Removing the Make-up of Perfection

Today’s post focuses upon healing and restoration–a message the church needs. I’m participating in the Eighth Letter Project in which the modern believer address the church’s most pressing issues. Also, another one of my favorite bloggers is hosting a synchroblog for the Eighth Letter at Rachel Held Evans’s Evolving in Monkeytown.

To the Church in North America,

I greet you in the name of grace found in Christ. I greet you in the name of peace, in the name of healing, in the name of kindness—the first loves of your faith. I greet you as one who has enjoyed your comfort, your healing, your nurturing spirit. As one who considered you to be an ever affectionate, loving parent, arms flung wide open expectedly waiting for me to run into your embrace. In many ways, you were my faith parent. As a child, you cultivated my love of theater, music, and writing. I remember looking out across the sanctuary and reveling in the words of the song, the smiles of church members, the hearts shining with the light of Christ. You guided me with your gentleness, rebuked me in kindness, and clothed me in humility.

Perhaps, dear church, children are easier for you to love. They are not yet jaded with cynicism or questioning doubts. Their hearts are still soft, sensitive to the quiet whisperings of the Spirit and your teachings. But children grow up, just as I did. I don’t remember how our relationship changed from the loving parent to cool acquaintance, but it did. Your once loving arms turned cold and icy, and I saw for the first time the deep wounds you gave me.

During my years of questioning, I learned that the church mantra “come as you are” only applied to those who were ethnically equivalent to me—white, middle-class, suburban dwellers. I was convinced that the visitor welcome packets secretly directed Hispanics, African-Americans, and Asians to other churches more “suited” for those people. But the church wasn’t content with ethnic sameness. Economic favoritism pervaded your walls as well. I learned more about social hierarchy and gender bias within your walls, dear church, than outside within my “unchurched” community. Even though I fit the ethnic profile, my Goodwill clothes would never allow me into the inner circle, those blessed with your favor. You pushed me aside in favor of the wealthy. You never saw my bleeding wounds, broken heart. I finally learned to repress those things.

But as the writer of Ecclesiastes says, “there is a time for everything under heaven,” but most importantly, “there is a time to heal”–to bind up wounds. I left broken, bleeding, scars so deep. As I gazed upon you from the outside, I saw that you too were broken, secretly filled with bleeding hearts, full of deep scars. That both of us were marred with sin, guilt, and fear. I saw people with doubt, people with depression, people with pain. Finally, we stood before each other without the pretense of perfection. Our healing had begun.

But dear church, in order for us to heal, we must release the guilt, the pride, the hallow mask of perfection that we don every Sunday. When we reveal our scars to reach other, grace comes to apply the balm of love—Christ’s love. For in Christ, even in our weakest, darkest moments, we are laid bare, our bleeding hearts before Him, and He binds our wounds. Wounds of pride, sorrow, unloveliness that we cling to at the midnight hour. Our unattractive bits that we attempt to cover with our good deeds, our holiness, our pride.

Do not, sweet church, choose pride over healing. As I have come back to your doors, I see your pride welling up inside you, ready to plunge us back into the cesspools of guilt and fear and shame. As I write to you, I urge you to healing, to freedom, to Christ.

Amen.

Related posts:

1. Would You Be my Friend if….I were a Feminist?(pt 2)
2. Mondays in Monkey Town
3. How do I find my place in the faith community?