On Being the Prodigal and Celebrations

It was a long time ago, and also not so very long. That summer was finally coming to an end- the same summer that had chewed me up and spit me out. Left me standing on the street corner.

This is my Prodigal Story.

Days or weeks (I couldn't tell which) had been spent closed up in a cold room, lying on a mattress on the floor in an otherwise empty huge house, puking until I'd pass out. I was newly pregnant and abandoned. Sick as a dog. Too sick to walk down those long stairs to try and find something I could eat. Friends were gone. He was gone. The world moved on, took all my hopes and dreams with it. I was a fool. And my life as I knew it was over.

But one day after all those long, dark hours in that hideous room, I emerged, because I had to. Despair had had its way with me. I was still terrified of caring for a baby on my own when I clearly had made all the wrong choices for myself. But I had to do something. Had to move. Had to figure out how to live. So I went to church.

The same church that had practically been my home for years, where I led worship, led youth groups and studies... all the things... I had loved it. All that was over now. I was exposed. You can only hide a growing belly on a frail 100 lb. body for so long.

I walked in, like every other Sunday. Only it wasn't like every other Sunday. I had always been the good girl, the one with the answers, the one with the good reputation, the one with the picture-perfect life. I walked through those doors after hiding for so long with a neon sign flashing above my head. HYPOCRITE!  WHORE!  FOOL!  That day I went to church broken and ashamed.

I didn't know what grace was until that day.

* * * * *

My son, Judah, made his way into the world like we all do. Somehow we both survived his grueling birth and an even more grueling month after his birth than I could have thought humanly possible. I felt like Job for awhile there. I know that sounds dramatic. It is dramatic. This is me being dramatic. But really. Someday Hollywood will make a movie about the happenings in my small town and my small life. But that is another story.

Judah and I made it out of there. I loved him, but those first months were mere survival. I never really was able to settle into myself, my new motherhood. I left that town and its suffocating headlines behind. We fled to the woods. The smell of the pines stopped the world from spinning after being dizzy for an entire year. We started a new life.

Resurrection happened.

It is still happening.

But back to the church ladies.

* * * * *

She had a welcoming smile, always had. There were others but I mostly remember her. It was the normal hug and 'Good morning!' and then she looked straight through my fear and asked how I was doing.

How are you doing today?

A simple question. Usually there is a simple answer. Sometimes it is fake only because who has the energy to tell the truth these days? Not that day. I had no energy.

But there was no other way. I told her. Bluntly. Awaited the awkward silence. Her face lit up, both with tenderness and joy. She gave me another hug, then grabbed my shoulders and looked me square in the eyes. "Congratulations! A baby is always a miracle!" Then "We are throwing you a baby shower!"

That was it. No making sure I understood my sin. No plea for repentance. No awkward silences that day. Just grace. And it washed over me. Knocked those neon signs down over my head.

Those church ladies saved me.

* * * * *

Last weekend I shot my first gay wedding since falling into this wedding photography gig. One of my best childhood friends was marrying the love of her life and they graciously flew Matt and I down to Texas. Many people, wonderful, loving friends and family, have been concerned about my choice. There are a million things I could say and stories that I want to tell, but one voice has stood out to me this week, one question.

How can you celebrate something that is less than God's ideal?

If it is less than God's ideal, one man one woman covenant of marriage-- and I still have questions about it all, as I've made clear-- IF it is, then my answer is simple.

I celebrate their new life because someone celebrated mine when I least deserved it.

I celebrate their joy because I know the joy of finally finding the one your soul loves.

I celebrate their daughter because I have a daughter, and daughters are some kind of wonder.

I celebrate, even if  homosexuality isn't the way God intended when he breathed life into Creation, because this world and all of us are being rescued, and we're not quite there yet. I celebrate their love feeling every ounce of my own search for love, the wandering from who I really was, all the hurts along the way. My life has not been what God intended. But he has carried me anyway.

I can now freely say congratulations to them because the church ladies threw a party for my illegitimate child.

I celebrate because I was lost. I was found. I was once celebrated.

* * * * *

Judah turns eleven years old today. I cannot believe I am saying that. ELEVEN. This boy who rode the crazy train with his mama and who found new life right alongside her. I thank God for that boy. His life helped save mine. His laugh makes the world a better place. His tender heart I fear will someday be broken as mine has been, but I know now that being tender and being broken is the only way for grace to seep into all the cracks and make it new, make it come alive. So I try not to be afraid.

And Annie and Nevie, may you grow old together. May you learn the brutal and beautiful lessons of love and self-sacrifice and family. May you find God there.

I am grateful for the 'church ladies' everywhere who throw parties and fiercely love those who need it most.

All is grace.

Today is National Coming Out Day.

A host of emotions emerge with those words, especially when we're speaking as followers of Jesus, or people seeking Truth and our Creator. My faith has intersected my life and shaped my responses to the world and its array of beauty and corruption.

Maybe we should call it National Learning to Listen First Day.

This isn't an issue. It isn't a problem we can solve with the correct formula and a sharpened pencil. Contrary to many of my brothers and sisters I do not believe it is black or white, right or wrong, in all situations. Push me in a corner and I will still maintain that this is the wrong conversation, based upon who I know Jesus to be.

No, we're not tackling an issue here.

We are listening to people.

People. Humans. You and I. My neighbor. My child. This earth is full of human beings.

We are not robots. We are not merely assigned a number, as Hitler showed strips all human dignity. We are named. We are loved deeply by the One who gave us breath. We bear that image or something divine, something bigger, something true.

We love by showing each other dignity. We do that by listening. Always listening first.

* * * * *

Last weekend my dear friend came to visit from out of state. We have had an intensely deep friendship through the years. I have watched her whole world change and mine has changed alongside hers. I've witnessed her love for Jesus intersect with her homosexuality and I have wrestled with this- God, I have wrestled! I have cried with and for her. I have spoken honestly with her since the day we met. Because of that, a few years ago I made the decision not to attend her wedding. That conversation was the most painful I have ever had. But she loves me. She listened and respected my wrestling and how I live out my faith. My friend showed me more grace that day than I have ever been able to offer back. And I'm not the same.

She has taught me what grace looks like.

* * * * *

Much has changed in my heart since then. Ground has shifted again, left me standing with a better view of the horizon. The shifting knocked me out cold. The questions and doubts and wrestling with God is hardly over. I'm learning that it's the wrestling, the willingness to go to the mat with this, fight it out, live honestly and authentically, that's the place where I experience God. And I believe that's what God is asking from us.

How I frame my questions, my faith, my interactions with people has changed drastically. Many concerned friends continue to be, well, concerned. I'm okay with that. Having concern for one another is a good place to start, after all.

I am concerned about my friends (known and unknown) who have felt misunderstood, unheard, who have been treated callously because of their sexuality. I'm concerned about those who live in the dark because it's safer than having to deal with the backlash of coming out. It concerns me that in general, we, as a society, and more importantly, we, the church, have not begun the conversation by listening.

When we love someone, we pull up a chair.

When we love someone, we treat them with dignity, worthy of our time and energy.

When we love someone, we set ourselves and our preconceived ideas aside.

When we love someone, we earn their trust by being a friend in the daily stuff, the regular, the mundane.

When we love someone, what hurts them hurts us.

When we love someone, we call them by name instead of categorizing them by their sexuality.

When we love, we choose to listen first.

* * * * *

We need to practice the sacred act of pulling up a chair. And as a person who is trying, really wrestling with how to love people well, I'm offering a listening ear if you're willing to share your story. And I will share mine.

The hot button issue.

I am exhausted today. Probably like everyone else. I'm overwhelmed and emotionally a bit fragile and it hurts to walk and I hate that I thought it would be gone by now and it's not. I feel pitiful.

But that's not really who I am. In my spirit I feel like a bird who just had its cage door opened for the first time- a bit hesitant, a little scared, but intrigued and overjoyed that there is a whole new beautiful world waiting to be discovered.  I feel like I've been shaken and a lot of the extra junk sifted out. Fell onto the floor boards and my bare feet like a shedding of skin and I feel fresh. I feel ready. Expectant.

There are glimpses of grace here. The simple, the mundane, that now I see are more than they had appeared-  even these are sacred. Pay attention. This small thing, this waking up of the spirit, it matters.

Today I am a paradox. The wonderful thing about this is that it demands that you acknowledge that the two very polar sides are not opposing at all, but are intertwined in places unseen. They don't just balance each other out as though on a linear cosmic balance board.  They reside in the tension, in the deep, in the questions. Tension is fast becoming a cliche word, and I'm in danger of overusing it, but I can't think of another English word that feels right. That's a challenge. Find me one please. Maybe I should make one up.

* * * * *

I read a blog post this morning that stirred up some new questions in me surrounding the homosexuality conversation. I am wishing all my Christian friends would read this, let it be another voice, mull it over like I am. I wish it would stir us, keep us up at night if it hasn't already, remind us of this tension and caution us to tread gently, choose our words more wisely, refine our beliefs a bit. New voices matter. 

This is not a complete theological exposition. It is personal thoughts from one human being living in the tension to another. Somewhere in the comments (which are also insightful) he says this:

I am not asking people to change their beliefs about gay marriage,

 but instead I am asking people to struggle more deeply with the implications

 of that belief, so that we may be better equipped to spread a

 compassionate gospel. We are to grieve with those who grieve — if the

 application of the scripture is as hard as you say it is, then it had best be applied 

with tears and tenderness, lest we crush those we serve. Those tears and tenderness can only be acquired through deep struggle with the cost of our words.

With that said, here it is.

http://sacredtension.com/2013/07/08/three-reasons-the-traditional-perspective-on-gay-marriage-makes-me-uncomfortable/

If you are willing to be a part of this conversation, let's all agree to do it well, to speak kindly, and be respectful. I have failed at this enough times to know the damage it does. But it's too important to ignore.

Bridges.

Communication, on the other hand, is painstakingly difficult and increasingly complex when so much of it happens in typed word and emoticons instead of voice inflection and body posture. Complex, but not impossible. After all, being face-to-face with someone and engaged in conversation does not necessarily mean there will be greater understanding or mutual respect or better chance of converting the 'other' to your own worldview.

STOP.

That is what we want, isn't it? If we're honest? We so passionately believe in our own worldview, our own interpretation of right/wrong that it must be our goal to communicate this truth adequately so the one in disagreement comes to this full knowledge as well. After all, love means telling the truth.

We are addicted to answers, to the idea that all views have opposition they must fight, addicted to labels. The yes/no, the right/wrong, the us/them, the black/white, anti-/pro- paradigm.

I don't buy it.

The real stuff of life happens in the tension, in the conversation, in the bridge-building between two opposing sides that both seek to convert the 'other'. I use the term 'tension' purposely. It is tense. It is uncomfortable. As the saying goes, when you're a bridge you get walked on from both sides. Truth.

Lately the gay marriage debate has taken the spotlight, and necessarily so in MN. I see my FB feed fill up with passionate conservative friends taking a stand for 'truth'. I see my equally passionate progressive and gay friends pushing back, standing for 'equality'. I have dear friends on both sides of the spectrum, and I've been known to offend both sides at times. I'm learning. Slowly. Too slowly.

If there's one thing I've continually felt God's pull toward in my life in the last couple years, it is that I am to be a bridge builder, in this conversation and others. Living in the tension. It's become my mantra of sorts. I'm not trying to sound cliche. Nor am I trying to side-step having to answer hard questions. I'm just learning to recognize that without building relationships and communicating by listening first, nothing will ever change.

So I choose to stand in solidarity with the Other. Because that is the example I see in Jesus. Feel free to disagree with me- plenty do. 'But Jesus said, Go and sin no more!' you say? Yes, he did. After he had taken the sinner's side, risking his own reputation and even his life. After he let her know that he did not condemn her. Then, and only then, had he earned the right to speak into her life.

Time to follow suit. Earning that right, earning trust in a relationship takes time. Serious time. And it involves much listening and not a lot of talking.

It's easy to dismiss someone out of ignorance or intolerance when you don't have to put real faces to the labels. It's not so easy to do once you've heard their story, listened to their heartache, felt their pain or confusion, called them Friend. Relationship is everything.

So much misunderstanding. So little listening and too few relationships being built between these two camps. It breaks my heart. I believe it breaks God's heart as well.

Can I be a bridge? It's certainly seen as risky business, often labelled as lukewarm, not holding to Scripture, divisive. I've been told it's not real reconciliation without repentance. I disagree. And we can disagree.

We can seek to elevate these conversations to a place that earns back the trust and respect where it was lost. We can see the beauty in diversity by creating space for these honest discussions. We can speak louder that the image of God exists in ALL people, gay and straight. We can ask honest questions to better understand instead of merely convert. We can decide that it isn't about agreeing on interpretations of Scripture or on a political hot-button issue. We can recognize that it's about how we love the one who disagrees with us. I haven't done a great job of this myself.

I'm saying it now, out loud, because I HAVE to.

***For the conservative person: How can you, or how can the church, better love the LGBT community? How can you better seek reconciliation with those who disagree with your interpretation of Scripture?

***For the progressive person: How can you seek reconciliation with those who view marriage in the traditional way? How can you love the LGBT community while respecting the conservative view and even inviting them along in that process of learning by listening?

Demanding conformity to beliefs is not helpful, nor is it the unconditional love that Jesus exemplified. Maybe our refusal to repent of our intolerance is precisely what we need to repent of. Maybe the first step looks like humility and more genuine questions than we think necessary. Maybe it looks less like choosing sides and more like bridge-building. Maybe saying 'congratulations' to a newly engaged same-sex couple doesn't have to mean you condone it. Maybe it's just an extension of some much-needed dignity. Maybe it's the first step toward a relationship- one that you can learn just as much from as them. It is possible to disagree in a variety of respectful and even hospitable ways.

‘Rather than being disappointed in less than complete agreement or understanding, I’ll be grateful for even small steps we can take together in challenging dangerous features of the status quo and opening up better possibilities for the future.’ – Brian  Mclaren

Small steps. What do you think?