. Luckily one of the grannies in the group armed us with a book title. After class, she approached us quietly, as if on a stealth mission and whispered, “Stitch ‘n Bitch. You need to get your hands on a book called ‘Stitch ‘n Bitch.’ It will teach you all you need to know.” So naughty, this book. It was Stella’s delight to be able to try out the word “bitch” since it was, after all, in the book title. This is the bible of beginning knitters, and it indeed walked us through the steps of casting on, knitting and purling, and casting off. We pulled it out each winter, thinking that it would be a fun project to pursue on those long, dark, cold days.
For the better part of three winters, I attempted to knit this beginner scarf from the Stitch ‘n Bitch book, with varying degrees of success. The problem wasn’t the book, or the needles, or even the cheap acrylic yarn that splits with each stitch. The problem was me. I just don’t really enjoy knitting. As I wrestled with the yarn on that final day, I realized that I’m never actually going to wear this scarf, and I wasn’t enjoying the process. I realized that I could appreciate knitters and their craft, I could even support their work by purchasing their lovingly handmade items, but I was not actually a knitter myself. I bagged it all up, posted it on my local Buy Nothing page and said good-bye to it forever. It was a relief, really. This bag of yarn, this unfinished project taunted me each winter – an unfinished project that remained…unfinished. I was happy to release it. Sometimes we try something new, to see if it fits, and then we realize that it doesn’t. Or maybe it once did, but it doesn’t anymore. It was liberating to come to the realization that I didn’t have to stay.
So, in case you need that reminder, too:
We don’t have to stay…
with that activity that doesn’t bring us joy.
with that relationship that threatens our peace.
with that social media page that causes us to compare.
with that habit that is having a negative impact on us or those around us.
with that “good” thing that is consuming too much of our time.
with that institution that feels unjust.
with that belief that we no longer hold.
We don’t have to stay.
Maybe there’s something we are being called to release? (Or at the very least set some boundaries around.) What is your spirit prompting you to leave behind?
Please don’t misunderstand me. I believe in staying. I pride myself on seeing things through and persevering – I don’t believe in abandoning things too soon. I don’t think we should just get up and leave when things get hard. After all, there are many hard things that are beyond our control. There are some hard things that simply cannot be set aside, they are knitted into the fabric of our days. I’m not talking about those things – I’m talking about the things we can control. Sometimes, as we grow and change and transform, things that once felt like home no longer feel right in our spirit, you know? Maybe that’s why yoga is really resonating with me this month – it reminds me to breathe, and to use the exhale to let go of what no longer serves. As my online yoga teacher says, “On the mat we move, we shift, we make adjustments. So it goes with life.”
I’ll admit that sometimes I’m slow to let go of things that perhaps should have been released a while ago. Sometimes I have a habit of staying too long, if not in presence, then in mind. Is it stubborn hope? Pride? Fear? Maybe all of the above. I admit it’s hard to let go and a bit complex. It can be scary to move on to something new, to move into something perhaps completely unknown. And it’s often painful and disorienting to see the end to things, to lose the comfort of familiarity, particularly if some of those things were so special and sacred to us. But I think it’s okay to express gratitude for a season and then gracefully release it when that season is over.
Lately, I’ve been trying to shift my perspective to ask the question, “What is God inviting me to?” What could be next for us if we listened to the still small voice and left behind the things that are no longer serving us? What if we were brave enough to leave the comforts of the familiar to embrace something new? What new things could we learn? What new people could we meet? What new perspectives would challenge us?
Maybe we would take that class or learn a new skill.
Maybe we’d meet new people with new perspectives.
Maybe we’d exchange healthier habits for unhealthy ones.
Maybe we’d find more time for reading, walking, deep conversations, or yoga!
There has been a lot of loss these past few years. I don’t think anyone has been left untouched by it. But each new day is an invitation to live into something new, if we can just get quiet enough to listen to where God is leading.
]]>Reflected
Hi friends.
I know it doesn’t seem like I’m writing, but I am. In an effort to write with more intentionality, I’ve embarked on a self-imposed Advent Writing Challenge.
I am working through Kate Bowler’s Advent Devotional, “The Season of Waiting (and waiting…and waiting…). Kate is a NYT bestselling author and associate professor of American religious history at Duke Divinity. Kate is witty and charming, but what I appreciate most about her is her ability to live in the both/and. Life can be so, so hard, and yet we can also find moments of hope and joy. Having been diagnosed with stage IV cancer years ago, Kate doesn’t sugar-coat anything. I really love that about her. She’s able to hold the tension of hard and good, which is such a necessary and honest approach to living.
Each day there is a small Bible passage to read, along with a short devotional and a reflection question to ponder. It’s not too late to jump in. If you’re interested, you can download it here. (It’s free, and it feels like a gift.) I’ve created this little writing challenge for myself where each day I set my timer for 10 minutes and reflect on the question for that day. I have pages of writing, and I thought I’d share just one piece with you.
I’m no poet, but for some reason my spirit led me to reflect on this question through poetry. I’ve been reading a lot of Mary Oliver, so perhaps I’ve been inspired by her. (I know I’ve been inspired by her.) Anyway, it was fun to play around with words in a different way.
The reflection question was: Describe a time you experienced the divine in an everyday moment lately. This is my response:
Reflected
The divine presence of God,
reflected in the whisper of the leaves
gently dancing in the trees.
In the solitude of a quiet trail –
birds, frolicking in the canopy above
squirrels, playing tag in the wilderness.
A pink sunset, like stepping into a masterpiece,
and the heart-shaped rock that reminds me
God is still here.
The freedom of the mountaintop
after a really difficult climb –
I catch my breath and lose it at the same time.
Overlooking all of God’s creation,
knowing it extends so much farther
and wider than my eyes can see.
The awe.
The awareness of my smallness
in comparison to God’s greatness.
Not that God thinks I’m small.
God is just so expansive –
and Their love is equally so.
Far and wide like that mountaintop.
Extending to all of us.
No exceptions.
And nothing can separate us from that love.
We only have to believe.
