GOD TREASURES CHRISTIANS
That was the latest Church sign that made me throw up in my mouth a little bit. This is the nice church I drive by almost every day up on a hill out of the way, they keep their grass cut beautifully. Isaac loved looking out the window of his preschool at the church across the street. Their sign has never really been 'annoying'. By annoying, I mean every week there is some Christian cliche that makes you wonder if pagans would ever walk in a church again after seeing that quote.
But this one did it. People may argue with me that it is all the medicine I take, but ever since my CPE residency I have the ability to sit in an anger filled rage, but appear to be in a zen state. So as I shook my head, I decided not to drive the car into the sign. Really, we only have one car that works again this month so we need our trusty car.
So what passage did I preach on last week, but Luke 15-- the lost coin and lost sheep. You know, the one where God treasures the LOST. There are no more labels. non-christian, christian just lost. and not lost- those with the rest- the 99 that are waiting, in community, the other coins waiting. those who rejoice and party with the shepherd and the woman. the community.
I SO WANTED to include a 10 minute rant on this in my sermon, but did NOT as I had used crazy sign man a few weeks ago as a sermon illustration. (he's the crazy fundamentalist who believes everyone is going to hell for something, seriously- you are a woman, you got a tattoo, you are gay and he puts signs up in his yard for all who drive by to see on a very busy road- hwy 36 where i live)...
But, one thing I did say on Sunday, I had learned while studying. In my most beloved commentary Feasting on the Word Commentary, the author pointed out the difference between 'saving' the lost and 'welcoming' the lost. I had never put it together...all these years. When we use terms like 'saving' souls or lost or non-christian or pagans, we have power 'over'. This is not the way of Jesus. (ps. apologies to you author if i have totally messed with your intent)
Instead, we welcome the lost into our communities of faith & doubt and anything in between. We welcome each other, because many days we are the lost. We may not be far off, but right in the middle of the action believing that WE ARE THE ONLY ONES.
If I read Luke 15 correctly, God does not treasure Christians, God treasures all God's people and it may even appear that God treasures the 'lost' more than those who are not.
So please if you decide to call yourself a Christian, please, please, please stop making it so damn easy for the rest of humanity to ignore you. We don't want to be a part of your exclusive club.
We want to party with the woman who found her coin, learn what it means to rejoice as a community, and welcome whoever walks in and out the door.
Welcome Home. Welcome Home. I'd say.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
the public shame of invisible illness
I learn new things every week with this whole Sjogren's thing. A few weeks ago, I was convinced my spleen was enlarged and so when the pain was pretty bad with my pain meds, I moved up my Rheumatologist appointment one day (they had a cancellation- i got lucky!). The pain wasn't too horrible when I arrived or during the appointment, but when I explained that it wasn't gas or chest pain, he began to poke around. It hurts here and not here, right? um yea. and here, but not here, right? um, yea, that's weird, I swear, it was like under my rib cage, but it feels like my chest cavity hurts. So, of course I don't remember the name for it, but I officially have inflammation in my chest. Yea, wherever there are joints, I'll have pain. And if it can hurt like almost a 7 on the pain scale AFTER a pain medicine, I'm afraid what it'll feel like some day unmedicated. But, I wasn't really that embarrassed to tell my Rheumatologist that my spleen is enlarged. He understands my need to research my symptoms, educate me on sjogren's, and even allow me to start and stop medications when I feel I need to (that was another part of the visit- i started back on methotrexate and then informed him during the visit and asked for refills).
But here is where last weekend Sjogrens took over my life for a second. I mean, my life is chaotic anyway. I play many roles and coordinate many schedules. That's what Pastors do. That's what parents do. Coaching tee ball has taken over my life for almost three months. And so when another parent was willing to plan our end of the season party, I was so grateful. I had researched a few trophy places, but hadn't ordered them yet. Last week, I realized the party would be on Sunday and that meant I should have had trophies ordered weeks ago. I had been waiting on parents for some help with 'superlatives' so we could engrave them on the trophies, but then realized I couldn't wait any more. After visiting two different shops in person last Tuesday, I returned to my favorite on Wednesday and met the owner. He had coached little league for 28 years and was so friendly, helpful, and even willing to get the trophies done in two days so we could have them for our party that weekend.
So Friday, I picked them up. Nope. That's not how my brain works anymore. Instead, I spent the morning getting the antibiotics and steroids to take care of the chest cold my immune system can't get rid of because I've taken too much methotrexate lately. Instead, I remembered to bring tape to the booth where I had promised to volunteer a few months ago. I spent a mere two hours sitting in while the all day volunteers had lunch. Instead, our family did end up in the Johnson City Press at the Blue Plum Festival! And when we returned home, I finally figured out why I felt that nagging feeling all day long. That piece in my brain that was there, but I couldn't grasp it. It's like when there are words that I can't find. Or when names are lost. But somehow I remember numbers and street addresses. I can probably stalk someone quite well. But at 6:30pm Friday evening, I realized I had forgotten to pick up the trophies for our tee ball party. I called the shop and let it ring about 20 times till their machine picked up and left a joyful message, hey, if you are there on Saturday...
Our last tee ball game was Saturday morning and so I decided one last time, to ask about our numbers. We expected a good turnout and so I confided in a trusting parent (the superstar that planned the party). As I began to tear up, she said, do you have the number... and the phone number rolled off my lips...282... like, how the hell can I remember a freakin phone number, but forget to pick up a box of trophies that I ordered two days prior with a bunch of hoopla surrounding it?
I walked to the car defeated, like this was the part of being the coach that I was so excited about from the beginning. My memory/brain fog, my sjogrens brain continues to lose 'function'. I feel as if I should identify as a 70 year old...this is a part of sjogrens that is so difficult to prove, but that on all patient support sites identify as a primary symptom. But it isn't who I am. I do not live in brain fog all the time. My eyes are not bone dry all the time. My mouth is always dry. My joints hurt all the time, but not horribly all the time.
Maybe someday, I'll be able to say I have Sjogrens. Sometimes I can forget very important details and I apologize for that. I'd love to volunteer or lead this, but could someone help remind me?
And as far as the trophies go. I went with the right trophy place. Choosing a place where the owner is also a little league coach pays off when you need to get your trophies on a Saturday evening. It also pays to trust others and let them help you when you've forgotten something or messed up. I don't think she realizes how much of a sjogren's hero she became for me last weekend, but it's why I share with you all. Thank you to others who have been heros for those of us with autoimmune disorders and other invisible illnesses.
"Healing may not be so much about getting better, as about letting go of everything that isn't you--all of the expectations, all of the beliefs--and becoming who you are."---Rachel Naomi Remen
But here is where last weekend Sjogrens took over my life for a second. I mean, my life is chaotic anyway. I play many roles and coordinate many schedules. That's what Pastors do. That's what parents do. Coaching tee ball has taken over my life for almost three months. And so when another parent was willing to plan our end of the season party, I was so grateful. I had researched a few trophy places, but hadn't ordered them yet. Last week, I realized the party would be on Sunday and that meant I should have had trophies ordered weeks ago. I had been waiting on parents for some help with 'superlatives' so we could engrave them on the trophies, but then realized I couldn't wait any more. After visiting two different shops in person last Tuesday, I returned to my favorite on Wednesday and met the owner. He had coached little league for 28 years and was so friendly, helpful, and even willing to get the trophies done in two days so we could have them for our party that weekend.
So Friday, I picked them up. Nope. That's not how my brain works anymore. Instead, I spent the morning getting the antibiotics and steroids to take care of the chest cold my immune system can't get rid of because I've taken too much methotrexate lately. Instead, I remembered to bring tape to the booth where I had promised to volunteer a few months ago. I spent a mere two hours sitting in while the all day volunteers had lunch. Instead, our family did end up in the Johnson City Press at the Blue Plum Festival! And when we returned home, I finally figured out why I felt that nagging feeling all day long. That piece in my brain that was there, but I couldn't grasp it. It's like when there are words that I can't find. Or when names are lost. But somehow I remember numbers and street addresses. I can probably stalk someone quite well. But at 6:30pm Friday evening, I realized I had forgotten to pick up the trophies for our tee ball party. I called the shop and let it ring about 20 times till their machine picked up and left a joyful message, hey, if you are there on Saturday...
Our last tee ball game was Saturday morning and so I decided one last time, to ask about our numbers. We expected a good turnout and so I confided in a trusting parent (the superstar that planned the party). As I began to tear up, she said, do you have the number... and the phone number rolled off my lips...282... like, how the hell can I remember a freakin phone number, but forget to pick up a box of trophies that I ordered two days prior with a bunch of hoopla surrounding it?
I walked to the car defeated, like this was the part of being the coach that I was so excited about from the beginning. My memory/brain fog, my sjogrens brain continues to lose 'function'. I feel as if I should identify as a 70 year old...this is a part of sjogrens that is so difficult to prove, but that on all patient support sites identify as a primary symptom. But it isn't who I am. I do not live in brain fog all the time. My eyes are not bone dry all the time. My mouth is always dry. My joints hurt all the time, but not horribly all the time.
Maybe someday, I'll be able to say I have Sjogrens. Sometimes I can forget very important details and I apologize for that. I'd love to volunteer or lead this, but could someone help remind me?
And as far as the trophies go. I went with the right trophy place. Choosing a place where the owner is also a little league coach pays off when you need to get your trophies on a Saturday evening. It also pays to trust others and let them help you when you've forgotten something or messed up. I don't think she realizes how much of a sjogren's hero she became for me last weekend, but it's why I share with you all. Thank you to others who have been heros for those of us with autoimmune disorders and other invisible illnesses.
"Healing may not be so much about getting better, as about letting go of everything that isn't you--all of the expectations, all of the beliefs--and becoming who you are."---Rachel Naomi Remen
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Faith and the illness gift
It's been awhile since I've updated and I've been feeling a need to write more lately. After reading a blog that CNN highlighted, I've been thinking about faith a lot. I've also been quite embarrassed about my faith as well. About how I've 'used' it in the past and how I've isolated people throughout my life. I'll try to be general about this-- but I've even tried to catch up with those I 'evangelized' in high school so I could apologize for the pressure and stress I created instead of just being their friend. However, all routes I've taken for contact are dead ends.
I've posted on a blog about raising one's children without God. While I decide to parent differently, I was able to leave an honest response and receive a heartfelt thank you. Other Christians were not so eloquent with their words and the proselytizing began. What are we so afraid of when others believe differently? Do we believe that because they claim to 'not' believe due to really shitty circumstances that they will be sent to hell? One of the blog responders had lost two daughters, and a few other family members. While she held her dead 8 month old, a chaplain shared with her about his faith. That's pretty shitty chaplaincy. We wonder why people question God's existence.
God/ess/divine does not need more angels in heaven and God/ess/divine does not have a plan for the death of your child.
I am able to sit with these questions of why... usually with a knot in my stomach, but I can sit with them. I'd like to punch God in the face or privates if I ever 'get to heaven', but for now I still believe even though shitty things happen in the world. I'm not sure what I would do if a really shitty thing happened to me, but for now, I stay grateful and remind myself to live.
Which brings me to why I've included a rant about faith on my 'illness' blog. I have Sjogren's Syndrome. The syndrome does not fully clue one into the amount of organs and body parts affected by this 'syndrome'. It is a full autoimmune disease. Disease. As my tears and saliva dry up, my joints are too. The inflammation leaves me paralyzed most days and the issues with my 'brain fog' as Sjogren's patients call it are incredibly embarrassing. (that's another very horrible story) I mix up words, use wrong words, and have an even bigger challenge thinking on my feet. (it's never been a talent of mine)
But, a wise older minister explained his 'illness' as a gift. He is a very seasoned Pastor, Chaplain and even a Professor of Pastoral Care. I trust his words and his journey. So, I've started to see my illness as a gift. I've become a sort of 'wounded healer' in many ways- but my neck surgery scar does that for me anyway. Why do I need another pain or illness as a gift. This is a pretty shitty gift. And who is the gift giver?
I hope to explore this idea of illness of gift, but it'll take some words and prayers and meditation. I've already opened the gift and thrown out the receipt so if you don't mind, I'll continue to read the instruction manual for awhile.
I've posted on a blog about raising one's children without God. While I decide to parent differently, I was able to leave an honest response and receive a heartfelt thank you. Other Christians were not so eloquent with their words and the proselytizing began. What are we so afraid of when others believe differently? Do we believe that because they claim to 'not' believe due to really shitty circumstances that they will be sent to hell? One of the blog responders had lost two daughters, and a few other family members. While she held her dead 8 month old, a chaplain shared with her about his faith. That's pretty shitty chaplaincy. We wonder why people question God's existence.
God/ess/divine does not need more angels in heaven and God/ess/divine does not have a plan for the death of your child.
I am able to sit with these questions of why... usually with a knot in my stomach, but I can sit with them. I'd like to punch God in the face or privates if I ever 'get to heaven', but for now I still believe even though shitty things happen in the world. I'm not sure what I would do if a really shitty thing happened to me, but for now, I stay grateful and remind myself to live.
Which brings me to why I've included a rant about faith on my 'illness' blog. I have Sjogren's Syndrome. The syndrome does not fully clue one into the amount of organs and body parts affected by this 'syndrome'. It is a full autoimmune disease. Disease. As my tears and saliva dry up, my joints are too. The inflammation leaves me paralyzed most days and the issues with my 'brain fog' as Sjogren's patients call it are incredibly embarrassing. (that's another very horrible story) I mix up words, use wrong words, and have an even bigger challenge thinking on my feet. (it's never been a talent of mine)
But, a wise older minister explained his 'illness' as a gift. He is a very seasoned Pastor, Chaplain and even a Professor of Pastoral Care. I trust his words and his journey. So, I've started to see my illness as a gift. I've become a sort of 'wounded healer' in many ways- but my neck surgery scar does that for me anyway. Why do I need another pain or illness as a gift. This is a pretty shitty gift. And who is the gift giver?
I hope to explore this idea of illness of gift, but it'll take some words and prayers and meditation. I've already opened the gift and thrown out the receipt so if you don't mind, I'll continue to read the instruction manual for awhile.
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